isolation: revelations of frail self

before the loneliness sunk in (pre-napo poems):
a. & so the loneliness
b. digital fuzz / lost embrace
c. tap on the glass
d. petrified wood — turning
e. probability of being alone

who are we when alone?:
i. glass containers
ii. down from the shelf—uncorked
iii. wind as company
iiis. forceful flower death
iv. shimmering light \ are you?
v. such so surrounded
vi. sheltered
vii. unconsolable change
viii. Are You Connected?
ix. but what was it really?
x. Ultimately—we do not know each other
xi. they need nothing
xii. Morning Solitude
xiii. true Home & learning to be free
xiiis. learning from loneliness
xiv. fragility of self (post-napo)
xv. A Pretense of the Grid (post-napo)

Napo goals:
write at least 15 poems! (quality over quantity guys)
comment on at least 5 threads!
make sure everything ties into the theme well
use concrete imagery in every poem
participate in some poetry jams, maybe
follow and read other people's threads
pick 1–3 favorite poems from each week

a. pre-napo

& so the loneliness
& so what does it mean to be alone?
is this loneliness all-consuming?
or are we just left in the dust &
obscured by fog, so much so that
all others are gone &
lost to the grey, white clouds fading
over everything and overcast
illusory glances of
some togetherness we forgot long ago

& so it is that we are
so lost and
afraid? or not
& perhaps this isolation
will bring us to finding,
something
when all else is
obscured &
the only thing there is
the self

b. pre-napo

digital fuzz / lost embrace
what is this lost time?
clocks stopped; & now we're
standing in the street but i'm alone while
fog clouds up chrome edges
ripped-out wiring on the inside i
don't want to become a husk
robotic automatic acting like it cares i
don't want my movements smooth if
they don't cary any meaning any
more i feel the everything
dropping out from under me
carpet pulled out &
this magic trick isn't working
who left me here, all alone?
what is this silence; what is this "life"?
of something that seems serene but the
solitude is more confining than comforting where
did >i< go?

input command; cord's too short
all feeling electronic, now
too sensical and secure where
did the aluminum corners end up?
crumpled, i think
folded in tucked away we
rush out but
the doors close too soon
& i am stuck in the floodlights
security camera in the corner
eye blinking i am frozen in the center
clocks stopped; again i am standing
buzzing in my head too much to handle
& i am here alone no one
surrounds me only the humming too
electronic to be reality a
digital hand reaches out but
it is blocked by the screen what
happened here in the past? it's
a machine of my own creation &
now i am stuck, street empty
only fog and the crackling of cords
wires wrapping me up
& i pretend it's an embrace

c. pre-napo

tap on the glass
& before i fell into loneliness
thoughts lost so easily,
feelings gone as well
& before whatever numbness took hold
something was here, something
felt like reality—
but no, i'm not going there today
—felt like togetherness
pink and fuzzy, fizzing
bubbles blown on patios popping midair;
we laughed it off and everything felt good
such childhood enjoyment, such twilight shining
spinning dizzy; now we're stopped
everyone fell over, ducked out of the game
i'm left only waiting
on the benches we used to pass by
trips to the zoo or the aquarium, somewhere;
but how come i feel like i'm on display, now,
now i am the show and yet i am
forgotten, the exhibit in the corner
with smallest glass windows
fragments of something but i've hidden too well
no one cares to look for me in this jungle
this tangle of thoughts
feelings i show too deeply
—just tap on the glass, please, i'm begging
i'm dying to know if i'm alive

