lost and wandering

It felt like someone had taken a great axe to my chest and my heart was sitting in a pool of its on muddled mess. A crack had formed and oozed out of it were the contents of my love. And now a shallow beat was all that was left. How can one feel so alone in such a great and giant world… Yet knowing I couldn’t be the only one feeling this way. Never the less I persisted and with each day conquered all fears. Fears of failing. Fears of falling. Fears of death. Fears of the great depth of sadness that fought to take over my mind. Fears of the world and destruction it was capable of and willed every day. Fears of the great destructors who chose hate and and power. Fears of the ever powerful God whose love never ceased but yet shook me timid. Fears that I woud fail him.

En francais

The contents of the envelope sat on the table unread. The four children sat around the table, their eyes ever gazing at it. Gustave smoked a thin long cigarette and continually stroked his matchingly thin mustache. Orvell, the oldest took his place at the head of the table. Orvell was a self-loathing man, divorced three times, and nearly ten years senior to his siblings.

Mr. Charleston sat in his mothers bakery. As a child he'd been ever so found of his mothers bakery, her sweet sticky cinnamon buns, cakes, and of course his favorite; her chocolate croissants. The chocolate croissants were only made on Saturdays and if he was lucky he was treated one. However they were widely known by the townspeople and so often sold out so it was in fact a very rare treat. When Charleston finished school his parents urged him to go into a suitable field that would give him steady work. And since he'd always been good with numbers he decided to get a job at the bank. So for the past fifteen years Charleston had been an employee at Rich and Richardsons bank in the town located on the corner of Main and 2nd. Unwed and childless Charleston could say he was an unhappy man but on the other hand he had a steady job and a decent apartment. His parents had always been very happy in their life. He had grown up with the knowledge that as long as you had a roof and warm meal then there were things to be thankful for. The small bakery kept them afloat but on a bare minimum, this could be seen in Charlestons hand-me-down clothes often too big from his father or his older cousins. Charleston now sat on the stool in the bakery behind the register. The same wooden stool his mother would take a seat on as she would greet the customers, as her achey knees were beginning to catch up to her age. It had been a week since he'd been inside the bakery. The last time was just a pop in as he usually did to grab a biscuit for his lunch. That following day was when his parents car slipped on a patch of ice and everything had changed for Charleston. He'd been in a fog since the funeral hardly sleeping or eating. The two people he was closest to, the two he'd eaten every sunday lunch with preceding church, and the two who taught him the simple joys of life now suddenly gone. It wasn't until the lawyers had rung him that he was pulled back into reality. The bakery suddenly felt cold and bleak. No bustle of patrons, no warm smell of fresh bread, and no greetings from his parents. It seemed the place almost had a hollow echo throughout it.

Perfection is a disease of a nation

still waiting for the pain to stop. for the numbing to overcome my body. sedation. slows the muscles and the mind. the shakes in my hand. and the tragic fucking thoughts that wont stop going through my mind. My mind which at times seems so unattatched and lost. What happened to the calm, unstressed, relaxed kid i once knew. I mean i know i've gone through some downer funks. but this anxiety is actually driving me crazy. and whats worse is the feeling that nobody understands. they see the out side, that girl who bakes and cleans and keeps a clean room, made bed. but what they dont see is driving me to points which scare me. have you ever felt like you were screaming inside but the only thing people saw was a smiling face. because thats how i feel all the time. Like a fucking crazy person. i dont know maybe this is just a really bad day and this will pass.

The flowers dangled in a jar. The sun shone down just hitting the pedals, lighting up the room with a new warmth. The fresh frost holding its place on the windows trying not to be erased within the shining sun. A large green bubble formed as the teenage girl sat in the chair making an extra dramatic pop and proceeding to chew as obnoxiously as she could. "Alexandra, Ms Tate will see you now." the secretary stated with a smirk. Alexandra gritted her teeth dispising anyone who would call her anything but "Alex." "Oh and you can spit that gum out now." She said in a dry tone. Alex entered Ms Tate's office which was filled with motivational posters urging kids to "Dream big!" and "Shoot for the stars!". She clearly had a lot of work to do as her desk seemed to be sinking under a mass of papers. "Hello Alex, and how are we today?"

