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’ve never known where I was going, I just knew I had to keep moving. But even without a destination in mind, I think I always sort of knew this is where I’d end up. In the end, we all reach the end we were destined for.”

I caught up to you, on the last train of the night. For me, it’s the last train home. But where is this train taking you? I can tell it’s not taking you home, but it’s still the last train, so where is it you want this train to take you? 

~Beyond the tracks, past the city lights, a place where not even the stars can be seen. I just need to find a place where the world can’t see me… because if the world can’t see me, that would mean I couldn’t see myself, right? That’s the only place left where I’d want to go, a place where I never had to worry about seeing who I am…a place where I could pretend I don’t exist, that I never existed in the first place…I want to find myself in a world without a shred of me…

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 hate feeling alone… and I hate feeling scared, used and abused… but what I hate most of all is this inescapable sense of being open game. I hate feeling so vulnerable.

It’s not like I felt 100% secure in myself before, but I didn’t feel exposed all the time. I cared about how I looked, but only to what I considered a normal degree. I spent time each morning doing my hair, making sure it looked nice, and that was that; I didn’t waste anymore time or effort. Nowadays I spend the whole day catching glimpses of myself in puddles and dirty windows, and I am never satisfied with what I see. I sit in my car before work, messing with my face, trying to manipulate my hair, eyes and general physiology into something presentable, but I never get out of my car feeling human. It’s like I’m always wearing shoes that are just a tad to tight. 

It’s that feeling of opening the fridge to see what’s inside, closing it without having grabbed anything, and realizing you just checked your washing machine for food, and yes, you never even started that load of laundry, so you’ll be sleeping without sheets for the millenith time this century.

My face has no purpose, so everywhere it appears is another new nowhere. It’s not as I’m terrifyingly ugly, but I’m so out of place that I’m often mistaken for avant garde art, if an avant garde artist was on meth, and wasn’t really an artist at all but just some drug addicted 20 something sharing her “art” with her 97 Instagram followers, 8 of which are accounts she made to try and inflate her online persona.

I’m confusing to the public, regardless of the time, place, or lens through which I am viewed. Smartphone cameras consider my face as a smudge, so at least I can avoid being tagged in pictures posted to social media. But if you don’t exist on Facebook, are you even real? Without my opinions being expressed via Tweets and hashtags, I might as well not have opinions at all! My existence is a lie! Maybe I’m just the first of a new breed of modern ghosts. Maybe, if I spend another 5 years avoiding things like the Sun and any situation that has me interacting with another human being, I’ll finally just become a transparent blob. Perhaps, in that someday 5 years away, people who cast their gaze across the dotted lines of the early morning expressway will experience various levels of awe as they marvel at the modern wonder that is a driverless 2013 Honda Civic. Perhaps those people will even spare a thought as to why anybody would spend the money to retrofit such a vehicle to be self-driving, and perhaps even a few of those people will see the faint outline of my bulging form behind the wheel and realize this isn’t a technological wonder; it’s just a really pale and depressed fat human ragdoll.

Maybe I’m being too harsh on myself. 

Or maybe I just don’t give a fuck about my life.

But honestly? I hate myself, and I believe I deserve to feel this way.

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 failing. Everything that I am; body, mind, spirit, and all the other shit in between, I am a failure.”

I can’t resist the urge to break. It’s almost like a need, a physical itch that demands I scratch it with a freshly sharpened pocket knife.

I hate this feeling.

I am filled up with things and stuff instead of love and warmth, and it hurts. I want to cry. Every day I want to do nothing else but cry. I scream at myself in the car until the stares from strangers drives me into a deep enough shame that I choke on my stupidity. I want to be numb, so I take these pills. I want to forget, so I do these drugs. I want to erase myself from this world, so I spend as much time as I can on my own. I want to die, so I research methods of suicide and write notes for the police, my parents, and everyone else. I want to suffer, so I make sure God can do nothing but hate me. I want…I want out of this cycle…I want to live and smile and have hope…I want to not eat until I’m sick, throwing up in the bathroom, returning from every meal with a fever…I want to stop being so lazy and tired, to find the motivation to move my stupid body, to make it react, to force it awake…I want to find love for myself, any reason to love me at all…I want to do something with the love others have given me aside from ripping it up in front of their faces…I want to be proud, to make others proud of me…I want to exist without wishing I didn’t exist…I want to exist without thinking I have to suffer for my existence…I want that, all of that…but I did it again. In the time between my millionth plan to become a better person and lunch, I’ve tossed it all away again…again and again and again…all that planning, the time and energy and effort, and all of it wasted again…once again I did nothing…once again I managed to find a new low…again and again and again…I don’t want anymore, never again…I don’t want to suffer, and I don’t want to die…and I don’t want to live…so what can I do?

What can a loser like me do…

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

“You aren’t here anymore, but that doesn’t mean I’m alone. Even though it’s hard, I’m able to keep going with a smile, because of you… Thank you.”

When my light begins to fade,

And I cannot tell the difference

Between the edge of our Sea

And that rocky ledge

Where old things go

When they are called home.

In that half-light,

Where time splits open

And everything that once could fly

Embraces the finality

Of a perpetual slumber,

Know that when everything goes,

Nothing is diminished,

Nothing is extinguished,

Not a single part of my love

Will be dulled.

At the end, it remains.

It must remain, because it’s you.

I have no other reason,

And for no other reason,

Could my heart endure.

It’s you, it was always you,

And I promise, my sweetling,

We will always be,

Forever love.

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 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 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!