Writings from November of 2007 to April of 2009, or maybe the middle of 2010. |
11-19-07 I live of myself, for myself and to myself. My needs were seldom satisfied by anyone and I was taught to put others first, even if it came at the sacrifice of self. I asked how this was fair. I am not an individual of mainstream. I do not fall in line. Stress does not paint me easily or healthily. Conformity breaks me down harder than status quo come easier to "them" (the real world). I lock myself up often with shades drawn and doors closed and a pageant over my head. If I can't figure myself out, who the hell can? I know the answers but I can't cure the issues. When I stop making problems, even more arise. When I come up with solutions, more doors open and I'm back where I started. Read me like the book I seem but am not. I prefer to stay inside, quiet, sheepishly amid my aura of self. As easy as it is, I don't ask to be figured out. I'd rather grow as old as I can for as long as I can before you try to make a name of me. This book is unreleased and less than slightly unheard of, but it's mine so let's keep it that way. Nobody cares or wants to see your scars, so why drudge up mine? I'm happy in my hole. Isn't that all we want... happiness? It's hard to come by, sure, but I've found it. Maybe it's fleeting but it'll take me through another day alone without having to put up with sanctioning bodies of filth trying to figure out where my head's at. If they only knew... I'd be dead already, or heavily institutionalized. It's not fair. I live of myself, for myself and everyone that does come my way; so much to a fault. When it crosses me I trap myself inside. I don't want to know what I already know, and I lock up my heart and mind in refusal of giving in. It's not me, but it's me. In my wanting of living, I can't be what I want to be. I'm not dying but I am. I realistically seldom let people in. I live in my own world, corrupted only by myself and not by humanity. I listen to opinions but most don't fit mine. The world does injustice daily to the free-thinkers. I cannot be a party to that. So it is and I am. Here sits a lonely man, alone, but not so, akin to his thoughts- my thoughts. I'm alive in every mind but mine. I can revel or prevail; fail or conquer the next context. I choose to live in what's left while the wayside opts for what's left. |