Moments

     Everybody dreams of making that one moment in their life special and for everybody it's the same exact moment. Very few things in life are truly once in a lifetime, marriages come and go, most people have more than one kid, but everybody only has one first time. Some wait for what seems like a life time and others have little self-control. You spend what seems like an exorbitant amount of time trying to figure out what the perfect special moment should be like, or at least I did.
      What people don't tell you is that more often than not that first time is a let-down. You can build it up in your head all along, but as with most things in life if you don't have any first-hand, no pun intended, experience then it's just a lot of awkward fumbling around. I was lucky enough to experience my first time with someone I knew and liked, but having only chick flicks and adult movies for guides I was ill prepared. The 'talk' only gets you so far, you know?
      Erin, my partner for lack of a better word, seemed like a safe choice. Wording it like that makes it seem like I had a line to choose from, I didn't and the fact that Erin wanted to was a miracle itself. Her bob-cut red hair and lower-lip piercing was enough to at least let my fantasies make it dangerous and exciting, but really we were just average 16 year old kids not the drugged-up sex symbols of movies. I really thought Erin was beautiful, even had delusions of marriage but I have been prone to wild fantasies. In any case, we have been friends since about 3rd grade and I had been stuck in the friend-zone since then.
     I watched from the sidelines as she and other friends who happened to be girls of mine dated guys  and had their fun. Erin and I had actually dated for a brief time when we were little, but it hardly counted for anything. I suppose that didn't help any fantasies I had about her. She was my first everything: girlfriend, kiss, break-up, everything. We were young enough though that the break-up meant nothing and I guess I'm thankful for that, but sometimes it's better to just be set free. Now, don't get me wrong I don't want to lose her but it doesn't help still being attached either. All things considered she's like an infected limb, you want to keep everything attached, but somethings are better gone.
     Years passed in the friend-zone and things were influx with Erin. I still loved her and she still sort of acknowledged my presence. We hung out less and less, eventually we divulged into flaking on plans with each other as she either went off with the new flavor of the week or I just wanted to avoid heartache for once. She had a revolving door of guys it seemed and I had maybe one or two other interests that flamed out pretty quick. I've been told I'm too picky or have too high of standards, but that's all beside the point.
     After we both settled at what seemed a comfortable distance away from each other it seemed OK. I gave up on texting and my phone remained silent. I didn't like texting anyways, but it had been the only way to communicate with Erin and when she was gone so was texting. And that's the way it stayed for awhile, we were content or at least I was.
     "I miss you Finn" she texted.
     "Uhh...hello to you too." I texted back, I was even awkward in my texts.
     "Can I call you?"
     "Sure, I guess."
     When the phone rang, my heart still jumped even though I knew it was coming. I was nervous, I hadn't seen her or heard her voice in months. The ringtone played What a Wonderful World by Louis Armstrong which was an inside joke of ours. It was picked because we thought we were being clever and deep because the world isn't all that wonderful. It was our naive attempt at irony. I hesitated and let it ring, can't seem too desperate now I said inside my head.
      "Hey" with both exchange, the awkwardness was palpable.
      "I um...I know you're a..." she stumbled over the words.
      "Yeah, you're point?" I didn't want to hear the word myself, but I knew what she meant. It was her and the school's main teasing point against me.
      "Can I come over?" I could almost hear her smirk.
      I nodded and after a second of silence realized I was an idiot and responded, "Yeah I guess so." and hung up.
      I should have timed how long it took her to come over, but it felt like she was teasing me. I half expected there to just be a group of people waiting to point and laugh when I opened that door. Now that she was coming over I began to feel intimidated by her. Erin had done this before, I had only thought about it and now the hour was upon us all. The next few moments after her arrival all blur together as it seems like we took a marathon sprint back to my room.
     When we undressed there was an tense moment of silence between us, as if neither of us expected this to be real. She held a coy smirk, but when I finally met her eyes something was off. We knew what we were about to do, but I think the past history between us sort of shattered a veil of innocence between us. In that brief moment we both considered redressing and leaving this reality, but things had gone too far already as before we knew it we were on the bed. As I said the chick flicks and porn left me unprepared and I knew not what I did. My head felt light the entire time and I think the only time I felt fully clear was when she reached back to straighten me out for it. The quick skin-to-skin contact, her against me, snapped me back if only for that moment. I was fully aware of what was happening and there was no turning back. After that it was minutes of grinding, panting, and clumsy hands.
     It was over in what seemed like a standard amount of time, I had no previous data to reconcile this against so finding a standard deviation was a bit hard, again no pun intended. There wasn't a whole lot of talking afterwards, just redressing and avoiding eye contact. I tried to go in for a kiss as I walked her out the door, but I pulled back. It was already weird enough and I didn't want to make it worse.Everything seemed OK after that, Erin and I talked more but never anything more serious. I can't tell if things have been awkward as a result or not, but we both act like nothing has changed. Erin might be embarrassed of how it went down or just not like me anymore, I don't know. It felt nice just to be able to knock that first one out of the way, but I always kind of wish it could have been more planned. It was rushed, uncoordinated, and awkward like most of my life so far.

Confessions

     I don't really know where else to put this, so I figured I'd put it here. I just need a space to vent right now and I feel like Facebook is too public. Also, Youtube would take too much time to do so here it is. I know again I promised I wouldn't use my blog for personal things, but it's been 2 months since I posted a story. I know there aren't many followers or people who care anyways so it never was a big deal. Anyways, I'll get to the my main point here and try to keep the rambling to a minimum.
     There reason I haven't posted, or even written anything of substance, lately is because I think I've slipped into a pretty good depression. I wake up most days just fucking hating myself and feeling like a massive waste of space. I hate the way I look, sound, talk, basically every single aspect of myself I hate. Absolutely fucking hate and it's becoming worse. The worst part? No one knows this until know because I've become so good at hiding things from other people. I've probably hated myself on and off since I was 15 maybe before that. But, I just hide behind a smile and laugh to reassure everything is fine. I've gotten so good at this hiding that I really doubt any of my friends, even close ones like Marcus or Taylor, have any idea the extent of my self-hate. And I don't want help because that means somethings wrong and for whatever reason I can't accept that fact. I know I've admitted I'm a broken and terrible person plenty of times, but I keep convincing myself that I can fix it on my own and when I don't I slip back into this depression. I honestly thought I was OK for awhile, but this semester it's made a return. That's probably because I've had considerably less social interaction and I feed off of that. I try and try to get people to do things with me, but even small things like lunch or hanging out are fucking impossible. So, I sit in my room play video games and contemplate what a piece of shit I am. I don't know if it counts as being suicidal, but constantly I'm thinking about killing myself mainly on the curiosity of what would happen. Would anyone notice? How long would I be missed? That stuff goes through my head constantly.
      Maybe I have put too much stock into what people think of me though, constantly seeking validation from others. The thing is nothing makes me happier to know my friends are doing well and are taken care of. To know that I somehow even in the slightest possible fashion is all I want out of life. I couldn't care less about money, fame, recognition, any of that. So long as I know somebody is laughing because of me is really all that matters....and I haven't gotten that lately. I'm sure you are all thinking "well then go be around people." I WISH IT WERE THAT FUCKING EASY. You have no idea how much I wish I was bold enough to just go places and hang out with people, but I've been hurt and I've seen friends pull away, or at least that's what it feels like this semester. I'm scared this cycle is going to happen again, I'll find a nice group of friends and it will be cool for a few months. After that they all hang out and don't invite me anymore. I'm fucking terrified of abandonment, it probably exceeds my fear of spiders. And that's what I feel this semester, abandoned. I know I'm super busy, but nobody ever texts me or anything trying to hang out. If you want to I'll make fucking time. I just feel useless, unloved, abandoned, and worthless.
     I know through writing this only a handful of people are going to read it and even fewer are going to care. I also know that those that do will get the standard "it's fine I just needed to vent for a minute" response from me as I close myself off. To those few of you (and you know who you are) that I've opened up to know just how hard that was for me. Also everyone reading this, know how hard it was for me to write this. I'm in tears because this is a huge burden that I'm finally putting out there. I know it won't go away, I'll wake up tomorrow morning thinking about the same things. How much I suck as a person and how little I would be missed. I don't even know how to end this post......I know I should be seeking help or something....I don't know what I fucking need anymore. I just need some respite from everything. As childish or girlish as it sounds I just need someone to hold me and promise me it's OK. That's what I want and it's the most cliched thing ever, but it's what I need. Solace....
   

