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

I can do my own taxes, and can legally rent a car, but today for lunch I had a handful of diner mints, and while filling out a form for a new credit card I forgot my new address. So I’m sort of grown up, but maybe not so much.

Nobody just becomes an adult because they want to. Sure, people can try to be an adult, but honestly, it’s not something you can control. One day you’re a kid, and the next day that’s all over, and you are an adult from that point forward. It’s not sad or painful, at least not all the time, but it’s not something you can just will to happen, it just does.

So trying to judge yourself on the basis of whether or not you are a real adult is sort of silly, although I’m sure everybody has felt like a “bad” adult, or that they need to “grow up”. But people don’t grow up, do they? No, people don’t grow up, they just…grow.

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’m not surprised by many things anymore, which would explain why you managed to shake me to my core.”

You were everything I never knew could exist in a soul. You were a soft sunset, yet you never lost any of your radiance. You made the end of every day something to look forward to. I had no idea a person could actually look forward to tomorrow without even a hint of fear. You wove hope into your shine, and the sky itself responded with a brilliant display of the infinite possibilities contained within person’s light.

It took time, and then some more time, and it will assuredly take the rest of the time laid out in front of me, but I won’t give up, not anymore. I’ll spend every second I have in pursuit of the person you showed me, because that’s the type of person I want to be.

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

She flickers through my head, the loudest voice in my ears, promising this choice is the only choice left to me.

Two a.m. on this desolate street corner. A blinking yellow street light above the wet corners of the road, suspended their like some kind of evening sun. The power lines still covered in powdered snow, slowly falling onto gravel and dirt under a pale wind. Every star that can be seen within a city can be seen on this night; that’s how clear it is. A brilliant light, elastic across the horizon, shimmering red slightly above the evergreens that line the parks and neighborhood houses. In the distance, the sounds of a train can be heard calling off, longing for an ear to catch the noise, almost as if waiting for someone to scream back…

 

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

I wasn’t afraid to fall, so my head never left the clouds, and you never gave me a proper warning, and my wings melted away, and I believed you when you said you’d carry me, and I kept on smiling, even as my body hit the ground.

I listened to their words and let them slowly poison me. There mouths drip with the sweet allure of brilliant gold used to hide beneath it a torrent of unmitigated disaster. They take from your flesh, tearing away your Auburn days and leaving behind those cyanide times. Silly child, begging to be unraveled but not knowing what that meant; lose is never something humans can grow accustomed too.

Looking down, I see the red
Looking up, an empty room
Looking back, I see nobody
I’m still standing in an empty room.
Clocks are running sideways
I twist to read the blinking 8’s
It’s no wonder it’s so cold here;
No longer is this up for debate.

Call it a gut feeling, destiny or fate
I swear you won’t change my mind.
Call it stupid, this picture of red
But for me, it’s perfectly fine.
Is it sadder that I truly believe that
Or that I know that it’s not true?
I used to want someone to stop me
I was really hoping it’d be you.
The red will fade, and then return
I will make sure of that
Will I look more closely next time?
Or will this red fade to black?

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

I’ve grown accustomed to my own lack of patience, pushing aside the reality of my short temper by hiding behind a mountain of excuses, like my insufficient sleep schedule or my diet of razor blades and a nightly bottle of pills. But let’s break that down to it’s pieces, shall we?

My sleep isn’t so much a lack thereof, but a world of nightmares that makes nothing feel like real rest. Every wall is a mirror, and my whole body is covered in bright red scars, and everyone I’ve ever known is watching me and walking by and offering help, offering hands and tissue paper and tears and so much pity that I can’t help but feel like the smallest person to ever exist, and I know it’s a dream because I’ve been so good about never talking about my scars, just cat scratches and kitchen accidents, but even knowing I’m asleep doesn’t help, and I’m stuck sitting in real time, trapped in my mind, forced to live out my nightmare of having the world see me as cut and broken as I feel, made all the more real by the knowledge that if anybody did happen to see me with my shirt off, that this dream wouldn’t be a nightmare at all, would it? If anybody did see me, talk to me, have to interact with me, they would see, and find out, and ask so many questions I am ill-equipped to answer, so I would cower into a corner and cry and be inconsolable and God, I don’t want to put anybody through that, having to watch me break like that, never again…

So my sleep acts as a reminder that it would be better, so much better, if I just kept my mouth shut and stopped pretending I’m ever going to be okay, because scars don’t lie, especially as new ones keep popping up, so having to feel nothing but terror and shame, those are feelings I have earned. I used to avoid sleep to avoid the dreams. Now I give up and let the dreams take me, and wake up in a cold sweat, dry throat with blood-shot eyes, and I let my terror slowly fade as I realize it was all a dream, and I cry, like a pathetic fool, until I am all dried up, not a tear left in me, not an ounce of strength, and I let my head hit my pillow again, let my body fall against the warm sheets, feel the sticky spots against my bare arms and don’t even flinch because of course I know why my sheets are sticky and why I only buy red colored bed sheets and why falling asleep won’t be restful and why I still have to, because at least in that hell I can tell myself I’m not actually hurting anybody, right? At least I can’t hurt anybody in my dreams…and that always, it always leads back into the same realization…that I could disappear and never hurt anybody ever again, not myself or my family or friends, I could get to that point, be my own hero, save myself from it all, right? It’s not me being selfish, it’s me saving myself, right?… 

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

I think of you as still being here, with me. I feel your weight on my shoulder when I lay down alone, the scent of your neck filling my lungs, the cold of your feet chilling mine. I’m not lonely, I’m just alone at the moment, and this moment is bound to pass, eventually. 

I left you, ran away from you, rented a Dodge Charger, drove that bitch till the gas ran out, got on a sled with a full 10 Husky sledding team, road those bitches (a more appropriate use of the term here) until running into the Alaskan never-ending summer skyline, and STILL, when I caught my breath taking in that shimmering sunlight, I found myself holding out a hand and feeling empty when no fingers slid their way into mine. I say my hand felt empty because even though I did look away from that nightless view, my eyes felt cloudy, like the grass outside my parents house around 6:49am on a mild September morning; not so much wet, with drops falling off one after another, but moist, with the feeling that somehow a sudden drop in temperature has occurred, a chill down my spine, causing dispersion of the H2O molecules and suspending them in my field of vision. I was not crying for your hand, but without that weight my eyes did make the rest of the world seem a whole lot less clear.

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

I’ve spent the past 4 years surrounded by nothing but noise, yet it’s still her silence that speaks to me the loudest.

She kisses with that glowing touch;

A muted, thin breach of confidence.

A kiss laced with smiles,

Wrinkled noses, a million words

Expressed in two lips

Meeting over an exchange of hearts.

The sort of kiss that fills you up,

Rushes blood throughout your body;

A kiss to replace the rhythm in your chest

That forever now skips a beat

With every glance she gives,

With every look you steal.


Now do you understand?

Love come to pass starts with a stolen heart,

And when the sun you share

Finally begins to dim

You are left as the moon; 

Stealing light as you try to become

A beacon in the sky once more.


Her kisses gently revealed

How much a fool has to lose.

Searching for answers now

Is stumbling through the dark,

Reaching out for hands to guide.

The problem with that is

Only those looking through the dark

Can now see as you try to shine,

Truly the blind leading the blind…