Curiosities - Pretentious & Undeserved

I often kill my curiosities in the real world, therefore I pretend to be more real on a virtual platform, no matter how fake it all could get. - misleading though, I dream of some often & wonder how real it could get. I wish, I could, be more open, straight forward in approach, at least, there would be a yes or a no, and no hung midway. Why hidden agendas - why this falsehood? I at times feel so bulldozed deep inside, failing to understand how joyful my inner being would be, if only I could be the same in the outer-skirts(inside-out) of my "that is who I am - that is exactly what I want" living like. My eyes cant drool over what I want to see or stare at, My lips can't speak what they want to, my action oriented being, cant even perform to the fullest of how & what it feels like - when I want to. I so wish, I could detach those strings attached, & do things, the way how I forever wanted to. No matter how, they sounded - whether sober sorted or mischievously-insane crafted(self-drfated). There was so much to the core that existed. Yes, I was only to a limit bothered about those freaks, who would tag me with labels, or call me weird, insane and a psycho-neurotic. They could go about doing that, crossing there limits, if that made them happy, I was no way going to stop them or make them understand or give explanations or either have their self opinionated ones. My question was ‘Why was I put to limits?, why couldn't I? Why do I have to be restrictive? World goes gaga hiding-riding(wearing masks) on to there self-acclaimed abbreviated knowledge of pretentiously deceiving horses (nuances of a self proclaimed deemed fit aspirations) fleeing to there pieces of desirous of bits. How dare could they even call me a culprit, blaming me for anything or mock upon my existence, when I was not even closer to there shameless self-centred lame-fame acts of framing in the ridicule by hook or crook. These psycho socio gender biased ignorant fools, irrespective of color, creed and sex, will never outgrow there limited peculiarity or be over with the ill odds of wrongly believing what was good for them and bad or wrong for others. We could have a long discussion about the "in all but name” world, no matter of how high intellect or low erratic scribbles. But we still fail to look into the eyes and speak our hearts out pouring it all down on face. We are stingy when it gets to the hearing part, and all that is said and told, seems to be so irrelevantly fake on the contrary, provided there was this knowing inside-out with unconditional appreciation in approach, welcoming everything and anything and sharing that underwent a parallel, in contrast realm of verbal intercourse. I hide my covetousness, disguised. I turn my blush into a sober smile and stay mum, pause and stop reacting, not uttering anything that would go against me. I am so piled up with everything else, which is not me. I sometimes fall in for a refuge underneath a lonely strangled stranger, but fail to understand - how could a soul be so indifferent to the other in real. Often scared or afraid of people, who could underestimate or misjudge us wrongly, It often gets simplified or worthy talking & sharing to someone who could really understand or at least reciprocate well. It could be someone you know or a complete stranger. One could get curious & feel as if they were meant(destined) to have this conversation, which always existed in layers(from long)upon but never spoken about. It seldom comes to us as a rescue, but not often, when we least expect. The hollowness that surrounds, differentiating the true and untrue (what to be told & what not) hangs on the circumferential diameters of a radius in bits & pieces of known,-unknown, presumed-assumed or judged, pretentious(fabricated) or real, comfortingly-discomforting and so on. You don't need to have a real conversation at times, when you could read minds, and understand hearts, but blindfolded with the realization that only selfless could relate and bond well. The known are either to busy, or they no longer have to do anything with the knowing anymore - its no more the same with them. Since we pretend to know all and vice versa, there seems no fun knowing anymore, and we put our knowing on a halt and move on to the less known - who don't always promise a fruitful end result. We are in a constantly revolving around in circles, trying to settle down to what’s being served, instead of what we want, and just about when we are bored of it, we make ourselves (with a newer revised version) available in order to find someone deserving who could once and for all be more then willing to understand without any alterations & not having to undergo a series of stereotype pauses, rewinds, forwards, plays in loops. The stigma complexes the very existence. We tend to live in a falsified mimicry, disguising ourselves away from what we really are in origin, draining everything, that could possibly have minted in some joy and value to a less deprived soul. If at all there was compassion & understanding to our actions-enacted upon with ease - worrying nothing & doing everything. My curiosities are often misunderstood and wrongly judged by the plenteously undeserved, & it wont make me sad If I were to take them(buried) with me to the grave. - Anonymous