Kintsukuroi

     Ally was a typical, average, American girl or at least she appeared so on the surface. At only 17 she had some academic achievements and a handful of friends, one could say she was pretty well off for her age. For all intents and purposes she was doing quite well entering into her senior year. She already had a school or two in mind for college so she could continue her softball career. However, that's a year away and her junior year just ended so Ally has plenty of time to think about all of that.
      For the time being she was perfectly content to text friends for long hours and spend time at parties and social events. She'd get gussied up and head out, not to return for a couple hours, usually long past midnight. This was all to her parents discontent, but she made up for it by keeping her grades good and earning a few scholarships for herself already. A place here and a place there have already offered some sports based ones and others academic ones. Frankly for a 17-year-old girl, Ally Winsor had life pretty much figured out for now at least.
      "Heyyyyy gurl :)" read the obnoxiously written text of a teenage girl, Emilee.
      "Hay wuts up" she responded, the bright light of the screen burning her retinas in the dark.
      The conversation went back and forth with the general chatter that consumes kids these days. There was gossip, relationships, and whatever else makes high school interesting. The conversation skipped around from topic to topic with very little coherence. After 30 or so texts back and forth the conversation reached the point that it was started for. Emilee had heard from Beth who had heard from Ryan that there was a party happening at Anthony's house while his parents were out of town. Ally may have been a straight-A student, but that didn't mean she was above teenage vices. In a short time Ally was dressed and meeting Emilee outside her fence in the backyard.
     The girls giggled as they held hands and took off into the night. In 20 minutes they had finally arrived and they smiled as they readjusted each others outfits from the walk. Once everything was settled Emilee and Ally split up in search of their boy for the night. It was easily to get lost inside the small house with everybody crammed inside. Ally lost sight of Emilee soon after the split and for the first time she felt nervous, even if only slightly. Neither of them really knew Anthony all that well and this party seemed more crowded than usual, and with older people too. She stood towards the back of what she assumed was the dining room and fidgeted with her skirt. For whatever reason that nervous feeling kept nagging at the back of her mind and she grew uncomfortable. Ally began to scan around hoping to catch Emilee before it got too late.
     "Hey, you feeling all right?" An unfamiliar man stood in front of Ally.
     She looked up, a bit confused at first, but that soon faded when she examined his face. His slightly tanned skin and coy grin looked a bit off in the low light of the house, but it gave enough light so that Ally locked into his eyes. They were a color that seemed just to dark to be green, but held a familiar look that made it feel like she'd known him all along.
     "You awake in there?" he gave a light laugh that snapped Ally back.
     "Oh," she laughed in an unconscious response and looked away from him as she tried to hide her embarrassment, "Sorry bit distracted I guess."
     "That's fine," he kept smiling, but his tone shifted lower as if the conversation was supposed to be secret, "I'm Paul by the way."
     "Ally." She replied meekly, looking back up at him again. Paul was the classic definition of handsome: tall, dark colored eyes, straight smile, high cheekbones. In any other instance she would have been in awe that a man such as him was talking to her. She was beautiful herself, but not enough to attract a man who was at least 3 years her senior if not more.
     "So, how old are you Ally? 20? 21?" he asked as he offered her a drink.
     She blushed at the compliment, always thinking herself as mature, and replied, "I'm actually only 17." She took the cup taking a sip.
     "Almost there." He commented softly, low enough that Ally didn't hear, and any question was quickly silenced by the follow-up, "So young, you're parents must be worried." He gave another soft laugh.
     "What they don't know won't hurt them." She replied flashing a coy smile of her own taking another drink.
     "That's the kind of attitude I like." He smiled.
     They talked for a bit, but as the night progressed things began feeling more and more of. Ally started feeling more uncomfortable as Paul's face began looking distorted and blurry. Her head felt like it was in a fog and Paul's actions became increasingly aggressive. As she took steps towards the door he grabbed her hand and began leading her. She was too weak to fight back and too confused and foggy to call for help. To any bystander it looked like a helpful young man leading a drunk girl home.
     The last thing Ally can fully remember was the sounds of doors shutting. Some were from houses and others with from cars. The gaps in between are all a blur of nonsensical noises and colors. She woke up back in her own house somehow trying to piece together what had happened. She was still dressed in her clothes from last night, she patted her pockets and found she had all of her belongings. Nothing seemed out of order, but she felt off. Something was different, but she couldn't figure out what as she held her head in her hands trying to piece it all together. Ally got up in a rush and ran to the bathroom feeling sick. She was disgusted with herself for whatever happened. She put a hand on her counter trying to balance herself and felt something crumple underneath. Her hand shook as she raised it to see what was underneath. In the second it took her mind flashed through every possibility of what it could be, each one avoiding the reality of what it was. She felt sick again falling to her knees as the realization sunk in that she had lost what she could only lose once. Her fantasies of how it would be were gone, there was no longer a chance of a romantic sweeping her off her feet. It would forever be tainted by a smarmy guy she'd never see again.
     For a girl whose worst event in life was the time she broke a nail before prom, her entire life seemed over. She could easily hide it all and no one would know any different, Emilee had left before she did according to texts and no one else there seemed to really know her. She could hide her shame from everyone, but she had to live with it regardless. Whether or not people knew, she was broken, damaged goods. She sat there on the white tiled floor crying as her body slowly contorted into the fetal position. She softly cried trying to hold it back, anything louder might alert her parents and she'd have to explain what was going on. Ally could have stayed in that position for the rest of her life and desperately wanted to.

Scarred and Beautiful

Have you ever taken a moment to sit down and count your scars? See how many you've piled up and begin to rival the stars. Some scars are psychical and obvious while the rest hid underneath as others are oblivious. Not knowing the scars that are hidden down deep inside where most of us would rather let them hide. Because the pain of the scars is often unbearable, but the thought of letting someone else see them isn't comparable. They are like cracks in the foundation, any slight disturbance to these vulnerable spots is chancing devastation. So we cover them with temporary fixes and patches hoping that can prevent anything from that attaches, attaches to the old cuts and bruises getting some sort of satisfaction out of others unfortunate abuses. Whether done by ones own self or another we all have an aggressor, maybe they are big or small but there's always an identifiable transgressor. They might be one or more, and for those with more I truly mourn, because I know the pain of a soul that's poor. A soul that's beaten and battered, one that's been exposed to show off all of it's tatters. A soul that is most likely better off dead, or at least so say the demons in his head. Life is so complicated and impolite that when things get tough, people wonder why even put up a fight? Some call it quits and leave the show early, but others just trudge through life miserable and surly. It's hard for the people who give all of themselves up to another just to watch no one else really give a bother. It's like a person who begs for change only to give it away, while others claim hatred for him every day. The hatred may not be implicit or even said, but it lingers in the thoughts lingering in their head. I've been called immature and naive simply because of the simple truths I believe. Such as: money doesn't matter in reality and that hakuna matata does work in actuality. Everybody thinks that if they can change you they are helping the world along, but really they are just trying to amass followers to prove others wrong. People spend so much time building their fortress of solitude and accruing their negative attitude, hiding behind money and possessions because that's how they prove they won something then. Now I won't lie. I enjoy these things too, but they don't consume what I do. I have to many scars and flaws to care about myself at this point the only real hope I have is trying not to disappoint. I've accepted my fate as a broken and shallow mess and my sins I've a thousand times over confessed. Yet I still feel broken and distorted because others still feel like I could be more contorted, more twisted and rearranged to fit their vision of life that's supposed to work the same for me. A soul is a soul that belongs to one life, trying to force it into another will only cause turmoil and strife. Your life may be broken, tattered. beaten, scarred, and ruined like mine, but also remember that your life is beautiful, amazing, wonderous, and so unexplored that you must allow yourself time. Time to understand that it may not be bright now, but it will be later. Time to understand that life is not easy for the brave and strong nor for the more fainter. Life is a beautiful mess that we've helped to create, but no matter how bad it gets it is always yours to dictate.

Words Unsaid

I know I've said this before, but let me say it again
I often find myself trapped in a world of pretend
Avoiding the realities of what we call life
And trying to forget the tragedy of death that causes strife
Because even after years have passed I cannot distance myself
From the sinking feeling that for some reason I could have helped
Like somehow if I had been right next to that person I could have stopped the pain
It's this sick little fantasy that I have stuck in my brain
Maybe if I was stronger they'd be alive and people wouldn't ever leave my side
I try so hard to prove myself as a mature adult despite acting like a child
Because people are always saying I'm at fault no matter what's transpired
"You should've done this, you could've done that" Is that really where were at?
You say I'm adult and have to be conscious but you treat me like a kid
There has been something wrong in anything I ever did.
It's things like this that test my sanity and fortitude
And push me to thoughts of suicide so I could maybe get some solitude
I know it's not fair to others to end it all so suddenly
But then shouldn't it also be fair to let me be me?
It just feels like I've let you down by making these "adult" decisions
Because they aren't what you expected even if I made them with precision
You think I do things carelessly or recklessly with no care
I do think things over, but I prefer to live now is that so rare?
I have plans for the future and idea of how to get there
But the thing is what if I don't ever leave here?
I know the things I do and say aren't widely supported
But the dangers are far from what's been reported.
Just for once realize that this is my life to live
As for your opinions? I don't have one fuck to give.

