Flaws & Strengths.

I think its better to work on your flaws

the good parts

will always be there.

~J.Varina

Importance.

Leave the questions to the lost,

prepare your answers

for God.

~J. Varina

Us, Art.

They are making art out of our deaths. These black movies where the main character dies are the new plays for people to see.

Maybe,

Thats why they don’t take our death seriously. They don’t see it as real.

Deus Ex Machina

I love memes, they are just hilarious
Seriously a well placed MJ crying face or Pepe with his amphibian antics can brighten my day.
It’s interesting how they convey our emotions better than our words can sometimes…
Instead of moments spent crying in the dark or laughing out loud,
we use symbols to substitute for our situation unknowingly allowing these looped images to tie a noose around our humanity

Yo Gotti said it best, it goes down in the DM’s
So let me be direct with this message, we’re on a crash course where tweets are being taken more serious than feelings.
Where we can no longer be unique, finding false virtues in hashtags
Hoping that these repetitive phrases will somehow resonate with our personal feelings.

Instagram has become our Bible,
Now believing that our life needs to be a profile of good deeds, instead of a story full of substance.

Blame Steve Jobs formerly known as the Serpent from the Garden, giving us the forbidden fruit. Trading our divinity for worldly knowledge, forgetting that our devices are made from the starving children we will never see. How our phones break like their bones, but only one of them is insured.

The internet is a failed prototype of heaven, tempting us with the idea of eternity just to discover that this forever is fractured and only errors are remembered.

Self and Other.

The poet

Is nothing,

traded it’s existence

for the gift

to craft illusions

that become real with time.

A stray thought before birth

until given

form,

using hidden rays

within

to reflect across the fractured mirror

granting a kaleidoscope

of ancestral truth.

The soul of a poet is

everything. Dried fruit,

abandoned shells,

and immortality.

Born with amnesia

yet reminiscing about

veracious emotions before the womb.

It speaks for

the elements and divinity

but not itself.

For it knows not

of self,

but only the

experience of other

when in resonance.

The soul of a poet

does not know the poet

nor does the poet know the soul

each given the task

to not discover

the origin of stars

but

illuminate

the constellation of hearts

as two strangers

alone

confined to a rotting tree

watch the shadow of heaven

devour the

last of youthful light.

Seasonal.

I watch them all like wisps of fading summer
Leaves twirling in a fall breeze
How they breathe even in the shadow of the future
They are me
We are pollen on the first day of spring
And the scorching rays of light, thrashing flames and combustion beliefs that can very well destroy our world.
But I dont, yet.
Now, calm as a refreshing mist
Hovering over the salted earth
Flying and falling as fate or whatever continues to play her tune.
I love us, a collection of unknown words on a blank page.
The memories of children
Sheltered by bones of the wise ones
And also
Roots blossoming in soil,
Gravitating toward the waters of life.
We are human

 

~J. Varina

Naked and Fragile.

collar bones
like
blooming petals
are kissed by the moonlight
the frail shadow of bone in skin
the home of her gliding pulse
My orchid
the ray of birthed sunlight
let my palms explore
the indent left by your wings
decorate the soft spot on your back
with the beads of youthful swear
Amber lips
full of lazy electricity
intertwine my roots into your damp earth
and embrace my drifting heart
like the spring snow
let my last days melt with you

Uncovered.

Silence is dangerous

because

it uncovers who you are in the dark.

~J. Varina

Being in Time.

“We are faced with the task of being what we have already been and becoming, if at all, what we can possibly become” – Martin Heidegger.

Personal Universe.

And then we sit,

and we talk

and somehow we create something.

We break down the walls

of the universe

to make our own.

Living in a realm where time and others don’t exist.

It’s me, and it’s you.

It’s you

and

it’s me. It’s us,

it’s we,

it’s fleeting.

~J.Varina