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.

“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.

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.

Her shadows are shorter now, seemingly eaten up by the clouds. I know she’s still here on the ground, but the more I search, the more it feels like she doesn’t want to be found.

I pluck away at my feathers

And scatter them to sandy riverbanks.

Some find a home in stray branches

While others fall only to drown.

My hope is that you will see me

Before both of my wings are gone.

I’m giving up my open skies

To walk the same Earth as you.

 

But I am also well aware

That you never sought me out,

That you never glanced at the clouds

And wished to sail amongst them.

I’m giving away my hope,

Betting my everything

That I can survive this fall,

And that you will return to me

A reality better than my dreams.

 

 

“I let you in, caught myself swallowing your air, your every word stroking the walls of my lungs, giving me a reason to breath.”

I’ve spent entire dreams on you.

Your soft hands return to me,

And I feel safe again.

I know it’s not real,

Just light from the Moon,

A lie that bends my seas.

I fight for every moment,

Breaking clocks and watches,

Turning hands back

While leaving others blinking 8’s.

But you always catch me,

And you insist I must go.

It’s not you, but it hurts,

And I know it’s a dream,

But still.

Not even in my dreams

Can I be the one to walk away.

I just need you,

Whatever you have,

For just one more,

And one more,

Please, I cannot leave,

So stay with me

Until I dream no more…

The rain against her window echoed through this hollow room with every drop, loud enough and long enough to drive away rational thought. If he was ever going to do it, tonight would be the night to tell you, my darling, sweet dreams.

Slightly, as if by pure coincidence,

This door on her right creaks open

Filtering stale light, pale dust,

From a lifetime set in mellow tones;

Dimming lamp shades that still reflect

Mistakes she wears upon her sleeve.

Her selfish thought today?

“I wish these scars would just fade away…”

 

Is freedom being able to make your own choices, then living with the consequences of those choices? Then why does it feel right to make this decision, when it’s the coward’s way out, free of consequence? Must be because I’m so fucking pathetic…

 

I am not the flower that touches delicate skin

I am the thorn of shadows the clouds rain in

I am not the bristling, inviting spring wind

I am the cold winter whipping at all your barred sins

I am not comforting hands that feel the same as home

I am the darkest roads abound; forever left to roam

I am that falling, failing feeling in your gut

I am that gnawing, aching pain of a cut

I am that harlot, that distasteful slut

I wish to be free, yet I am anything but

When I was a kid I hated going to bed; it felt like if I was sleeping I was missing out on life. 20 some years later? I’m fighting my way towards never having to wake up again.

I had a dream last night, and you were in it. I was talking to you, just like we are talking right now. And I said some things. Not important things. Every day, hey how ya doin type things. I said those things, and then you were gone. I said those things without really saying anything, and then you were gone. You were gone without me even saying a word that mattered. I wasted that chance on small talk. I didn’t take the risk. You are worth the risk; this is worth the chance. My words need to be more careful; thoughtful. When I see you in my dream tonight my first words won’t be hello or hey, hi or even good evening. My first words will be words to describe how you make it hard for me to talk because I stumble over my own tongue in my rush to talk to you. My first words will entail all my joy at seeing you here, now, even if it is only just a dream. My first words will speak volumes large enough to fill a library, loud enough to be heard from across the continents, meaningful enough to move your heart and with enough conviction to make you echo them back. My first words, “I love you…”