Aside

Life – the longest poem

Hi.

Did you know that you’re a tell tale or a storyteller with a label tagged male or female, amidst the other sharers who have tagged or defined themselves as ‘other genders.’

You wake into being and the first thing you do is look into to the eyes of others.

Writing a story – you should have known better – that you were here to live a story which has long been written, and fulfil your destiny.

But instead, you look around at the glory of others who decided it was time to live their story. So now they’re happy and living so happily, happily ever after – they’ve their money. Big big bosses. You – so tiny.

“I’m sorry. Isn’t this the story of life?”, you exclaim. Sweety, you were chasing a blog filled with poems, writings, fiction and human beliefs, thinking to yourself ‘oh what a good read’, maybe I’ll stay a little while and see where this goes, a little longer and see what (s)he knows.

On Facebook, Instagram, snapchat and other social media, which is now the television we used to cling to but have now tossed away because we have chosen to seek information the new way – watching other people grow: how the television people grow, you know when Beyonce was younger and now she has children. And not only the celebrities. You watch your community – how he grows, how she grows.

You’re a scaredy cat. Afraid to chase the lions. Aren’t you a tiger – meant to be in the field. But here you are – satisfied – you’ve had a meal – a scaredy rat eaten by a scaredy cat. You don’t even have cheese because you can’t smile or laugh with the little income you have but you can be satisfied with the information you have.

When will you realise that even if you try – that’s enough. Everyone’s trying. Everyone’s dying. Not everyone’s flying. Because no matter  how hard you try – if you continue to focus on others every single time and forget you were here to help yourself and others who truly can’t, you will eventually starve.

Starve yourself – you’ve been starving your dreams and your skills – feeding them fantasies of icecream because you’re so afraid to eat dirt. It was easier when you were a child. You craved sand and got your hands dirty. Now it’s all spa and nail polish. But oh wait, you get your hands dirty for the news and gossip of others living their lives.

Be wise. You have only one life. It doesn’t matter if another is divorced, heartbroken or has ten wives or only one wife. Why won’t you stop for a second. And stop for a minute. And stop living a life full of oh-so-glorious lies.

Because the more you keep going after what is not your story or caring about other people’s stories or glory or whatever it is you’re even doing, reading and believeing -you’re not inspiring.. you’re going to end up truly tired, sad and lonely.

I’m not saying this because I love or hate you but because I too am a story teller and have chosen to tell my own story. Because I don’t care about the story another will tell of me – past, present, future. You say: ‘But our paths were meant to cross..’ and I tell you: that’s not even poetry.

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