I sat on the couch thinking about the week I wasted in bed and in my room. "Stay here. Rot with me." Thats all I could think. This drowsiness is a murderer. I need to wake up, get up, fight it. It's like a new unbeatable cancer in my system bringing me down. Like peer pressure. I've got to live while I live. Sleep is a wonderful experience but it only goes so far. I need more, I might not always want it, but I need it.

Taylor Pan

I was thinking on the plane. Thinking about harsh words spat the night before. About growing up since I'm so old now. Whats so great about growing up? If you have reason behind what you do, and you think of others sometimes and yourself other times, and if you're able to succeed in what you do then what more do you really need? What growing do you need? You can't always think of others, thats unrealistic and it'll get you no where, not always. Selfishness isn't always bad. I think that maybe when they call you immature, or when they get angry at you and you beat yourself, you have to remember it was all said out of anger. The world as a whole is childish, being spitting bulls whenever something goes wrong. Embrace the mistakes that are made rather than punishing them. Teach rather than punish.

It's like in psychology when instead of teaching they used meds, shock therapy, lobotomies and naps to care for their patients. It was wrong but thats human life. We're wrong.

Needle In A Hay Stack

Looking for an expectation? Petty. "Despicable". I write for memory more so than relief, so in memory I write a solid unlatching. Chest pain, nothing like those 7 months. Stomach furies, nothing like the those for mom. A reach forward means absolutely nothing but it's for safe measure, coincidentally at the same moment they tell me safe measurements are good to take but still refusal is inevitable at my end. Quick and u-turn to return but what crushing of my soap box might that cause? Hurt every teens and tweens high horse and leave it for dead, smartass. Try to tend to the horse they shot, they try, the horse is fine, the horse kicks, knocks an eye, both eyes, is on its feet and begins to trot off. Leave you gnarly beast, and never return.

Salem Footprints They Say

My footsteps feel lighter against the ground compared to how they feel against my chest. Heavy thumping as if I stomp on my own lungs while I walk. My brain refuses to flush and my walking is slow, long and feeling purposeless. I continue on giving myself check points, keeping in checking, checking surrounding, check check check. I reach asphalt, I reach the glass, barefooted, raggedy I step on glass and asphalt still wandering. I reach the opposite corner, and island in my journey, and I stop. I stop concluding my decision, I stop knowing my own words. The direction switches, I begin retracing, I begin formulating. I no longer feel a heave of weight anywhere but under me as I walk in a more determined fashion,... as I know my footprints.

Daily, Expected, Guarenteed Frustrations

It's the same routine every day. It's the same lack of common sense that I have to deal with. The same complaints. The same explanations. The same reaction. I feel like the mom asking the kid to pick up the toys so I don't hurt my feet, but they never do it. I'm going to break my neck one day, then we'll see if you pick up your toys.

Chinese Dinner

Two heads bent away like chopsticks, thats how it looked there last night. Bent away in sorrow and frustration almost, or even in disappointment and regret. Tough decisions unmade in fear of taking chances, in fear or losing money. Like gambling, when you lose it all the hardest part is developing a strategy to win it all back, or you take the easy way out and give it all up to fly home empty handed. Like chopsticks, once broken you cannot melt them back together, they are parted for good, feeding the world with experience.

Here it comes again. My "deception" has brought on another flood of guilt. I don't feel like I deserve to feel good, to do things that should make me feel good. Maybe that explains it? Why I've practically stomped all over the grave and packed in the dirt on top of this pampering. It's a fish bone in the throat for some, a couple of doubts throughout our minds thrown in with cowardice. I say stop it all but it's like resisting the experience of life. It all comes down to being selfish or going with it. I don't feel good doing anything. Sometimes theres a hint, a moment where I've truly entranced myself into dealing with it but shortly it comes back. 

(Like sleep, I'll fall into slumber, awake to fall asleep again, and awake with frustration in my lack of success only to end with a headache.)

Now my only question is how to keep it at a level that won't leave me covered in salt.

Sleep Addicts Anonymous

My face, still very swollen from sleep, is the epitome of an unwilled longing. Day in and day out my eyelids stress downward for sleep, my arms lay anywhere cradling my head and my legs feel nonexistent unless curled into me. I crave sleep like someone might crave a stall to hide in after embarrassment. I am a sleep addict. Sleep to me is the candy to my tongue. It is the water on my lips. It is the lover to my eyes. Sleep is my closing and my opening to every day and sleep is how I get through. Sleep cures my sicknesses and helps me to breathe again in traumatic events. I now.. I am exhausted.... and will.....

....

sleep.

School House

We sit here every day looking at the same people watching each other do the same things in the same building, same spot, same seats. Same sames. It's an exhausting setting as you drozily make your way into this building every weekday morning, and even on the weekends it's the same sometimes. It's so controlled, so organized, robotic like and almost an over grip of what is needed. Spontanity is missing in everyday lives, creativity and even individuals become to seem similar in all one way. Sleep and dreams seems to be the only reality of originality. Sleep is all I want to do, and dreams are all I want to see. Dreams of real life events and dreams of impossible heights. I want to imagine an electricfying shock of mystery solving and then fantasize of a soothing symphony of caressments.

And then I wake up and find it's time for school.

A Plan of Time

It's starting anew. The pull is slight, but a pull none the less. A former thought nudges and I'm left with a roll of string to communicate. Like in History Of Love they unroll the string and begin to depart speaking words of vibrating love. I looked in the magazine and saw my piece, saw my love and what I also saw was what it was, what it still is, and what I was doing to make it seem so false. I felt ashamed but kind, merciful, and noosed down. I've formulated my plan for time, when where and how, why and who, and I'm ready to begin waiting. What I really wonder is if my plan with conclude sooner or if it will never conclude at all.

Self Rape

Filthy. My skin is a rough dirt and my insides are rotted eggs. The voice of Braddah Iz aka Israel Kamakawiwo'ole have soothed what bubbling yellow concoction has developed. I've forced myself into doing things and in return get no general kindness or feelings of affection. I don't feel it the same like I'm meant to feel it but instead what is in place is a gas. Not necessarily empty but not entirely there. I want to see them do things that make them happy that don't involve me. My influence will hopefully become nonexistent.  

Thats The Way The Cookie Crumbles

I feel jerky, my head twisting around, popping and locking in different ways, uncomfortable in an effort, a plea to understand or even to make them understand. That doesn't sound right, it's not exactly what I want to say but I can't find the letters, I can't put them together. I can't understand. Arguments pop up left and right, unreasonable efforts to make me feel misery to feel longing for her are thrown and I just don't respond the way she wants me to. I doubt her accusations and I doubt her sanity anymore. I doubt everyone's state of mind and all I want to do is the impossible, impossible. How relieving it would be to let go and let someone else take my hand. To be covered by guidance with someone else's choices and to be flowing with every groove that someone set for me. How to find a guider might be hard, but to let go of all beliefs, individuality, and morals and just free fall.