Compatible

      Most people live life in a fairly normal, but mundane sort of way. We all have our trials and triumphs, highs and lows, demons lurking within. So on and so forth. For most people hiding the struggles is pretty old hat, we cover ourselves with make-up and false grins to hide the beasts inside of us all. This, however, was not the case for Mark who had a harder time at creating a facade. Through Mark's eyes, everybody including himself looked like the demons they tried so hard to hide. While everyone one else walked around normally observing the world, Mark was faced with reality. Most would think it would be easier to be able to see people's faults, you would know instantly who's being truthful and who you should avoid, but it only made Mark more jaded. We are allowed to hide ourselves and thus grant us the chance to ignore the fact that something is wrong when we are with others. For Mark, these faults were shoved in his face with no hopes of avoiding them. The only interesting part for Mark was observing these demon couples. Each person's demon was unique in almost every way except they all had tails with a sort of misshapen knob on the end for compatibility. We are supposed to "hook up" with people who are compatible and Mark could clearly see when people aren't. He could see the pained looks on their faces even if we couldn't see it in our world. While for most this was just emotional pain it was more for Mark because in his world it was not only emotional but physical. As such, Mark secluded himself from others scared of being hurt again because unlike the thousands of other "grin-and-bear-it"-ers he couldn't. In his own mind he was constantly writhing in pain and in our world it manifested itself in much the same way and most people are only willing to put up with that sort of sight for only so long.
      Mark works in the city office as a clerk which was a fairly easy job, but it didn't help his condition much. He had to interact with people regularly and these people, by Mark's standards. were monsters. There was some morbid satisfaction in the game of "guess how many horns the next one will have", but even that gets boring somehow. It's not a glamorous life, but there's not much more he could do even if he wanted to. He got up, went to work, and went home. He had no other hobbies or interests that he could explore. Well, at least he didn't have any of those things left. Most of the passion left Mark when he became afflicted. The most frustrating part is not knowing why this was happening. It wasn't a gypsy or witch curse and to the best of his knowledge Mark had never stolen any ancient artifacts. The closest explanation he's ever had is a loose connection to his break-up with the most recent ex Erica. A woman he had proposed to on the same night he found out she was cheating on him. Maybe that was the reason because it is close to the beginning of his current state, but it seems to cliche to really be the cause and it was years ago. He still occasionally saw her, in her new form that is, and always felt that tinge of what could have been in his heart.
      Sure, it maybe stupid for Mark to cling to a hope that is pretty much hopeless but that's part of human nature. We are so desperate to find someone that will match up with them. People love to know that their tails are compatible, unfortunately Mark didn't have his special sight with Erica so he never quite new. There have been a few dates since her, but Mark always knew right away that they didn't match up. They stayed together maybe for a few weeks, but it was like trying to force pieces from different puzzles together. And that's where our story is at. Mark trying desperately to make sense of things that will never make sense. And the rest of the world moves along trying to ignore the fact that something may be wrong. The story picks back up with Mark at work as most dull stories begin.
      "Oh hey, Mark. Do you ever get a break?" the woman entered the county office. The woman was Erica and as she appeared to Mark, her fur was quite nice today. A lot better looking than the freaky ones with scales for sure.
      "I guess not." He gave a half-hearted laugh and smile that came off as patronizing, but no one who came in cared enough to be offended.
      "I uh, I just came in to get a marriage license." She nervously avoided the sentence, her tail flicking back and forth.
      "Oh? I didn't even know you were engaged." He tried to hide the resentment with surprise as he shuffled through drawers.
      "Yeah..." she looked down, grinding her feet against the ground like a child being scolded. "We've been together for a few months now."
      "And you're sure this time?" The poison in his words were a bit harder to hide this time.
      "S...sort of. I don't Mark, but I'm 28 I should've been married years ago." She sounded like she was pleading with him.
       "Maybe." He sighed a bit sliding her the papers.
       "Anyways, I...um well it would mean a lot if you showed up Mark. I do wish we could be friends."
       "I'll think about it..." he stared at her blankly, trying to even remember the face that he loved with such a burning hatred.
       When she left, Mark just slumped against the counter. It had been years since he'd seen a human face other than his, so recalling Erica's was virtually impossible. The only thing he could pull out where vague shapes and colors, but nothing definite. He couldn't even remember his family's faces, it was all just blurs. A few days passed before Mark actually received an official address, which after some investigating Mark discovered she got from a mutual friend because Mark never gave it to her. A few more days passed before he reluctantly RSVP'ed with a 'yes' only so he could see if these two actually matched. So, Mark spent the time leading up to the wedding preparing himself. He tried to find old photos of them or at least Erica, just to have a point of reference for the fake compliments he would have to toss her way. However, he had burned them all in one of those drunken fits that usually follow terrible break ups.
      Before he knew it, it was her wedding day and he was getting dressed in his suit and tie. The wedding looked as traditional as could be and was packed full of people that Mark most likely couldn't have identified even if they were human. He smiled a bit seeing the mix of couples, some married with fitting pieces, some just the opposite. Eventually, he took his seat and the ceremony began. As far as a monster couple goes they seemed to compliment each other physically, but that's not what was important. The ever crucial moment when their parts matched up, or at least tried to, was what Mark waited for. But when he got his wish, the disappointment set in as unfortunately for Mark they were a match. So, he politely excused himself and left without her notice. It was bad enough he knew for sure he was wrong so there was no sense in sitting through both of them confess it over and over again.
      The only problem was that wasn't the whole story, but Mark left never knowing the full truth...at least not yet. Erica was planning to apologize to him for everything. One that night, she was fully prepared to say yes and marry him. She felt the same way he felt about her and she felt they would've had a perfect marriage. But like everybody, she had a moment of weakness and doubt. Maybe it was her subconscious desire to have one last partner before she married or maybe it was something else, but it happened and that changed everything. When they broke up both Erica and Mark were devastated, but Erica eventually moved on with her life and as a result her tail end changed which Mark could have never seen. Mark held onto the hurt though and always feared it. So, maybe Erica did cause his affliction in some way. If Mark could know that they were destined for each other from the start the fear would be gone right? That's not how love works and Mark never learned that. Sometimes two people will just never match up, but what he didn't know about those that did had molded to each other. Love wasn't about getting it right right away, but about learning and changing with that person and bonding. It wasn't as simple as putting puzzles together, it was more like bonding metals. He could never fully look past the monstrous hides that he was stuck in this loop. So, while we ignore the bad and try to focus on the good Mark was stuck in an opposite reality.

Finale.

I'll admit when I was younger I was a lot more arrogant and I had no idea what the full scope of God meant. So for awhile there I guess I qualified as what we'd call an atheist. I won't go into all of the details, just the gist. I was selfish and prideful and of others I wasn't very mindful. It sounds arrogant to say, but I was too smart and just got in my own way. I was still kind of awkward and nerdy, but I learned how to hide it and settled down into mild popularity. Not nearly the coolest guy in school, and I didn't look all that great at the pool, that's a body issue joke if you don't get it, don't worry I just thought I should fill you in a bit. I had a small group of friends like I always did and behind this cocky bravado I hid. Anything you see today is a shell meant to keep up appearances but back then it was a lot of who I really was. This undeservedly self-centered narcissistic mess of a man, the type of person you never want to be again. It didn't take much get me back on track, just one good reality check. In the middle of pompous act and inflated head I received a call telling me my grandpa was dead. Needless to say, I sunk pretty quick in an almost violent way. I went from laugh and smiles, to travelling hundreds of miles. A few hundred miles in a somber airplane stuck in a melancholy that didn't wane. It's hard to explain my feelings at that time, maybe because at that time I had absolutely zero thoughts running through my mind. Fast forward a few weeks ahead, when the funeral was over and I regretfully accepted the fact he was dead. Most people in times of crisis throw their hands up in the air and ask "God how could you do this?" I was too numb to ask why and the answer I probably couldn't comprehend, but as I've learned now his plans work out in the end. I started attending more Christian events, but never really listened to the message. It still seemed so artificial and I never thought I'd have that moment where you feel breathless. I don't remember the date, but I remember the sensation, knees shaking so hard with trepidation. I didn't understand what was going on, but for some reason the trembling felt everything but wrong. I broke down on the spot, flooded by the images of who I'd been and the messages from my grandpa I'd forgot. I recommitted then and several times afterwards because I always felt I'd come up short and could never apologize with words. I felt compelled to continually recommit until something in my mind would finally stick. It's starting to stick now and I thank you all for your patience, this ride has been intense. The most exciting part is that it's not done yet, God has even more in store I bet.

