I’m walking around without a destination in mind. I used to think that was a waste of my time, but now I know that I don’t need to have a specific goal so long as I keep moving forward.

I think I enjoy the night

Because it feels like

The beginning of the end.

I can use that darkness

To find myself again.

In the morning, it’s as if

The broken bits of me

Have become presentable,

Even taking on the form

Of avant garde art;

A patched up soul,

Center stitched heart,

All held together

By a long forgotten truth;

It’s okay if I make mistakes,

And even though it hurts,

I can still believe

That I deserve love.

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.

“Pain is unavoidable, and sooner or later everyone reaches a breaking point. It’s okay that you’re broken, because being broken means you can be fixed.”

I am drawn to you,

Like starlight to black nights,

Or else the rough sea

To a sailors dreams.

If I am to continue,

My darling, I do so

From your spark

It has ignited the tinder,

Shaved from my chest,

Giving rise to a heat,

A roaring light.

You’ve gifted me the Sun,

And with it a simple hope,

That even though I am alone

I can find my own way home.

I wanted to give you the love I thought you deserved, and everything else…I figured that was the price I had to pay… for thinking I also deserved my love…

We thought we were floating

Amongst the clouds,

But when our fingers

Began to sink into

Their white underbellies,

We understood.

 

The air was smoke,

Born from a warmth

We mistook as the sun.

It was just another fire,

Another wasted

Spark of romance.

 

It turns out love

Can feel an awful lot

Like burning alive.

I started this blog 1 year ago. At that time I hadn’t planned on still being around after 1 year, but the fact is I’m still alive, and that has to count for something.

WordPress reminded me today that I have been blogging for exactly 1 year. I didn’t think this blog would do that much. I didn’t have any social media profiles back then, and I was alone. I figured my blog would get 0 followers and nobody would ever read a word I wrote. But as time passed, I found out that some people did want to read the things I wrote. Some of those people were even kind enough to give me feedback on my writing. I hit 50 followers and was really shocked. I mean really, I wasn’t sharing my work on Facebook or Twitter, nor was I becoming an Instagram poet, but I was finding people who read what I wrote anyway. 50 turned into 100, and just today I hit 232.

232 people I have never met, but people I now know. I love coming here to post my work, but even more than that I love coming to this space to read what others have posted. It’s so varied, so many different voices from every corner of the globe. It’s every human emotion, sprawled out onto my computer screen, and I have the pleasure of reading through it all at my own pace.

I wanted to say thank you to everyone who follows my blog, and to all the blogs I follow, because they are willing to share their hearts and souls with the world, and I find that beautiful. If you would, please consider sharing my blog with those whom you think might enjoy some of my writing. I know I’m not a real writer, but I love writing, and I have enjoyed sharing it, and would really like to keep going, to keep growing, and to see where this path might lead me.

Again, thank you to everyone who follows my blog, I am forever grateful!

“Nothing can compare to the feeling of your kiss, the friction of our lips slowly burning the red out of my blood, leaving me drunk on your love.”

I like shy, cherry boys,

Who act sour, but really they’re sweet.

They slowly creep around the corner

And go speeding down the street

 

I like those shy, cherry guys

Who’s faces all turn red

The second that they see a naked lady

And never try to rush them to bed

 

I’m a sucker for those cherry dudes,

Because I really like the spring

They blossom into beautiful petals

And aren’t ashamed of being pretty things

 

I’m a fan of any cherry man

Who at his core isn’t a bad seed

Yes, he comes off self-centered

But he’s not afraid to admit his needs

 

I like shy, cherry boys,

Because they are prettier than me

They taste good, and look so tasty

I want to teach them about the birds and the bees.

 

I like those shy, cherry guys,

Even though they act like they can’t see

So I keep away and hope that someday

Those cherry boys will come to also like me.