d. pre-napo

Petrified Wood — Turning
i am twisting, twisting, twisting
into something completely new
something i can't recognize
leaves turning, twirling, falling to the ground
no longer mine; or
is it when i am separate, sentient
a tree standing in the forest
but my root system is disconnected;
alone that i start to find myself again
away from the presentations in
front of other people; fronting to
cover up the raw pile of leaves that
makes home in the damp cavern of my chest
when you peel away the layers
& i am revealed
——so tell me, what do you see?
— — who am i really? — —
... —i think i'm falling apart
just maybe
leaves cascade away and leave me, i send them flying,
twigs snapping off of their own accord
—or perhaps am i removing them?
—trying to carve patterns into the bark
hearts and lines like what everyone else has
but my lines turn crooked
swirls and loops; i can't straighten them out
i try and try
flap the feeling like a sheet, try to tuck in the corners
iron the wrinkles, maybe, spread it out a little
and drape it across my branches
——it's not working
everything is stuck, somehow
& i'm stuck, here, alone,
watching everyone else talk while
the isolation kicks in
——i realize i am frozen
forever, maybe, my rotted bark turning solid
petrified wood, a fossil like those i
used to be so obsessed with, back in the days
when interest felt more like joyful findings;
now weighed down by isolating embarrassment, left
out of it and feeling bad for feeling it
—— how does this work, really?
— — who am i, really? — —
but how could i know, though
for i am just a tree
a tree with roots that reach nowhere, touch
no one, maybe once in every ever after
living things light on my branches
but they are off after a while,
birds twittering to each other and
insects buzzing in swarms;
here i am still, left after a while silent;
unable to speak unless leaves rustle too loud
and scare off all life around, falling silent
& i wish my leaves could fall to a quiet whisper
the crackling dragging across the ground
softened and listening, just enough
& maybe if my roots can't grow deeper
my leaves could float off into the distance
and follow the birds and bugs for long enough
to see something, to hear something, to mean something
until they land again and turn to dust,
fertilizing brown soil near another far-off tree.

(i know this is very different from my other pre-napo poems, but it's all i have so bear with me here)

e. pre-napo

Probability of Being Alone
The probability of flipping a coin to heads:
P(H) = 1/2
my math teacher writes on the board in messy letters

Everyone around here is grouped all the time
pairings in the hallways, now together at tables
Chattering, chattering, chattering away
So loud my thoughts bounce back and echo
Toward my single desk and cavernous space
Even less than half a team
Doing the work of a group, supposedly fun
All with just a paper bag
= on my own


We write down the probability
Of getting a 1 on a 4-split spinner:
P(1)₄ = 1/4

Four people, why 4? what about the failed 3—
—but no matter, for four to a table seems the magic number
All are talking and I am silent
Mouth closed while I flick my spinner
the numerator of a fraction, top half
A fragment of a friendship
Failing falling fractured
Surrounded by a wall of sound
I hate this—


The probability of being alone:
P(L) = (((pf/cf)^y)*i)/M+(g/y)/d

translation: the probability of loneliness =
past friendships divided by current friendships (what did we lose along the way?)
to the power of years apart (what darkness did the divide spark?)
all multiplied by insecurites (i can never think about this the right way...)
divided by mental illness (don't you see this isn't my choice?)
plus growth over years (we all become so, so different; it's like i know no one, no one knows me)
divided by differences (that barrier that keeps me away from them all)

= i keep failing
= i can't stand it
= these voices are too loud and yet i long to be one of them
= why did i do this
= why do i keep doing this
= what am i doing wrong
= will i be this way forever??

= likelihood? highly probable. 0.100. almost guaranteed, even

like it's something you doomed yourself to

i.

glass containers.
opening glass containers like boxes in childhood basements
friends that moved down different streets; i still remember certain rooms
like how i remember those days al-together
these memories shine light reflecting through stained glass tops
too powerful i worry it might shatter the surface
break all i've been trying to contain for so long; i'm not strong
i know it, especially when i'm alone
too easily coming to shaking collapsing inward
curling up, tucking myself away, folding into the covers
to hide my head like i used to do so much
—i still do, don't know who i'm kidding
but myself in this lonely room i love
pretending to be surrounded by beautiful memories;
all i feel is abandoned by hopeful childhood dreams
wishes for teenages futures; misrepresented to us
our media innacurrate; we are now falling disillusioned

speaking at lunch on camera roll comsos
universes contained in visual memories, kept close in tiny electronic boxes
& i know i say i love to see it all
the galaxies unfolding and so many, many lives
a sonder overtaking me my every breath
even not when near others; but
i still feel disenchanted, watching others live out their teenage dreams
while i am confined to these quarters i love
—self-imposed sort of but we're all too scared to speak
& all too scared to leave; my mother says my
friends are all too something-or-other, too nervous
something, something, or none of us confident enough
to find our way climbing out the windows
then scaling branches to each other's towers
where we all locked ourselves away but it feels different for me
what am i doing so wrong i keep coming back to
the mistakes of second grade &
the mistakes i make every day