Uh...Yeah

I've kind of run out of things to say, but it was bound to happen writing every single day. All that typing can be tough on the brain, and constrain rhyming is such a pain. This is a lot harder than it looks really, I mean by now my rhymes are just silly. Words pulled randomly out of a thesaurus trying to find something that works with that and this. Seriously did you just read that last line? I'm pulling things out of thin air and I think I'm going out of my mind. Oh Lord, please help me I think I'm losing it. Can I please just take a break for a bit? No? Oh...Well I guess I have to keep going but it looks like my pace is dangerously slowing. Not quite sure I'm going to be able to keep up the writing, or at least keep up the quality seems to be satisfying. I don't know why, but I guess people like it. That's hard to imagine when I'm trying to get inspiration out of clouds in the sky. Maybe I can write something about a cute little bunny, oh would that just be so adorably funny? No, no that just won't do....Oh God what am I supposed to do? People think it's easy being a writer, just sit down and start typing, well you couldn't be wronger. Yes I know, wronger isn't a word, this isn't my first trip around the block or haven't you heard? Well I guess it'd be more of "haven't you seen?" anyways just scroll down and look at your computer or phone screen. I've been writing a lot lately, but the rhyming is getting a bit more crazy. So that was a long explanation you and I probably lost you back there so let's start over, I just wanted to justify saying wronger. And OK so we aren't starting over, more just getting back on point, but arguing over these semantics is really beside the point. Now I'm just rambling I think I lost the point I was trying to make, oh well there's nothing really at stake. Just know if you know a writer or poet they work harder than you think. Well, I think I'll just end here, this piece kind of stinks.

Smiling in Sadness

I was driving alone in my car, with the music up I looked at my arm and could visualize the scars. I've never gone so far as to actually draw blood, but I can see all the tally marks working against the good. They count up my mistakes and transgressions, continuing on without regression. Every lie I've told, every friend I've mislead are burned into my mind and will be till I'm old and dead. It's this that pushes me so close to the edge, suicide seems like the only way to escape the things in my own head. I've talked about these demons before, but I really don't think people know how close I am to knocking on that door. Maybe I've perfected that smile that tells everyone I'm just fine, maybe I've built up a big enough wall to finally hide behind. Or maybe people just don't care...I know saying that doesn't sound fair, but think about it from my position if you dare. Imagine watching friends talk about things without you, and there's nothing you can do. No one takes the time to know you, so you just hide it all away as if you some how knew. Somehow knew no one would dare get close to the kid who's constantly thinking in prose. Living a life built of different faces and facades, praying to God you remembered to put the right one on. Am I supposed to be witty with her or sarcastic with him? I'm never quite sure, never quite sure who I am supposed to be because I've never been able to fully define me. I wanted so desperately to fit in, I created multiple me's so which one's the real me? I don't know where to even begin. So the scars on my arm pile up fast because I constantly forget which role I'm cast. I think the main problem is that I've committed too much time to loving everyone else, which sounds nice but I've left none for myself. I'm a constant well of self-pity and hate and nothing that I ever do will be that great. I could win an Oscar or Pulitzer prize, but none of that ever give me the satisfaction of being fully satisfied. For me life isn't about money or accolades, with all this self-hate I could never even accept the praise. I simply want to live life a full and free, finally about to find out who is me. That'll never happen though, I harbor these thoughts of quiet suicide that never seem to go. I even display my feelings right out here in the open, somebody is surely there to help...at least that's what I'm hoping. Sometimes I do wonder how long with the pain linger if I was to up and go? Would anyone even let it show? In the grand scheme of things my life, and even yours, are so inconsequential we might as make our exit a show. Something to be remembered and felt, for better or worse, but these are all just thoughts of course. I'd never do anything, just have sobering thoughts once and awhile, but I'll be all right....just trust the smile.

Choices

Life is always full of choices and when it comes to decisions you can hear thousands of voices. All vying to be heard and considered, hoping that maybe for once their answer will be delivered. But sometimes it all comes down to you and there's nothing else another person can do. You are left alone to your own devices, and hopefully you can sift through all the vices. Sometimes it's about professional or business things, but I think more often than not it's about relational things. Do I really love this person or am I just in love with a romanticized version? You see this problem currently afflicts my world because I'm torn between the choice of two different girls. Do I pick the one I think is the one or do I break from routine and do something I've never done? It's quite a problem trying to decide, especially when there's nothing I can hide behind. One girl I've known for a few years and through it all, yeah we've shared some tears. Frustration always comes when you're together, but I always knew it gets better. It's hard to forget someone you loved so dearly, but some distance has let me see a bit more clearly. I do still love her, but maybe she's not right for me, then again maybe she is and just can't see. Then there's the other girl, who's a bit newer to me, but that;s just how things tend to be. Things seem more enticing when they are knew, but when it comes to my affections, if she only knew. You see this impasse comes because I'm the type of guy who has this crippling affliction of being too shy. I freeze with fear at the thought of making a move, because it seems like there's so much too lose. I know in reality it isn't true, but it still seems likes nothing feels right to do. If I chose one will I lose the other? Which is a stupid question because I doubt they even know each other. Yet despite all of these things I've said, instead of asking I'd rather just be dead. That's how deep this fear runs, when presented with two choices I can't even choose one. So, that's the spot I'm currently at, two girls I have clear affections for, but there's nothing I can do about that. It's easy for people just to say "man up and ask", but for a guy like me that's not such an easy task. I have a feeling these women already know who the are, but as for this thing it won't go far. Because no one ever got a date from writing some stupid poem, but at least it's now in the open.

So Long Farewell

I'll be honest this is something I really don't want to say, because I honestly thought I'd never have to face this day. I think the odd thing is that this day comes four years after the fact, but that's only because I never knew how to say all of this crap. I say crap because after everything, I really don't feel my words mean a damned thing. You were my mentor, my role model, the type of man I'm becoming and want to become, you set for me the example. Of being more than just there, you made it a point to show and make us believe you cared. Never with grand gestures full of amazement and wonder, but with little things over and over again I can't even count the number. Because you showed me that love is more than monetary gains and you gave me the strength of shouldering your pain. Not because you bottled it away, but because there were kids that wanted to play. You taught me that it doesn't matter the cost to you, so long as that you always come through. I was never told these lessons directly, but I soaked it all in watching you intently. I inherited the values I hold so dear and through you I've made my ambitions clear. We always complain people go before their time and this is no different, but life has it's reasons and this is no different. It still hurts knowing your gone, but I'm embodying those messages and moving along. You wouldn't want us to dwell on it anyways, but like I said it's never easy to fully part ways. I hadn't until now, honestly I had still been holding onto a shred of hope you'd comeback so how. But that's the dreamer in me, wishing life wasn't always what it had to be. I still don't know if this will ever be truly OK, but I feel I needed to say it some day. So goodbye Grandpa and thanks for all you've done. I don't really know what else to say, I know I'll see you again some day. And when that time finally rolls in, I'll get to say hello again.

Deathly Troubled

Let's take a minute to talk about something that's real, something that we, every day, all feel. Let's take a moment and expose our fears. Forget about the simple things like bugs and things that go bump in the night, I want to talk about things that are never quite all right. Some of us are afraid of dying or having a loved one die, but all I ask is why? If we believe in a higher power, something up above, then shouldn't death be something we embrace like those we love? I know this is getting a bit macabre, but to me it seems like people are reluctant to meet God. When someone finally goes "it was their time", but when ours comes around we plead to anyone who will listen, "it's not mine!" Clinging so desperately to our fragile frame of existence, we live a safe life free from any experience. Choose the path of a lonely life, with a steady job, maybe even kids and a wife. A life that was never worth living because it wasn't life at all, when it came to choosing something to do you dropped the ball. Stayed home instead of taking that trip or maybe there was something else that through your hands you let slip. Sitting around fearing the inevitability of death, but if it's so unavoidable why do we give it such a wide breadth? Now I'm not saying that we should go out and do drugs because YOLO, I guess what I'm getting at is just give life a go. It gets tiring to hear people complain they are bored and restless, when it's their own fault for being content and listless. Meandering to and fro with no direction of where to go, and no clue on how to take a chance, I bet they can't even remember the last time they danced. So content in the safe little cocoon, built up around them like an overblown balloon. Bumping into everyone else's little bubble, sometimes I get the urge to pop some and cause a bit of trouble. Watch their faces as they are hit with a bit of reality thanks to my chaotic insanity. Life in a bubble isn't life at all, it's worse than life in a pokeball. At least then you have a purpose, maybe an HM 01, sorry did I lose some people when I cut that one? Some of us strive to be the very best, while some of us never even show up to take the test. So think about your life for a second and the bubble you're in. Take a moment or two then give me a call, I'm always free to do some poppin.

