I Can't Forget As Elephants

Sometimes I was so bored with myself that; I started to think that if I died, I would probably leave my funeral first. I would run away, I would be happy to be saved, but then there would be no one to hold me, not even me. Now I would be silent where I should remember, and I would get bored when I should understand. Maybe I'll suddenly come across familiar traces of lost inspiration somewhere. While walking on the rocks, I meet my soul like a mountain goat after a while, I pretend not to know it.

Well, even the soul you exist in will become alien to you for no reason, it will only be familiar when you want the abyss of your soul. I can't stand for even an hour, it feels like enduring all this, so every desert I see is a mountain, I think every mountain is a sea because of the howling of the wind. They were created in a way to say that he was giving up his life like this.

He had begun to devour his soul from his fingers. He could write what he was going to write with his eyes and set it on a floor with his imagination. He was afraid that this would continue, that he would lose something more, after all, he had gotten used to it all these years. But wasn't there a time when the world had to turn upside down?

It was happening every day, but again, the world was sitting on the earth, staying like that. He wasn't moving. It had to rain in reverse, every curse and evil on earth had to be sealed somewhere in the sky with the rain. Why was nothing happening to the world and it was eating itself up so much?

I'm not talking about the immature rebellion of poor quality times. I'm talking about how the relentless nightmares that seep into dreams every night are even more than real. By feeling everything so much, I let you know that I now understand how many mistakes I made, but I can't go back. These nightmares never come to an end, they do not go to others, even if they do, it is certain that they do not care. I say; it's all about feelings. If I didn't feel it so much, I would just accept coincidences as coincidences, pass and leave. I didn't need to add extra meaning. Assuming that everything is so meaningful, I can't find a place to put myself. I'm not talking about feeling belonging, much more.

Everything is a whole, even if it is separate, everything is like the main piece of a huge puzzle. If I eat myself up and finish off, maybe that piece will really break down. Then I can't find time to search for or load meaning. Maybe that puzzle will really disappear, there will be nothing to break, then it is not around or really does not exist. Am I dreaming too much, wishing that time shakes, the world moves a little, and all evil shakes? I don't think so, but the others live very dreamlessly. Accepting the truth so easily is also a bit of a weakness.

I was ready to waste half of my existence to get rid of disturbing dreams. When I woke up one morning, I began to believe more and more that I would be rid of half of me. But then my half turned into another half person, in my tiny room. We were like two people who were no longer the same. Now I was truly a stranger to myself, I couldn't forgive myself for falling into such a trap while trying to get rid of it so easily. That's how I realized that I always forget the wrong things about people, forgetting things meant that those things could happen again, it meant harm to yourself and inside. I thought I had another place inside of me. So that's how everyone was alienated.

There were cliffs waiting for me morning and evening, even my mother had not observed my way so much. As I ride on the whipping vein, pacing here and there with my blood contracting inside, I am wasting the time my children have had. I couldn't borrow time, I couldn't lend time, I'm talking about consuming myself, I couldn't spend it on anyone.

June smelled of farewell, September hope - poetry

I know dark blue shapes that don't look like myself,

The fairy-tale flavors I put on my recess.

I write mixed, I have pens with cut ends,

My childhood where I played hopscotch and leapfrog.

I miss it,

Sparrow nests in wheat fields

And even their tiny eggs.

Scythe sound, sharpened and sawn,

Summer holidays and girls who are likely to come to our village

white shirt black cloth pants

And mine fell.

And I have a heart world that does not know how to produce antibodies

My riots that love to lose.

I love you is like cursive script with large font numbers.

I'm a fugitive myself

Shame on myself.

It wasn't love that was flawed

I just didn't know how to love.

Still, I knew the pain.

Like every secret love-stricken schoolboy

During the summer holidays.

Among my sleeping sorrows.

And I hung a sign around my neck,

Rewind institute or poetry shipping operations.

I moved a lot from myself.

I can't forget as much as elephants, that's my problem. I can't get out of the frivolity of my soul and the indirect and sarcastic ways it goes. Therefore, nothing I say reaches its place, therefore it does not reach its purpose. I am the quietest melody of a broken trust. I am the shattered remnant of broken, tattered stories. There have been things where I have been deceived and injured even though it seemed obvious. I was not for the truth. My words were like a letter written into the void. It can't all be as I remember it, can it? I first misunderstood myself and then everyone else.

It was getting more and more blue, something like a dream, but not a dream. It was like the surprise of a color that entered his life for the first time. It was too deep to reach. A poem could be sidelined and rest on a paragraph. But he was tired, as if he was always on the "be ready", always on his feet.

More than forgetting, you didn't want to make yourself forget. You would wake up every morning reminding yourself of that. Your own free opinion thus became insignificant, replaced by imposition, fear and oppression. Thus, others have a right to your freedom, even above you and everything else. If it continues like this, what will be left of you? One day they will say that he was blind, then it will be said that he was deaf and did not hear. In the end, you will not understand at all. They will blunt your features so much that you will no longer believe in your abilities, you will become obscure, the more you try to remember, the more you will be erased. In fact, you will be erased so much that those moments of self-confidence will seem like a dream behind a smoke screen. In time, you will not believe in yourself, you will be truly deaf, you will not see and you will not understand. You will dream as you go. What happens will be the struggle you've worked so hard to leave a tiny mark on. It will be due to your dwindling self-respect. Most of all, it will be the ignorance inside. You will not find any more place for yourself in this life.

Sometimes, when the sun is out everywhere, it may seem like it's just raining on you... Something like that. How could something seem like it could happen when it didn't even seem like it was going to happen? One dream was enough to cool me off years later. Everything is that simple. I practiced so much to forget in vain, it all backfired. Now I surrender myself to the charm of the emptiness that replaces the harmony in poetry. I was caught in that absence from the story. This is what I was going to live.