some way this ends i'm not quite sure yet;
i miss my friends like the box's clouded gems &
i watch them every day, want to tell them so badly
but this deepness seems unwanted, even by those who i know crave it
like they need it to breathe, we're breeding memories;
something i never know how to describe
& somehow the meaning escapes me again
left in a manufactured light blue glow
eerie and unreal, and i know that
but it's the closest thing i have to figuring anything out
—the closest thing i have to understanding the friendlike thoughts
—maybe someday i'll get them to find me too
we can reach into the light together
& perhaps our hands will break the glass
and clasp each other through it, shattering the screen
to where you sit in front of me, next to me, across from me;
wherever you are so close but not looking
too enthralled by your own light
while we all sink into our worries, drowning ourselves
to ignore all others; opening our boxes in our dreams
just to cry and try to sink again

—i don't want to lose you to electronic memory boxes
all we are covered in a glass sheet; our only interaction
i want to see you, put flesh to flesh
feel your heart beating and eyes blinking alongside mine
& we can breathe, together, like we once did before
even with the added more, i want to escape these thoughts
make memories become tangible future imprints
something so real i can stroke it and make it spin;
your thoughts so close to mine; i can never read them
please, find me outside this blue
i will free myself from this self-imposed isolation one day
& i hope i can touch your hand when i'm done
& see that you've done the same

Spoiler

@lalalucky @Spearmint thank you so much for your kind comments! I'm glad you're liking my poetry so far and thank you for reading it!

ii.

down from the shelf—uncorked
but for how do we know who we are
if not left alone in our own thoughts; the folds of our minds
hold us and try to tell us something
but it is always muffled through so many layers inside; encapsulated
& encased, enchanted by these immaterial concepts
—we search for ourselves and what we find
scares us; so different from who we thought ourselves to be
when outside the confines of our own perceptions

sat alone at the table between sides
leaning into, then out of, then back away from the shadows;
we lure ourselves into these thought patterns, these spirals
& none of it is who we are, we find
—do others know us better
and how do we know ourselves?;
considerations we can't see, can't quite reach
on too high a shelf we watch our selves
& when we are alone, we take the jars down
blow off the dust, peek inside the dirty glass
—we can't tell what is in there, the bottom too deep
fearing falling in, down the rabbit hole
we slip and follow the spiral once again, back where
we thought we were but those thoughts were wrong
—how can we tell? how can we tell
who we are, without being told?

impossible, it seems
but too important to leave unknown
—we seek what we think we are
but don't really know any way
anymore, "here we are!" and
don't even see ourselves
——is this what it means to be human?
just a mind, sitting alone
thinking in different colors from all else, and
all else thinks on you different;
on your differences

alone for too long; question marks swirling
around your head, quirked eyebrows, wide eyes
sparkling with a wanting to know
& too scared to find out

for who would want to come to the realization;
the shock of the jolt;
that you are not who you are
& never were what you thought
—nor what others thought, but
though neither accurate, neither wrong, &
you keep spinning, ever-onward
& backward, and looping around again

—put the jar away, back up high
where it belongs; closed with a cork stopper
or you'll go on like this forever

iii.

wind as company
Caught up in the roar of thoughts
We forget that loneliness

A gentle hum, soft and secure
A wanted retreat from the world

Contented with separation
You've never noticed the audible silence

For how could you ever realize
The wind twirling around you—and enjoy it

This creeping blush
A sensation of true freedom

So much space you realize you can dance
Do what you please and feel

And in this place
Only wind can hear

Spoiler

this one's shorter, but i ran out of energy today so here's a half

iiis. (equivalent to 3 and a half in roman numerals)

forceful flower death
forgotten is the aspect
of time spent alone
when not favored but forced
thrust upon us by blood-weary besiegers
as we thirst for the friendships
that used to sustain us
something never found
after the flowers faded