Love is Broken

Have you ever loved someone in such a way that you can feel them against you even when they are so far away? Loved someone so deeply that sometimes their face is all you can see? I've already stated that I'm choc full of cliches and have accepted that everything I say is so passe, but I don't really care OK? Love is something I, for lack of a better word, love. I love love more than the earth below and sky above, could I make it any clearer? It's what makes you nervous whenever you're near her and it's what drives you to do idiotic things to impress or please her. Sometimes you're stuck between two loves and can't choose, you can't have both and with either one there's something to lose. Maybe a friendship will end or some people feel burned, but love is never easy but somethings just have to bend. Love isn't always accepted, we scorn those who love differently from us or those who have taken something from us, like their happiness is somehow to blame for our lack thereof, now that's not just. Just because you're sad and let it slip away doesn't mean another's love should also decay. We cling so desperately to things that aren't ours, and long for something carnal we can devour. Because we've somehow confused the emotion with the physical attraction. We speed things up then try to slow them down, in hopes that we can finally keep someone around. It's taken in all the wrong shapes and forms, people trying to control something that's out of the norm. Love shouldn't be a frequent feeling, love is delicate and fleeting, sensitive to the heart's quiet beating. So when two meet and synchronize, it's that cheesy gleam you see in their eyes. We're all broken and searching for our other half, but we want someone perfect or someone we can't have. But it's not about finding that one perfect girl, it's about finding the one that removes you from the world. Takes you away from everything that's cynical and jaded, removes those feelings of bitterness and hatred. It's about finding that person who takes you as a broken mess and knows in her heart that this is you at your very best.

Sleep Soundly

Another sun rises in the sky

And I turn over, content to let it pass by

Ready to stay in and sleep through it all

Shut off the phone because I won't take a call.

Deciding it's OK to take a day off what will I miss?

With all the shit happening I don't really want to see this.

Maybe if I just shut my eyes tight

Everything will at the very least appear all right.

Because I'm sick of all the tragedies

I'm sick of always waking up to new travesties.

I just want to stay asleep until it's all gone,

Hide away and hope it's all said and done.

But that will never happen so long as we are human

Because it is in our nature to do this again.

Build Hearts From Stars

Sometime's late at night I just like to watch the stars and use their light to illuminate the scars. Just gazing into that deep dark abyss, thinking about life I've come to the simple conclusion that there's got to be more than this. More than the muck and mire of ordinary life that we a forced to watch transpire, more than the money and fame, more than the foolish acts of shame. It's an obvious assumption to make, yet it seems from all of these things we never take a break. We continue to lie, cheat and steal, we continue fill ourselves with the same pedantic spiel. But there are bright lights among the wreckage, people who live their lives by a different message. One of hope, bravery and fortitude, one that leads them to challenge the status quo regardless of the forced solitude. Because for some reason we demonize and vilify the heroes who even dare to defy. It's these rebels and ruffians that I ally and choose to build my heart from the stars. Because their light provides a chance to see the the darkness, an opportunity to cut though and navigate the blackness. It seems grim and bleak from time to time, but when it does just look up to see the stars shine. The darkness seems so vast and unfathomable, but those stars, thousands of them, try their hardest to make it more manageable. Some of these stars shine with such bright fervor, it's hard to imagine anything like them before. The sad truth though, is that those stars that burn so bright and beautifully are the ones that go out unjustifiably. So we grow angry and sad in retaliation, crying out "How dare you take away my reformation? How dare you reply back with more obfuscation?"  We grow frustrated that our source of light has been taken away, broken and desloate because our star has died away. Don't be sad when a star dies, because they go out with such a flourish it's almost magical to the eyes. You have to pick yourself and know it happened for a reason, keep on walking, keep going for yourself and for no other reason. Build your hearts from these stars and know that no matter how dark it gets, that light is never to far. An ending cliche, they are forever in your heart, fostering the light even you had from the start.

What's Left Unsaid

I don't feel like there's much more to say,

It feels like I've poured my soul out in every way.

I know there's parts I've never even seen

Things inside myself only revealed through dreams.

I think I've spent so much time exposing the flaws,

that it seems I'll never ever escape the dark's jaws.

In all honesty it's really not that bad or dismal

I just have a lot of demons that's all.

So maybe my heart seems like some twisted wreckage

Filled with sad stories and some outdated adage.

But I kind of like it, broken but honest

And it will never be fixed, that I promised.

Why force it back together with tape and glue?

Why not let it show what others never knew?

I've been told I'm brave for letting it all out,

But isn't sharing life what life's all about?

Keep Walking

Tired and exhausted we pull ourselves through the day

Because there really is no other way.

No other way to go through it all

So we trudge through the day and try to stand tall.

Although we have become weak and weary,

We cannot let others know that we're dreary.

We must hold our heads high and be proud

Proud to know that we stand out in a crowd

Whether we want it or not, people seem to know

that there's a person who won't let it show.

Won't let the burden of life appear as a weight

Because we know that we only need to wait.

The load gets lighter and easier to bear,

So long as you know you're friends are there.

Life worth living

It's amazing to see people complain about how their life ought to be, so caught in creating a perfect reality. Too busy trying to fill empty purses, people are mistaking blessings for curses. Well let me give you a little glimpse into me: I've been blessed with a broken body, mind, and even a broken family. Now I know these words are shocking to hear, but they are words I hold dear. It's the brokenness of life that makes us whole, refined through fire I've strengthened my soul. Through trials and tribulations, despite stumbling over temptations, I've begun the retaliation. The push back against the norm and breaking out against the traditional form. I do this because I refuse to sit back and accept that the tragedies of life are all that is left. Why do we resign ourselves to such solitude when all it takes is a bit off graceful fortitude? It won't solve itself with strength or force, but with a calm attitude and ability to stay the course. Things get rough but that's life, filled with times I strife. But here's the secret, it's also full of love, love from others here and above. It's a simple statement that isn't made enough because we are so caught with collecting better stuff, friends, money, toys, chasing after girls and boys. I've done this all too, I've said it before, but I know there is much more to live for. Life is so vast and grand, the idea that people miss out on it because of a few bad spots is something I can't understand. It all gets to feel a bit much and the weight is crippling, but that's the thing. It seems cruel and unfair and sometimes it feels like no one really cares. So we go on trying to fill that whole with stuff, instead of stepping aside and letting in Gods love. I don't mean to be preachy but it's something that life has shown me. It's nice to know that no matter how I feel I'm never alone and He can make anyplace feel like home.

Fleeting Feelings

This one goes out to the dreamers and innovators, the people who aren't content to sit back and wait for later. This one is for the people who chased after what they wanted and by the haters and critics they were never daunted. It's not easy to go for your dreams especially when everyone only tries to put you down, "you'll never make it as a band/writer/actor stop acting like a clown" To those people I offer a simple gesture, a middle finger so large you'll never enjoy the same sick pleasure. That twisted feeling you get because you've made yourself "superior" while make others feel inferior. And you've done this for no better reason than you're a colossal idiot, to afraid of your failures to even admit it. So while you sit in the shallow end of self-pity others are enjoying the bright lights and big city. All because we dared to dream of things you couldn't and because the act of giving up is something we wouldn't. Because when you find out what your passionate about it doesn't matter what the others are trying to figure out. To break from conformity is seen as this tragic abnormality, but aren't the philosophizers and inventors that were called stupid in their own time the same people we hold up now as those of a genius mind? So enjoy your 9-5 dead-end cubicle job and try to put as down, even though we are already so high off the ground. So this one goes out to the writers and musicians just trying to make it, the people working 2 jobs just to play a bit. Those who call them lazy slackers have no idea the dedication it takes when you have no backers. You have yourself and a handful of friends who you would take with you to the ends. Forget all the haters, they only exist to prove you matter and it's up to you to rise above the mindless chatter. These haters no mater how bold or loud only prove one thing...what you're doing is a beautiful thing. Few have the courage to simple go for it and become something much more than normal society will permit. You're one of the lucky ones to break free of the mold, now let's keep that going till we're old. Don't let them take what's yours, fight for your dreams and you'll find those open doors.

Mirrored Fears

Most days I wake up feeling OK and things seem a bit clearer, other days I wake up and can't even face myself in the mirror because I find it impossible to face my reflection. It's a cold and callous recollection of all of my imperfections. Suddenly, it's not me I'm looking at anymore, but some horrid apparition I've never seen before. It's the manifestation of the things I've never been man enough to face, so I push them down into a dark, dark place hoping I never see them again but they always come back to the surface. I turn away from the mirror, out of sight out of mind, thinking that if I leave the mirror, I can leave the demons behind. I know that's a lie their in my head whispering deceit, breaking my psyche down until I admit defeat. It's a problem that can't just be ignored, but it's not easy to get rid of the things you've abhorred. The cracks and breaks in your ego are hard to cover up, especially when you're already broken and beaten up. Sometimes I just don't feel like picking up the pieces because the constant torment and voices never ceases. "You'll never be good enough, you'll never amount to anything" skips on repeat in my head until it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. The worst part is the words never come from outside influences, but always internal circumstances. Self-hate and self-loathing begin to define who I am and who I'll be, clouding my eyes and distorting everything I see. Before I know it the world is cynical and cold, I don't even want to live long enough to be old. I'd rather crash and burn at 22 then live a life hating every single thing that I do. These words and lines pale in comparison to what others write and I'll never be able to do anything right. I claw and pound on the walls inside my mind, trying to find a scrap of decency that I can hide behind. God forbid I let people see the demons hiding in my body because who could ever love someone so gaudy? All of this tension is building inside of me though because I have no way to vent or let it show. So I write these poems and stories in hopes to gain some glory. A vain and shallow hope that maybe if I expose my flaws people will give me some sort of faint applause. 'Oh my, you're so brave and strong to put yourself out there, tell me why do you think that talent is so rare?' It's not. I'm not some mythical hero pulling off the impossible, I'm just a broken idiot trying to make something out of the illogical. A simple guy trying to pull together the wreckage of himself to possibly make it into oneself. Trying to banish the demons from his head and replace them with something more gentle instead. I'm trying to create a reflection I can finally bear, instead of avoiding my own blank stare.

Beaten Down

Tonight things will be short and concise, I figured a change of pace might be nice. I have a tendency to just type and type, even knowing no one really reads what I write. I find myself in a creative exhaustion from all of this cathartic expulsion. It feels great to write away the stress, but if I push to hard I won't be giving you my best. I want to make points and challenge you to think with my words, but all that dreaming is for the birds. Maybe people just to don't take a blog seriously, or maybe I am just rambling on deliriously. Sometimes we all just need a break from reality, but these writings give me a break from insanity. Time to sit down and collect my random thoughts and try to untie these stomach knots. Believe or not, it's not always easy to write about you terrible you've been or the horrible things you've done way back when. So I'll continue on with cleansing my soul, and hope what's left is still whole.

Silence

There are somethings I just can't figure out, like why are there problems we never talk about? Thousands of kids contemplate suicide and harbor fears and thoughts that never subside. If this is some so prevalent then why does no one ever talk about it? I know the pain and loneliness but I have no idea how to deal with this. It seems so easy to tell someone to get over it, it gets better, but what do you say to them when they're writing that letter? That final good bye written on paper and ink, in hopes to leave a permanent mark before they're gone in a blink. We ignore the sign posts and warnings till it's already to late and we begin the mourning. Why have we lost another poor soul? I tried to help, but I couldn't fathom the hole, the hole inside their heart that could never be filled, not with all of his tears or blood that's been spilled. Slit wrists and empty bottles seem impossible to imagine, but to that kid in crisis it's a reality that seems bound to happen. All because we ignore them, push them to the side, and for what reason? Selfish pride? Are we too proud to admit that some people have problems? Or are we too stubborn to sit down and solve them? We are so quick to send them to a doctor and get a nice little prescription, but before we know it that kid has a nice little addiction. We don't treat the problems, only a symptom, cured through pills and appointments in hopes someone else can solve them. We focus on getting kids to face their bullies and issues in hopes they can forgive them, but what these kids need is to forgive themselves. I know that's what I needed more than anything, a chance to absolve myself of everything. Now I still struggle sometimes with these thoughts and feelings, but I don't find myself so often reeling. I'll admit as confident as I come off, I feel ashamed, useless, and worthless like is life really worth all this? I've never thought about how I'd do myself in or go out, but it's just something I've thought a lot about. Don't be scared you'll find me on top of a building, I'm picking up the pieces of my life and rebuilding. I know I'll never have the strongest foundation and I don't use as much support as a should, but I'm building a life that I know will be good. I don't fear that my walls will ever come down, but I do fear that it's still happening all around. Kids have no one to talk to who's felt a similar way, so they bottle it up and shove it down every day. I use my writing to pour out these emotions, but not everyone has these notions. There's no way for them to release until they are laid in peace. I guess what I'm saying is we need to take care of the real problem at hand and let them know there is something better planned.

Tiny Voices

Sometimes I lay in bed at night and hear the chatter of little voices, it might sound annoying at first but I've found it drowns out the other noises. I guess it sounds slightly crazy that I'm plagued by these voices but I don't see what the other choice is. They are there to stay whether I like or not because as sad as it seems sometimes they're all I got. I know it's all just me up inside of my head, but it's nice to pretend it's someone else instead. I haven't given them bodies or faces, or imagined they are from far away places. They are just the little voices in my imagination, they have no need for past destinations. You see, you can't talk to just anybody with some of life's problems, so it helps to have a personal proxy to help solve them. Blur the lines between fantasy and reality and you've now opened up a different world to see. But be careful this world isn't often nice it can break you down piece by piece. It's a darker reality in this middle world, but it really is a wonder to see. Maybe that's just me and how I have perceived, this dark little world might be different to others who have it conceived. So maybe for you the contrast is stark, but I guess my imagination is a tainted a bit dark. Sometimes I get caught up in my head, and simply wonder what would happen if I were dead. It's not out of self-loathing or hate, but out of a morbid curiosity that stirs this debate. Would there be sorrow and crying? Or would it be full of people with epitaphs and lying? Sure, I might be a bit too cynical here, but this is just my fear. I might be missed for a bit by a few, but I don't think the church will be lining the pews. However; I'm not really afraid of not being missed, now what I really have begun to fear is this. I'm scared I'll be the last to die, the only one left in a world of lies. I'd have no one to ground me in reality, and remind me who I'm supposed to be. I'm afraid I'll be consumed by the noises and be permanently trapped in a world full of voices. Those tiny little voices that talk and chatter about everything that never mattered.

Simply Said

I'm going to be honest I find it hard to write sometimes, my mind is just crammed full of lines lines lines. It's hard to make headway inside my own head. It'll only be quiet when I'm finally dead. I can't even imagine what goes on up there, full of creatures and wonders so incredibly rare. Some think it's easy to just come up with these rhymes and to those people I say why don't you try it a few times. It's not just a trick that I can turn on and off, and if you think it is then just bugger off. I go insane sometimes trying to sit here and write, I'm pretty sure I'm not totally all right. I hear the buzzing of words throughout my brain and I think that's what's driving me insane. It never stops, just keeps rambling on and on and on and I think I should just move on, you get the point, there's no sense in going over that joint. I'm sure you understand why I'm a bit of an odd person so there's no need to go on and on and on. Try to imagine a balloon if you can and now imagine it starting to expand. Now when almost full until it's about to pop, start cramming it full of things right up to the top. That's what it is like inside my imagination and why I write with no hesitation. It's a rush to get things out first, before that precariously packed balloon bursts. So sometimes may seem dark or scary, but don't worry friend, things aren't that hairy. It's just that there's so many thoughts and dreams and hopes I want to share with you all and that means I'm going to have to tear down this wall. This wall of impenetrability and began to show my own vulnerability. Creating a world of words and phrases to show you all of my life's different phases, the good, the bad, and the why do I still remember this, I guess it is time I show everyone what it all is. No more hiding, no more fear, it's time to show you everything my dear. Everything about who I am and who I've been, but I must warn you once we start, we can't go back again.

The Tale of Pirate Flynn

There once was a man, rugged and true
He commanded the respect of his entire crew.
He had thick, dark hair, was tall as a tree
his eyes were as blue and fierce as the turbulent sea.
He was known from London to Bombay
all travelers knew it was best to be out of his way.
He commanded a ship with grace and ease,
his voice bellowed out like an ocean breeze.
Fiercely respected by sailors and pirates alike,
No one could ever know where he'd strike.
He controlled the ocean like the great Poseidon
A pirate like him won't be seen again.
To most he was known as the pirate Flynn
but to those in open waters he was the Devil's Wind.
Never fought a battle he couldn't win
Flynn knew well when to go all in.
The smell of the sea salt and brine
lingered around much longer than women and wine.
A pirates life is hard, full of working and fighting
all for the hope of some treasure sighting.
Ye need nerves uncommon to most men,
but ye'll travel to places some have never been.
It's a lofty dream to be chasing after
some only find their death faster.
If ye want to be a pirate you've got to know it in yer skin
But never forget about that Devil Flynn.

Life is sweet when lived complete

We try to hold onto life so desperately that some people never experience it fully. Life is full so many wonders to see, it surpasses anything ever shown in Disney. Again I sound cliche and oh so passe, but to those that believe that I have much more to say. I may not have lived the happiest or the brightest, but I've never once regretted this test. Have you? Cause if you do, then I apologize because living life simply should never be your demise. Some want to dream to live a life that's simple and plain but a life like that would just drive me insane. Living like that would be incredibly boring, I want to live like a bird I should be soaring! High above the people and cities where stuffy people sit in their little committees. You can keep your briefcase and 401K, I'll go on living a wonderful life OK?

Broken, but still good.

Everybody is broken in some sort of way, it's due to the trials and tribulations we face each day. And if you say you don't have a single bruise, you're life has been a cruise, well then congratulations on surviving a trial by fire or maybe more precisely congratulations on being a liar. Maybe it's just me but I refuse to believe anyways had it that easy all the while, you may be born with a silver spoon but you're broken and fragile. The truth is our emotions, our beings are broken and battered, but that's how they are meant to be, a person proud to show their scars means so much to me. I may not be the best at letting them show, but I make a point of making sure others know. Everybody feels like their pain is worse, how could anyone ever relate? That's just prideful thinking that leads to self-hate. It's a cyclical process, pain leads to hate and that hate leads to sorrow, and soon enough you begin to hate tomorrow. I know this all because I lived through it, the difference is I didn't live by it. While people mock you and bring your confidence to zero, just remember their pompous act is to protect a fragile ego. Instead of accepting our faults, we lock those emotions in some tight vaults. We refuse to accept we are anything less, so we make others feel like less and end up in another mess. Society teaches kids they have to be the best, but only one can claim that top spot...what about the rest? Those kids who weren't strong or pretty enough, is there enough room in popularity for us? We place our values in the wrong types of things, it seems that all we focus on is things. Those tangible things give us confirmation and validation that serve as our evaluation. People are put on pedestals because they are perfect and pristine like they are straight out of a movie scene. But the make up and puffed out chests is a desperate attempt to separate themselves from the rest. Sure it might work at first, but that inflated ego is like a balloon, it's going to burst. Don't ever be afraid of losing friends if show who you really are, because real friends will roll up their sleeves and compare scars.

