The only definitive of life.

The only definitive of life I can give is death
to be termed alive
would mean that death is possible
as far as an inanimate object
incapable of death.

Bacteria it isn’t animal like
incapable of thought like you or I
although a complexity of decisions
is plausible
because life knows to grow
and it inherits the ability
to grow
it’s living
because it can reach death
which determines life
which for us
it triggers morality
because we debate life
although we know if it’s killing us
it must die.

An unborn life
in a womb
is capable of death
which in terms it is living
rather we wrestle within the thought
of which life
shall stride on
if it is unable to survive
outside of its incubator
then why do we struggle
with the morality
it is life
it is alive
only in the womb
do we neglect the incubator
as if it is only a box of warmth
rather than flesh itself?

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

The struggle of thought.

I can be within a thought
that every moment is intense
and each should be cherished
then within the moment after
I drift within the pointlessness
the struggle of thought
of the ability to think
are thoughts more valuable then others?

Do other animals think
or is the capability of thought
regulated to humans
does that mean we are the most intelligent
or is thought itself what destroys us
hyperventilating at the thought of morals
hurting feelings
hurting within myself
hurting the animals scattered about
do they feel the pain
as my feet crush upon their bodies
a simple blip to me
I wonder do they have thoughts?

Are my thoughts that of intelligence
are they weakness
are they strength
I feel rather weak
as my heart hurts
and my lungs struggle to take in air
all the pressure
all the struggles of life
I think it
I struggle to understand it
I keep living
because the idea of nothing
is terrifying.

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

I think

I think.
Every second is a thought,
every moment is many.
I’m changing within each hour
because these thoughts are bulky
erupting within my mind.
My views they start over
every time another speaks.
I must rethink,
try again.
Trying to be polite
as I rarely understand
rarely grasp
what the many say.
I listen
I interrupt
because I need to speak
before I forget.

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

I am guilt.

I know I live within complaint
my mind cannot understand
what others see
what others hear
what others respond to
and it sends you within shut down
you don’t want to hear it
you’re not one
to drown within a puddle of thoughts
you’re not one to fill with the angst of another
you’re stronger
more secure
I am guilt
that’s all I’ve ever been
all I’ve felt
weak, sad
filling of guilt
for what I cannot control
dripping of tears
for what I cannot control
their opinions are
and mine remain the same
often doused of theirs
if I lit a match
it’d go up in smoke
and I’d be left
wallowing there
feeling the pain
of burnt flesh
you’d dust of your skin
and grow again
I am not strong
I feel it all
my brain absorbs it
and I struggle
because I cannot stop it
all of it
all of the societal problems
created by humans
by myself
by all of us
I cannot stop it
and that in itself
is what holds me down.

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

New is a longing.

Will it ever be
as I want it to be?
Each word shitter
than the last
and I’m stuck
new ideas
never finished
left partially executed
slipping out of the brain
the pages not empty
although the words
re-read come out pointless
new is a longing
in which keeps me deleting
switching because
different is a difficulty
in which I’m trying
and I’m feeling is impossible
and I can’t settle for the same
only twisted bits
I’m looking
for entirely new
and I’m not sure
if I can.

I’ve been trying to work on a story recently in which I’ve changed the main characters many times and switched concepts entirely many times as well. I have this need to make something new, something that hasn’t been done. I just feel like that’s the only accomplishment I’m looking for at this point. As far as writing goes. Being an accomplished successful writer in which my words reach vase audiences would be great although at this point it’s not what would make me feel complete. It’s a struggle I have in which I’m tired of reading the same words in books, and watching them play out as movies. I want a new thought to read and take in and give out. I wonder if anyone else feels that way as a writer? Or just an avid reader, in which they’re just looking for something new that feels impossible in this age of technology? In this world of many movies and many books. Its a struggle to find a new thought and it stops me from completing anything. Thanks for reading my rambles.
-Temperamentally Tina

We’re stopping here.

We’re walking backwards
stopping at a stand
we bow to the worst of ourselves
the worst of our past
the worst of those
that already hit death
we’re becoming them
reliving their hate
clothing ourselves in their fear
we’re stopping here
and I have no explanation
as to why?

Why can’t we accept a newness
why can’t we live in a world that is ours
and why can’t we rid ourselves of generational hate?
Why can’t we
all of us
any of us
accept each other?
Why can’t we accept who is already here
help those now
and stop damning them
for specs
that may or may not
be life anyways.
Why can’t we live for this
for each other
and why can’t we congratulate
and thank each other?
Why do we always look up
thanking a clouded sky?

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

Hard work matters.

I don’t think kindly
I often fill of insults
and cruel attitudes
towards appearance
and body positivity
drives me crazy
because hard work matters
and tending to
your first and foremost home
is of importance.
Your brain resides within your body
and it is who you are
and if you neglect the shell
that contains that very part of you
how shall I trust?
How shall I listen?
When you insult me
and give me strategy
if you yourself
haven’t tended
to that very piece
you take everywhere
your body?

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

Can’t explain itself.

Everything in,
everything out.
The body is feeling.
The brain is taking in,
the brain is putting out.
A response to the environment.
Can the body relax?
No it can’t,
now always
not every time.
There are many words,
many thoughts
and the still the brain
can’t explain.
It can’t tell the body why,
why it feels the stress.
It’s overwhelmed
and can’t explain itself.

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

Larger we must gain.

Life shall be large
and homes forever larger
expanding with each breath
larger we must gain.

Our time it slips
and dies
encased within the work
we must put in
and more we must
without enough
we cannot collect
the interest is minimal
when your low.

I don’t want your hopes
I don’t want what I’ve read
I don’t want what I’ve watched
everything is often larger
larger still
their houses
and their bodies.

There are movements now
fighting for over consumption
and I’m screaming here
underneath all the fat
and the scraps of the buildings
falling down
they’re given it away
because they want more now
always more
and still
they do not feel complete
because their brains have been fed
and fed more.

All they know
is that they must take
and take more
and do and have more
and then they die
and their children
they live the same.

They speak
nobody wants to work
and here’s a reminder to you
cleaning your home
taking care of the kids
cooking the meals you consume
the workers you pay
they work
and they work more
and they mustn’t be paid
a match to you
simply because
how else would you be rich?

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

I have thoughts
I believe to be my own
going back through conversations
whom said it first,
me or you?

Are we all tied up together
speaking words
writing them down
trying to understand
reading through research
I’ve been told the resolve
yet I’m now curious on how
what it felt to find
what it felt to live through.

The terror of deaths
the uncertainty of how
of what led to that moment
now knowing the answers
and now
I’m never knowing those moments
or the how of it all.

We have all this knowledge
and a curiosity inside us
left to die unfilled
because the research we’ve read
the problems solved
we always have more
yet I want to know the past of it all
how the answers to everything
rather than all this knowledge
dying within my brain
to much to learn
to much I’ve heard
to much I’ve read
and I’ve never been a part
in which I’ve lost
the magic of it all
because I know the science
because I know the research
because I’ve been told what
even if I’ve never been a part of how.

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina