Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

Do I deserve to be happy?

I don’t know how to forgive myself, and I’ve been so down on myself for so many years, I accepted that I probably won’t ever be able to forgive myself. Some days I can face this realization without any fuss, but in my weaker moments my mind wanders, and I end up dreaming of stupids things I know are forever out of my reach.

I want a family. I want to fall in love, to give everything I have to make something spectacular. I want to spoil my future spouse the day after Valentine’s with 50% of chocolates. I want to spend holidays with in-laws where they critique my mashed potatoes for being half butter. I want to have a daughter and I want to spend Sunday morning with her doing the crossword puzzle in the New York Times. I want to attend my kids high school graduations, and I want to help them move into their college dorms. I want to walk my daughter down the aisle on her wedding day. I want to grow old with the person I love, and I want to be surrounded by my family when I pass away.

I don’t want to be rich or famous. I don’t need to be in the best health, and I don’t need to live until I’m 80. I just want to live a life where I’ve spent more time with a smile on my face than without one.

But I don’t deserve that life. I wish I could convince myself that I can earn it, but I’m almost 30 and I’m still alone. I forced everybody out, because I was determined not to give myself any chance of finding my own happiness. I made sure I crushed my hopes and dreams, and yet… I can’t stop having the same dream, every night, and it’s driving me insane…

I keep dreaming of that family, of that life I can’t have, and while watching that family in my dreams hurts more than anything I ever thought possible, it also gives me the faintest amount of hope… but I can’t take it anymore. I either need to find a way to forgive myself so I can seek out this happiness, or I need to put an end to the dreams, once and for all.

Thus, I come back to the pivotal question: Do I deserve to be happy? I’ve been mulling this over for 3 days straight with no sleep, and I still have no fucking clue. So maybe somebody else can just tell me, one way or another. I just need to know..

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

The rush you once gave me has become a burning friction, and the years spent alone have turned my love into fiction, and nothing I ever do will mean a goddamned thing.”

You know, I don’t want to feel like this. I don’t want to keep waking up in physical pain, throwing up my future all over my bathroom floor, replacing my bath rugs on a weekly basis. It’s not fun, and it makes me feel nothing. I don’t want to be nothing, but what else is there? I have to ask, because writing about it, saying it, screaming it out loud in my car at 3AM doesn’t make any other feelings come out.

I must have been happy.

It’s impossible that I could have lived over 25 years if all I ever felt was this.

But what is that feeling? I’d settle for unchecked rage at the world at large, or an unbearable guilt for the dreams I’ve abandoned. I’d take a million tears, a million crushed hearts, a million more minutes of my fall from the top to this bottom. I’d take any feeling, anything to wake me up, to make me feel… I just want to feel something…

Posted in My Daily Adventures, My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

“With nothing to keep me grounded, all I can do is drift towards the Sun, waiting for gravity, or at least something like that.”

When gravity fails you don’t fall, instead you drift away into the sky as the heat from the sun increases to give you the world worst case of sunburn, and so you are left waiting as you drift, waiting on anything, something, to come save you. Now, replace gravity with love and the same rules apply. So I’m just waiting, with a sunburned back, on something to save me…

It starts out so simple, just a force of nature, just the gravity that keeps us all grounded; that was his love for her. Is it stupid to have love on par with such a basic force of nature? Well, take it up with God if you’re pissed about it, cause that’s just how things are.  

It ends, and so it turns bitter, and it all feels like it was for nothing, like you gave it your all while they…holy hell, why did you give them everything if they couldn’t give you a single damn thing, not even one word, you were worth one goddamn word, anything, something… it was all for something, right?

Well, they haven’t been here for awhile now, but that touch hasn’t quite faded yet; it haunts everything, every new meeting, every new experience is somehow still touched by her; she’s not there, but he still feels here memory, as fresh as a sunburn at the end of July, roasting every day throughout August to ruin a perfectly good life.

So is anything waiting for you now? Is someone waiting to save you, or is someone waiting for you on the other side? Is God waiting for you to ask for help, or waiting for you to give up? Waiting is just an excuse, like everything else, but it’s the only thing keeping you grounded – and so gravity was replaced with a tainted love that burned into a bitter something, a something so strong not even years could erase its touch, and so the burns never healed, and time stopped because you stopped it, all of it, and now you are waiting for your time to start again…

Posted in My Daily Adventures, My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

“Draw from me all that you need, I won’t deny you a single thing. Just promise that when you’re feeling okay, someday, you’ll come back for me.”

I regret a lot of things. I regret not getting into bitcoin when it was just starting up. I regret going to college for a degree in Accounting when I hate all things business. I regret not upgrading my popcorn to a large bucket at the movies last week, and using my savings to purchase an indoor training bike I have yet to assemble, and for that time I yelled at Chef Robert Irvine to use the secret ingredient peanuts to make a peanut crusted tilapia with a peanut hummus and he did just that and lost his elimination match on The Next Iron Chef. I have regrets, more than I can count, but I don’t miss those days. I don’t miss wasted money or my years in college. I don’t miss watching Food Network with friends or that savory, salty popcorn I totally should have ponied up an extra $1.50 for. I don’t miss those things, because they are still here, inside of me, as moments I can revisit any time I choose. I can regret the choices I’ve made and wish things had played out significantly different (I’m so sorry Chef Robert Irvine, you will always be my Iron Chef), but I don’t miss them. They were moments, and they happened, and that’s life.

But you? I made the monstrously huge mistake of choosing to make you my life. So you can’t become another part of my life, something to reflect on, good or bad. I knew my mistake, every step taken towards that mistake, but I still made them.

I don’t regret you.

I can never regret you.

I miss you.

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

I have been spending my vacation reading through posts on WordPress, and I just want to say thank you to every author on this site. You are all amazing.

Maybe you’re right, maybe I’ll never amount to anything. I might spend my entire life writing these poems and essays and novels and never get a single one published. It’s likely that the only people who will ever read my words are people who follow my tiny blog. I’ll never get paid for writing, and I’ll never get famous. My parents may never respect my dream of being an author, and my friends may ridicule me for wasting my weekends storyboarding the next chapter of the book I’ll never, ever finish instead of spending some time in the Sun. I might even look back and regret ever starting down this path of winding words, but that doesn’t matter. I want to be a writer. I want to put my soul into something, because I’ve been inspired by those who have written before me. Every book, every poem or screenplay or short story I have ever read lives inside of me. I can feel the passion coming from every sentence, and it’s the most wonderful feeling in the world, to read the soul of another person. I want to give my fair share to the world, and not because I feel I owe this world anything. I want to give myself away on these pages because it’s what I want to do; I just want to pour my heart out in the best way that I can, and that means pen to paper, keystrokes to LCD monitor, fancy Eagle feather quill to authentic, hand crafted, medieval scrolls!

I let you tapper my dream of writing until the only thing left was a point so fine it would break the second I tried to put any weight into my words. I let you whittle me away, and that was my mistake. I paid for it…I’m still paying for it, every day, BUT, I also didn’t give you everything. Brittle though it may be, I still have my own pen, so I can write my own story. It might not last very long, but so long as I still have it, I won’t give up. I’m going to keep going, until I can’t go any further. Even if I go nowhere with my writing, I’m still going to write, and I’m going to share it to my blog, and I’m going to fill journal after journal with every story that pops into my head.

So maybe you’re right, but maybe you’re also 100% wrong. I have already amounted to something. It might be a small something in a niche corner of the literary world, but I am something, and nobody can take that away.

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Poetry, The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

“For all the feelings I’ve managed to capture in my words, I’ve never managed to write down anything that could compare to the feeling of kissing you.”

Our kisses were the best.

From the very beginning,

When they were shy and unbalanced,

To spending whole evenings

Buried in each others faces.

Those exchanges were wonderful,

And time made them unforgettable.

Kisses through the Summer,

Seasoned with familiarity,

Containing a dash of desire,

A sprinkling of passion

And the unmistakable rush

Of a blossoming love.

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Poetry, The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

The difference between a hope and a wish

I hope for things that have yet to come, and I wish I could go back and change everything. I’m nothing but a mess of what ifs, weighed down by a mountain of could have beens, and underneath it all is nothing but an ugly husk of questionable, molting moralities. Hoping is bullshit. It’s what those who lack the will to act get high on so they can ignore their own pathetic reflections. Wishing is kiddy garbage. It’s for idiots who can only make mistakes and never have the guts to break the cycle. Hope is for stupid people who think only of tomorrow, while wishing is for morons who can’t stop thinking of yesterday. I’m not sure which is worse, so I might as well fucking overdose on both.

 

“I hope that I can make up for everything, before my time is up.”

~I wish I wasn’t so fucking useless. ~

“I hope I don’t die without having accomplished anything at all.”

~I wish I wasn’t afraid of an afterlife. ~

“I hope that I’m gone before I have a chance to hurt anybody else.”

~I wish I hadn’t thrown those bullets out of the car window before I got home from work that day. ~

“I hope that when this year ends, it’s really the end.”

~I wish I had found the courage to take a few more pills, just enough to get some silence. ~

“I hope it stays warm through October; I don’t want to be buried in the ground when it’s cold.”

~I wish I had cut myself deep enough to bleed out. ~

“I hope I can do this before August; I don’t want to ruin my Sisters birthday.”

~I wish I could have died before wasting so much money on college. ~

“I hope that, when the Spring finally melts this snow, it can also melt my cowardice and I’ll be able to pull the trigger.”

~I wish I had killed myself before my first high school crush. ~

“I hope that I crash this car into a ditch and freeze to death; I fucking deserve to suffer quietly and alone before I die.”

~I wish a baseball would have hit me in the head during little league, so I wouldn’t have to live wishing I had the strength to hit myself hard enough to fucking die. ~

“I hope my death will somehow make up for all the shit I’ve caused throughout my life.”

~I wish I had jumped further from the pier, just far enough so my Dad couldn’t have jumped in and saved me, just far enough so that I would have suffered and drowned like the idiot 6 year old I was deserved. ~

“I hope that as this year begins, I don’t let it begin.”

~I wish I had never been born. ~

 

Wow, it’s truly amazing how pathetic I am. Hoping for an end while wishing that end had already come to pass, what a fucking piece of shit, what a truly disgusting, terrible, ugly creature I am. Fuck me. Seriously, just…I can’t even comprehend how fucking awful I am. Please, stop hoping and stop wishing and just pull the fucking trigger.

Just fucking die.