The Generator

I belong to those who carry different horns,
You belong to whatever floats your boat,
I am never bored,
I take everything I like with me
And roll down the hills
Until it's a part of me.
And you?
Do you even know?

You never needed wind chimes,
For you're a walking generator,
And at a certain point
It's just no longer right.
What if the whole world was an ocean
And the only thing you had to lean on
Was just a floating buoy?

A generator, chasing your own tail
But never getting anywhere near the exit of your dreamworld.

And I lie that it's beautiful,
I lie that it's wonderful,
While I would never live that way.

And you claim it's possible,
You claim it's doable,
While you never lived this way.

- February 09th, 2015


Written in a different state of mind from now. I was really, really angry with somebody over a bunch of things - some of which would probably still make sense, some of which I almost certainly misunderstood over the course of many years, some of which they probably never did in the first place...and so on. Since that somebody appears in many of my other poems and recently, none of it is in negative context (!), I thought I'd share an example of my both justified and unjustified anger.

I have no idea what the last two verses are about. The rest was likely projected anger at myself as well, because I didn't want to admit that I behave this way, too; and that only my circumstances make me step out of the "dreamworld".

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