Something Romantic

I loved a girl once, but that seems so long ago. Well really I still love her, why? I don't really know. Maybe she's the one, the woman I was destined for, or maybe I'm just a hopeless romantic always longing for something more. It's nice to have that feeling, when everything's seemingly all right and when it's gone you stay up dreaming all night. Dreaming of her and the words she said, caught up in melodramatics wishing you were dead. But that's just the foolishness of being hurt, just listen to me though her "smell" will eventually leave your shirt. Love comes and love goes, it's a tired old cliche that we've all come to know. I guess I shouldn't talk since I still love the same girl, but I've been through it all so I know the same shock. I know it hurts when they don't love you back, sometimes you just have to wait and that's all I'll say about that. Well, let's back up a bit and give some context to these thoughts and tell you about the girl who has my heart in knots. I was about 15 when I met her, I was so young and naive. The fact that a girl this beautiful was even talking to me was hard to believe. Young, blonde, beautiful, serene probably the most amazing person I'd ever seen. Sweet and creative the list is endless, but let's not get too wrapped up in this. We talked and then we dated, then affections of love were soon stated. It was something I'd never felt before, I'd loved others but never felt it like this, to the core.  It was great at first, always is in the beginning, and since I'm built out of cliches my whole world was spinning. But I wasn't prepared for the fallout and learning what broken hearts are really about. We all have baggage and some sort of damage and how life can be so seemingly savage. Long story short we broke up, but I guess that was obvious, but from there on out things were on and off for us. I know I'm leaving out some major details, but getting to into it all is a whole nother set of tales. The important part is I love and still do, even if for her the same isn't true. We're both better now, the broken fences mended and the future is fairly open-ended.

Thank You

I just wanted to thank you all for making me the man I am today, but there's so much more to this than my feeble words will ever say. You've all created and molded who I am, but I live with this fear that it's all a sham. I'm afraid one day I'll wake up and be exactly the same as I was back then and that's not the type of person I want to be again. I was manipulative, abrasive, and honestly surprised I had a friend, you'll never know how much I hate myself at a days end. Sometime's I'm afraid that's my true identity and that terrifies me. Has this progress been all for not? Should these changes just be forgot? I know I've become a better person, a better man, someone please tell me I'm better than, better than the old callous me please tell me that's not who I'm supposed to be. I know I still feel selfish, arrogant, and rude. I just wasn't built to be some closeted prude. Is that so bad or wrong? Or am I destined to be this mess all along? Why can't I just get some validation or some sort of confirmation? Whenever I'm told I'm doing something right, there's always that second part to confirm I'm still not all right. Like right steps but just not there yet, but you'll get there I bet. Sometimes I just don't get why I'm so insecure or why I hold in all these fears. I try to be the best man I know how to be, but...maybe that guy just isn't me. Maybe everything I think about me is just a result of an inflated ego, where I even got that I don't know. The fake self-confidence has built up a wall around my psyche it's eliminated any chance of someone seeing what might be. Like maybe there is a vulnerable person in there crying out for help, but that person is quiet and won't even yelp. Maybe some have seen him or heard a cry, but this vulnerable side is hidden behind locks and doors and we don't know why? I think it's because I'm scared of my real self, that's why I keep it on a shelf. Scared of the power he holds to show me the treasures untold. Treasures of life and and the world that could be mine, if only I didn't keep him in such a bind. But what if people don't like the man behind the mask, that's why I'm so afraid of this task. The task of showing my true colors, I just don't think I'm ready to show that to others. Will they be disgusted, turn and run? Or will they be delighted I've finally come? That story's yet to be finished, and won't be until this fake me is finally diminished. So let me get back to the main point, thank you for at least bringing me to this point.

Hashtag Really?

It's crazy to see how many people are getting into relationships, it's getting hard just to keep track of it. It seems like high school is less about education and more about communication, getting in on the latest gossip and rumors, listening in on every coital murmur. Because we make sex seem cool and kids use it as a tool. They boost their popularity into places it shouldn't be. Now, there's nothing with having friends, that's not what I'm saying, egos just seem to be over-inflated to me. Someone gets 1,00 Twitter followers or Facebook friends and suddenly their reality comes to an end. It's replaced with this self-centered attitude because they were retweeted once by some sort of famous dude. Which is cool and all, but using that to decide your friends is like deciding your future with a crystal ball. We've traded real friends and loves for digital dudes and people in a social media stratosphere so far above. We replace an ideal of a higher name just for the chance to get a little blue check next to our twitter name. I use twitter and facebook a lot so they aren't the problem, it's when we put way too much faith in all of them. It's no longer "hey call me at 501", now it's become "hey follow me @cutie1" #omg, could it really be? That cute person from homeroom followed me?" Stop it, are you serious? Hashtag this, hashtag that, can we please stop? All these things are making me delirious. We are bombarded by tweets and notifications from random people and associations. Half of them we will never know, but we all still accept them though. We just follow and friend, that's the new social trend.

Simple, True

Sometimes, I think I just don't understand what love really is. Or maybe I just don't get what others think it is, like it's some sort of big complicated mess or a pop quiz. People toss the word around so much I'm afraid it's lost all meaning, like it's no longer even a feeling. It's just some four letter word that people say, said so often and repeated over and over till it's become cliche. People still want to make something special out of it, but sometimes I find it hard to really give a shit. It's not that I'm bitter and don't love any one, it's just that this flood of "love" is something I can't outrun. I'm not one to build fake relationships for the sake of having relationships so call me old-fashioned but this is something that has me a bit impassioned. When you're two weeks into dating, it's a bit too soon to begin the love labeling. I've known and dated girls for months and never pulled out the love card, it's just something I hold in high regard. Trust me, I know what it's like to feel that way, I love a girl like that even if she doesn't feel the same way. Maybe it's because of this, know what real love is, that I feel like I need to explain myself. All I think is we might want to put love on a metaphorical shelf, not to be hidden and shied away, but something to be cherished and put on display so that maybe, maybe one day you can give it away to someone who deserves that gift. In my honest opinion there are two types of love, one for your friends that can be divided up and parceled out and a pure love that is only meant to take one single route. You see, you have to be careful with the latter because it's hard to get that pure love back and losing it feels like a heart attack. You really don't understand the meaning of love, until you've lost it while staring at the stars above. Love never lets you decide who to truly love, it's simply an instinct we never even think of. I never knew I'd fall so hard for someone until I did and it never made me feel more like a kid. It was something new and wonderful that seemed perfect, but in all things there was a defect. Love in and of itself is broken and shattered, but we all ignore the fact that it's so tattered. We all look for something clean and shining, but that's why so many are left pining. Looking for Prince Charming or Snow White, ignoring that love is really a fight. A fight past your struggles and your companion's struggles, people just try to avoid these troubles. Sometimes it's hard to keep fighting and we give in accepting it's a battle we'll never win. Then it's all compressed and condensed until love becomes something facile, trying to ignore the things that make it a hassle. Everybody to make love real and tangible so their expressions of love become nothing but physical. Emotional intellect is tossed aside for a narcissistic disconnect. I'm sorry but sex and love just don't go together because you can always have one without the other. It's a complicated mess of emotions and feelings that usually leaves people reeling, unprepared for the impact it brings, not knowing how to handle it when their "heart sings". So they let people pull on their heart strings playing them like puppet, unable to just tell someone to stop it. Their heart becomes damaged and broken and lover becomes something to never become spoken. We guard ourselves and build up a wall that should have never been put up at all. All because love is misused and misunderstood and it's hard sometimes to see why it's even good. My advice is guard your heart and be careful with love, but don't withhold yourself just because. Love is great, wonderful, and amazing, it's beyond anything I've been describing. I'm probably wrong with half the things I said, and it's pretty arrogant to think I understand love with the thoughts in my head. But what I do know is this, true love is truly bliss.

Silent Hearts

In and out…in…and…out. His breathing began to slow down, muscles tensed up, and his pupils dilated. To anyone looking, that is assuming they can see him through the brush, would think a tiger was about to strike and they wouldn’t be far off from thinking that. Thomas, otherwise known as the Paper Tiger, lay in wait for his target the newly appointed Prime Minister of Russia. It’s not that he enjoyed killing or had some sadistic mentality, but after disbandment of Project Marvel there were certain governments and agencies in need of highly skilled people and Thomas fit that description.

