Some things are great,
Some things are bad.
I know you’re glad,
you seal my fate.
My heart beats; my stomach moves,
I look at you,
I feel nervous and drool
As I feel your grooves.
I run for miles to be close to you, you see.
I get so anxious being away.
I think about how you sway,
When I first lie on you; then I dream.
And what you are?
It is obvious.
Was _____ furious at us? of our fear
Of being alive, here, at this moment?
The waters, murky and unclean like our
Morals we pride ourselves and claim of ____
O _____, I hope the tears of yours aren’t
Frustration—the deluge you make, I hope,
Cleanses the world internally and out
And isn’t against us or for anyone.
I haven’t drawn anything. Sorry.
The comfort of nothing,
The comfort of all.
The comfort is limiting,
The comfort is comforting,
Therefore it must stay,
And none will think of the affects.
One day we will get comfort,
What all may think,
But that comfort is hurting,
It is comfortable.
I’m so angry at everyone all the time and I feel so angry it’s exhausting. Angry.
Opposites don’t attract,
At least not classic ones.
Some things aren’t opposites,
just different.
Nothing changes and when it does, something gets worse, making it hard to notice that there’s change. I’m here to fester like mold while people pretend to be happy on this rock. My brain is empty, but full, I’m angry and hungry. There’s no escape from seething and marinating from misery and when I say my thoughts to let out internal toxicity, my thoughts cause yelling and anger. I am angry a lot. I believe I’m helping.
But I frustrate those around me and they see me as a whiny brat instead of anything worth helping with unhelpful generic advice I’ve done. I know I don’t have traits people usually like and want to be around, I’m not here to be a side character. I don’t want to apologize for my world view or feel bad that I want to talk and contribute and help. People can treat you as a true burden and an outsider for the most generic of beliefs.
I hate feeling guilt or ashamed. I hate being ignored. The only way I would be better if I was attractive, loud or fun, and had stuff to offer to mainstream groups of people, but I don’t so
I don’t want to go back.
but is it possible to go back
to the old things,
not the good things,
the bad?
and reimagine them
as the good they once were,
the happiness it gave,
the sadness it sheltered.
the bad art that was made…
can I clear my mind to remember what it once was?
it is reasonable to think it is bad because I was told to do better and it moved my heart, causing it to writhe…my eyes glew up with the idea this person wants to help me,
they know the bad,
they can help me.
But did they?
I can’t seem to draw a picture without hearing critiques, never bad, just mindfulness, but never enjoying the task anymore and wanting this perfection.
A teacher cannot teach me perfection,
it doesn’t exist.
Yet, it does. It exists as much as race, religion, government, gender, sex, control.
It has to exist…but I don’t like it.
My liking doesn’t matter,
there are important things.
I don’t exist as an individual, I never have.
everything but.
I am a product,
A statistic,
A follower,
A mistake, an Idiot.
Never something as my own.
My opinions only ruin people’s days, but rarely change them.
I have no influence.
I could disappear,
and the only thing that would be sad is that I’m dead or hurt,
but it doesn’t matter.
cry about the issue and not the person.
And when someone becomes my product,
my statistic, my follower, another mistake, and another idiot under me…
well, I’ll still be nothing.
I am feeling quite anxious and overwhelmed with particular unknowns in life and lack of communication:
When ideas meet stress,
They become silent.
Ideas float in the brain,
But they can never escape the mouth or the writing device.
There’s so many words one could know,
But when do they use them?
When was their word choice appropriate?
Was it used well?
It concerns some.
Do words mean anything?
Do you understand other personal languages when people talk?
Does one in a two-person relationship yield?
Does that one become main translator?
It’ll never be clear if one side ever got it.
Anyways, I’ve been a bit stressed with my school work and other things so I haven’t posted even though I said I was.
Anyway, I’m practicing my skills so I’m thinking about writing a “little story.”
What did you bring to the potluck? 