Saturday, May 11, 2013

Poem: Fragile

Original Date: 5/11/13
I wrote this because of- everybody.


Society is breaking,
From the fingertips we are not whole,
But shells of irrelevant.
We are destitute of everything.

All disillusions are ends
To the strings we tied,
To the messes we made,
To the love we lost.

How long will it take,
To be whole again,
Solely oneself,
And not completely alone.

From these dead ends,
Do I falter and become
Worse. I was one,
All along that ruined

Completely everything.

Wednesday, May 1, 2013

Short: New Paint Set

A metaphor about friendship.
Originally written: November 12th, 2012

The New Paint Set

Today I bought a different paint set. This one, was more oblong and was in wooden casing with a leather clasp. The rich color of the casing had always looked inviting, my memories had been eyeing it in the store for a while now, its unfamiliarity calling my name. Inside the case, it was lined with black and had an intriguing variety of colors that my previous set had never been so privy to have. These new colors were so bright, so welcoming but so different seeing as they were a completely different brand of paint than I usually stick to. My first instinct, like many others, was to be cautious of this new opportunity. Don’t take it for granted. It had only dawned on me that the foolishness of buying the same paint set for the last 7 years unavoidably showed my own stubborn and obedient ways. Why buy the same set over and over if their were better things out there? Yes, buying what I knew worked was easy and no doubt in my comfort zone. What was new though, was something exciting entirely. Leaving behind the old set was a conflict of emotions, to say the least.
Me and the old paint set- we had some good, though melancholy , times. You gave me that paint set, do you remember (this isn’t about you)? The old set was so dismally heavy. It was often awkward, abundant in its ways of tormenting my ever-thinking mind. No- we never fit quite perfectly together, though I times I thought we did. Outwardly I knew all the imperfections and often unjust ways of the set. When opened, it often made a loud creaking sound noticeable to any within the general area. It was as if it was being protested against it’s own use. “No, please, I only hurt more than I help”. But day after day I continued into that downward spiral that was really only hurting myself. This often made me wonder if you even wanted to be seen in public with me (you were just too cool). Yes the paint was wonderful at first, the colors so vivid and beautiful....I thought, what could be better than this? However, over time paint can get old, especially if exposed it can become dry and cracked. Broken.
From one artist to another, you hurt me too.

Short: E.R

A short(maybe?) About a world where people drink for clarity and those who don't drink are perpetually drunk.
Originally Written: 4/26/13

Chapter one:

The room was spinning. A plethora of colors swirled around the room as it was full of an ominous laughter. There were two types of people. The drunk and the sober. The  ones who face reality and the ones who can’t possibly imagine living in it.

Montgomery observed all of this, noted that there was not many people sober tonight, which was unusual for a Friday. He eyes stopped on Elliot Woods, sitting in the corner of the bar slumped over with his head in between his knees. His leg was shaking constantly, as if it was ready to start a race. The raven black hair crowed his face, making his eyes not visible, though his mouth was moving. Montgomery craned his neck sides to see if he was talking to someone, his view obscured by the myriad of people crossing in front him. Giving the allusion that Elliot was a candle, flickering in the irrelevant room.

He began to move towards him when a hand clasped his shoulder, the fingers digging in, forcing him to turn around. He half expected to have some words thrown nastily at him but instead saw a familiar crooked smile. That smile knew everything he was planning to do in that second.

Letters to C

An ongoing letter-diary thing I write to someone I once knew.
Originally Written: 5/1/13


Sometimes I wonder if I overplayed our friendship. As in, I make it more than it was. Because I want to feel hurt. I want you to be wrong. Ultimately I know I blamed everything on me, but, somewhere, down there, I want you to be in the wrong. You hurt me, the end. I suppose it’s just because it is so much easier to superimpose that there was more than there really was.
I think about it often, that you were the one I told everything to. But I didn’t. I didn’t tell you anything about my dad or my anxiety and how it made me sick when I was young. Perhaps this idea- was really more in a form of nakedness in the mind. You were the one person I never felt like I had to be anything with. So in that way, I was completely myself. You were also the first major best friend I had had. Sure, I had friends in elementary but it was different this time around.
But, were you really that special? I think perhaps I regard you this highly is not so much for the fact that you were specifically were special- it was the fact that you made me feel special, appreciated and wanted. At least- in the first part of our friendship. You constantly told my how I was one of the smartest, most unique tastes in music and most interesting person you knew. You especially told these to me when I was down, when I confessed I wasn’t doing great…etc. Is that why you’re special? Because I told you that things were bad? Sure I didn’t go into the details but you were the only friend I told. Besides A- she doesn’t count.
 Everybody wants to feel wanted; they want to know someone out there would be worse off without them. Different, special, whatever you want to call it. It fills that hole inside us that constantly tells us we need to belong somewhere. You made me into that monster that craved that (Was it your or was it me?). Ever since, the hole has gotten bigger. Once you know what you could have, having less feels so much more worse.

I hope you are well.
I hope you are getting your GED.
I hope you found someone else to care about.

Saturday, July 7, 2012

I don't need to be saved.

It's been a while, sorry bout' that.

I just feel like a stranger everywhere. In my own skin, my own mind. My bed isn't my own, shit- this blog doesn't even feel like it belongs to me.

I just want this all to end. I want to be loved, you don't know how badly I want to be loved by myself.

My mind just isn't shutting off. nothing.Meaningless.emptiness.pointless.obsolete.

Over and over and over.