“3…2…” Thomas counted silently in his head, trailing off.

At the one, Thomas burst forward from the brush. One arm went around the neck apply pressure at the elbow joint, the other hand covering the mouth and before anybody knew what had happened it was over. The strangest thing, and Thomas’ trademark, was that there was never any sound during the assassination and there was never a trace found of Thomas only the body. Only moments later, Thomas was on the roof of a nearby apartment. He was on the ledge crouching down watching another clean up in progress as he shimmied a cigarette out of his pack and lit it up. His dark green eyes scanned the scene bored with everything, every mission was the same and easy. Thomas could care less about political aspirations or the high reward for these missions, but civilian life wouldn’t fit either so he was stuck here.

“I see you’ve done your work dutifully again Paper Tiger,” a woman’s voice appeared behind Thomas, making no noise as she entered as if she simply popped up, “You know you could just as easily kill them from here.”

“That’s not the point,” he sighed, resulting in a cloud of smoke, “you don’t get the same closeness with them with long-range.”

“Oh?” she mocked him, “The Paper Tiger likes to get friendly with targets? Tell me do you have tea with them beforehand too?” she cackled, amusing herself.

“Shut up Dissonance.” He spoke curtly with her, finding everything about her annoying even her scent.

Thomas had a past with Dissonance, real name Yulia, which he had long tried to forget. She was his first wife, before Project Marvel, and had met her on assignment in Russia. Thomas’ job before was serving in the British military as an officer. As things deteriorated politically the world began to split and push towards the brink of war that’s when Project Marvel came in. It was an uncreatively named international project to create government-controlled super-human that could sweep in and end conflicts before they really begin. Thomas and Yulia were already married before the project, but were drafted together by their governments separately. All in all there were only five people drafted in and only three left living today: Thomas, Yulia, and a rogue American agent who went MIA shortly after being deployed in Southern Asia. Thomas was given his name because his ability to slip in between dimensions instantly. Enemies reported hearing and or seeing only a rustle like papers being be blown in the wind hence the name Paper Tiger, a silent entry, but a powerful strike. Yulia was granted a sort of mental manipulation, she could bring enemies down to such a mental break down they would be crippled and she could to entire crowds, cognitive dissonance which is what gave her her code name.

“People reveal their true self when they are moments from death,” Thomas finally rose and turned around to face Yulia, “In those last few moments as the heart goes quiet you get…a glimpse at their soul if you will. Something you care nothing about.”
                “Right, because I’m normal and I’d rather not get blood on this dress.” She dusted herself lightly looking at the ground disgustedly, “This country is dirty enough.”

“Will you just get to the point Yulia? I’m assuming you are here to assign my next mission?” he was visibly and audibly irritated by his ex-wife.

She had grown to actually enjoy the killing part of their job. They both shared a disinterest in the politics of this game, but where Thomas convinced himself it was for the “greater good”, Yulia turned it into a hobby, slowing down her methods to watch them squirm. Thomas saw himself as a Machiavellian person; the ends justify the means, whereas Yulia was an anarchist. She would’ve destroyed the governments already, but that wasn’t lady-like of her and all the blood would just stain her dress.

She huffed like she was insulted, “An old flame can’t just come to say hi?” she smiled before she jumped, a bit startled by Thomas’ quick glare, “Fine fine hmph…We’re being disbanded and targeted.”

Thomas was taken back and looked back at her silently. She continued, “The American is gone and it’s down to one of us. Only one of us can survive Thomas.” Her voice lowered as she approached Thomas, like a mother telling her child a pet is dead.

“So then this was your master plan huh?” he smiled tossing away the remains of his cigarette, “Toy with me first then kill me?”

Yulia looked hurt, she outstretched her arms embracing Thomas as she reached him, “No, of course not. I was hoping we could put our differences aside for the sake of survival.”

“And how do I know I can trust you?” He remained motionless, refusing to reciprocate the hug.

“My my Thomas, must you always be the cynic? I loved you once why can’t I feel the same again?”

“Because this stopped being about anything but love a long time ago.”

“It did? And since when are you such a heartless man?”

“Would it be cliché to say when you left me?”

She smiled, “Well yes, it would but you’re just full of clichés anyways so it doesn’t matter.”

He remained silent for a bit as he closed his eyes. It helped his concentration to shut off the world, listening granted a lot more information than sight. He could hear both of their heartbeats the rhythmic beating almost seemed to match up, thump…thump…thump. He softened a bit, remembering just how beautiful their life really was before everything happened and how beautiful it could be now. It wasn’t crazy to think they could make it, it was a very distinct possibility.
                “Oh Thomas I know we had our differences but,” She finally broke the silence but her words were cut off sharply.

Thomas had finally moved again and in doing so he had removed his knife and thrust it into her heart. When he opened his eyes they locked in with Yulia’s and in that moment nothing else existed. He gently lay her down sitting with her and set her head in his lap, making his best attempt to have her last moments at least be comfortable he placed a hand on her side with the wound. He did his best to slow the bleeding, only enough to allow one last conversation, and felt her heartbeat.

“Why?” she pleaded, a helpless cry but the only one that made sense in an unexpected moment of tragedy.

“In all honesty,” Thomas let out a long sigh, “I don’t know. Maybe I still don’t trust you and don’t want to risk being betrayed, maybe I’m trying to protect you from the hardships of living as a fugitive. I honestly just don’t know.”

She laughed, unintentionally causing herself to cough flecks of blood, “Only you Thomas would try and protect a woman you hate.”

He hung his head smiling, “Yulia,” he brushed hair out of her eyes getting one last look into them, “I never hated you…I never even left your side.”

She weakly moved her arm up removing Thomas’ hand from the wound, “you could’ve at least…tried not to stain the dress.” She smiled mildly as she slipped away.

Thomas sat there listening to her heart fall silent. He slumped down a bit, knowing that she was finally gone and felt nothing. He thought having peace from her would have some sort of cathartic release, but in the end this kill like all the others was boring and easy. Thomas stood up and tried cleaning his hands of her blood. He smiled and laughed at himself, the thought that her last words were about a dress, a dying woman worried about a stained dress. People truly are themselves before they die.

Dreamed Dreams

There’s a lot of fish in the sea, it’s always darkest before the dawn, and various other clichés are always handed out to desolate people after terrible break-ups. Empty, hollow words are tossed about in a meaningless attempt to make sense of everything. That’s getting ahead of the story though; to appreciate these sentiments we have to go back to the beginning. Well, actually we pick up towards the end of Edward Alonzo’s marriage so we are starting at the beginning of the end so to speak.

Edward was an average man of 30 at this point with thin blond hair and a worn-down demeanor. The color faded from his face years ago and wasn’t even a shadow of what he used to be when he married Kathy. She had retained much of her features throughout the years, mostly due to draining money from Edward for expensive make-up and fashion fads. Together in public they looked like an old man who had found his trophy wife despite the fact that Kathy was actually two years older than Ed. He worked as an accountant in New York City and she quit work as a waitress once she latched onto her piggy bank. In the 8 years of their marriage they had no children together and remained in a small uptown apartment, which was another unassuming facet of the Alonzo’s life. Simple white walls containing simple people and their simple lives no matter how they tried to “spice things up”. The only real way they tried to bring something more into the relationship was a desperate attempt by Kathy to keep around what she called her money, but what most people referred to as her husband. There were lingerie nights and “sexy” outfits, roleplaying, any sort of sexual play that Kathy could think of, but Ed grew tired of them easily and the spark never lasted for more than a few days. After a year or two of trying and failing the relationship fell dead, but the corpse of their marriage lingered as both were too stupid or stubborn, whatever you think, to leave. Ed because he simply had no inclination that nothing was wrong and Kathy because she couldn’t risk living on her own again.

While they were both content to live a life vacant of emotion and move around each other like ghosts if we fast forward a few months, divorce papers are being filed just like that. In the months between Kathy had been having an affair on the side and when she found out her lover had money and no wife, Edward became dispensable and that’s how we reached this point. The split was simple and clean and they both moved on as best they could, one obviously faring better than the other. A few weeks later, Edward was still in shock over the divorce as he somehow never saw it coming. His life continued in much the same way as when he was married however except now there wasn't a baleful stare across the table from a woman who was reconsidering the benefits of being a trophy wife to a man who had no need for a trophy. Someone on the outside might call it a sad existence, but after a few weeks Edward barely remembered that he had a wife as his life moved on. He became set in his ways after the divorce, so much so that the path he walked in the morning was worn down like an old field trail and that was perfectly fine with him. As far as he was concerned Kathy never existed and this wasn't due to any hateful scorn or resentment, but simply the result of an inept man who never should've been married in the first place. For Edward the past years of his life were like a dream, not a particularly fantastical one but it was pleasant and nice which was a fair description of Edward’s life as well. It wasn't a star-studded life, but it was normal and plain and Edward braved it heroically.