God Given

I feel a little closer to desperation for life. I horde what people I can and cherish relationships but it almost seems no matter how nicely honest I try to be I still come off as a toying jerk.

I can't write. All I know, is that all I wanted was to stick to being friends but you're self-righteous ass can't take it. It's hurting me and you're acting like you care about my feelings when all you bring up it how much it's hurting you. So in you're own words, "Fuck off."

FisherPrice

It isn't just me, but my brother too, it might as well be the entire country. The breaks we receive in this word of the US are but minimal, tiny, distractions in doing tasks we love, whether it be video games, cleaning, baking, etc. Even young children are thrusted into a world of unfair problems and situations they can't control, conscious or unconscious, aware or unaware. Even at the age of eight I didn't know what options I had to fight back, how can my 6 year old brother know? How can he remember the phrases I tell him? I feel like the ghostly standby for him.Any action I decide to take against flesh is but a step away from clinking metal bracelets.

Lies. Money. Wrath with anger. Laws. It's all part of an unfair system of justice. Those heroes we read about are scarcer than unicorns because real heroes will save you without reaping the reward. Pride shouldn't seep into their ego, just simply kindness.

I don't feel like writing anymore.

A Lightbulb In A Dark Room

I have little work, and no motivation. This must be the norm of others, but not on a Sunday night, the night before school. I feel I have an enemy out there working my strings, making today impossible in my life to cope. I'm being stubborn against myself as it planned. Theres music, but it's the music I listened to when I was sick. Sick in the machine, sick in the core. Music brings up more than just chunks. It brings waves. Is this why I've hardly been eating all weekend? For clear bile? It doesn't burn. I almost want to convulse. I want to jerk in which ever direction. I feel out of order myself, sick. Sick in the machine. Sick in the core.

My Itchy Nose

I find again that my legs are tired. Is it ironic that I am physically exhausted? I think so. At this point you'll find I have a sick love for life irony, and I admit I do. The best irony I find is physically I am not athletic. I do not run very fast and when I try I can feel my lungs on the verge of bursting like a hollow caramel candy under the force of a hammer. However, emotionally I chase. Emotionally, I could run around the world, I could run to the moon and back. I could skip Saturn's rings until they've turned to dust under my feet. My sense of choice is good except on one aspect, who might you think does all the running? Another irony in that I am giving the ride as well. I have the emotional stamina to run like a cheetah however, however, I do not have the pride to let myself do that. I cannot succumb to a pathetic stance on my knees, which perhaps I have already done. It is in times like these that I feel the need to run in the opposite direction, in any other direction, to flee. In fear but not seen to any naked eye, but more so in dignity. Here I am, being again, or trying again, to be the man.

Irony Trumpet

"It's for the best, it's for me." I'll always tell myself that when I do something that purposely inflicts a little pain, or a little of any negative emotion. It is for me, but I have to ask. Where are your words? I see mine. Ironic that my throat hurts.

I Understand Those Five Minutes Now, Mother.

I now better understand the phrase "Time spent alone is time best had." It might not be an official quote, but it should be, for mothers, for teenagers, mostly for women. Every moment I spend doing something it is usually spent doing it for someone else. Homework for teachers, chores for my mom, presents for friends, relaxing for my dog, thinking for bosses. The only real time, I believe, that I have to myself is reading and these minuscule blog posts.

I've attempted being selfish, I just did, and I probably lost a friend. I'm seventeen and I don't yearn for anything. It's the best feeling I've had in years and I'm trying to make the best of it by taking some time for myself to smile, but when I try to explain it or why I'm doing the things I'm doing to someone else I don't feel that they understand. In fact, I know they don't understand because they become frustrated, they become a mirror of my selfishness but to an intense extent.

I'm simply exhausted to the point of tears when I go to the kitchen to clean. I'm exhausted to the point of sleep and rebellion for days spent out of the building that I love learning in. I'm exhausted to the point of being pushed by the smallest winds. I feel like the dead resting in peace as I'm flown in multiple directions by whispers that I care and dare not listen to.

I want mental, emotional, and physical freedom for five minutes.

Sorry for not having a DICK

So disappointment isn't easily hidden. I can practically feel the regret. It showed in court seventeen years ago when you lied to protect your son over your daughter, it showed when you fought years and years to see your son rather than appreciating that you had a daughter that you could see whenever you wished. It shows now when you finally have a son thats all your's and.. well, forget it. I don't want to explain something that can be understood simply by watching and waiting for the emotional result. Maybe it's just me living with my eyes open bigger than my head but I feel some sort of blind side here.

Or maybe it's just another one of those moods..