When a Kiss was the Cure And id Save my Breath.

Do you Regret the actions of the night? I don't regret the actions but possibly the consequences... What consequences might come of your choices? The potential loss of a friendship. So you feel your choices were valid, but you would regret the consequence? I suppose when thinking of it now losing a friend, especially over a kiss, isn't worth it. Okay, So kissing your friend wasn't worth it then. How can I say it wasn't worth it when in that moment it was everything I wanted, would it not be a contradiction? Or perhaps it was the addition of the alcohol which might have been a cause for my lack of better judgement. Or maybe I'm simply a weak human being who falls to the falter of their feelings. I'm at a LOSS. I can't say I wouldn't do it again and again. But if I lose the friendship might I choose differently? An amazing person like that only seems worth it. I was addicted to the sent, the way our eyes met and instantly our bodies were drawn together, the simply feeling of being caught, of causing a scene....a scandal. At the end it won't be worth it. But in the moment it was ecstasy and everything more.

to crave.

She stands on the corner..or is it a he. I cant tell, I'm tipsy, and trying to make it home, i have to pee. As i began to pass they call out for a smoke i apologize because in that instance i really wish i had a smoke. I set my small electric fan upon my garbage can. my bed has no sheet. and im still living out of my suit cases. must find a job. must find a friend.

fuck it.

Change. Its Inevitable. I sit, I ponder, whats next. A feeling of anxiety sits in me, a feeling of aloneness. fuck it. fuck it. fuck. it. fuck. fuck. breathe breathe breathe breathe breathe breathe. fuck. trying to forget, impossible. i try, but why, whats the fucking point. i curse, i stress, i feel, i remeber, i curse, its moral, i laugh i cry i smile i lie. i cant, i feel everything. its human, its me. i am me, intoxicated by the world and all of its influences. whats next.

ive got a sand-castle heart

A sense of uneasiness sits upon me. A feeling i cant seem to shake..an aloness. this is a blurb. an array of words crowded amongst a page. i attempt to release but alas i'm caught up in the feeling of judgement. this is my attempt at being honest.. a few too many. an attraction. a sense of depression. my mind goes blank or maybe im fearful, of the failure

at least i shall have my cat.

a constant blink. my cursor taps impatiently...awaiting brilliance. im distraught, distracted, exhausted.
a quiet hum of electronics buzzes about my simplistic room.
tap.
tap.
tap.
am i a liar or do i lie. am i honest or honestly afraid. do i care or do i dare. a smile lurks deeply within me, a rebelliance. a sigh, a lonesome cry. do i dream or am i a dreamer. shall i dare? do i dare? shall i leap into the clean white love? or shall i forever be in a tip toe, daring myself to cross the tightrope, or swing the trapeze, shall i jump in? or do i stand in fear.

alls i really wanted was love.

As per usually my mind is wandering...the clock continues to tick but my mind cannot seem to slow. a florecent red glowed amongst the snow covered roof and gloomed into the window facing my bed. i put a song on repeat and daze in and out of memories. my life seems dull and meaningless in this moment. My feelings were elated after the arrival of a friend. the comfort warmed me. i was pleased but only for a moment. and then simply disgust. how could i have tripped myself into such a trap. like grabbing a double pierced sword i cut myself without the slightest realization. my chest ached, was this not what i had wanted? it hurt even more then the let down of hope. i pretended it didn't hurt i even smiled. but deep down i was bleeding and it was my own fault.

Direction&Purpose

You’ve got it all figured out
Shoes are polished and You’re ready to go
Goals
Goals
Goals
All so reachable
You’re capable
You can do it
It’s your motto ‘you can do it’

But…
As there always is

Is this what you want?

Distress
Fear
Pain
& anxiety

Breathe, breathe, breathe

Repeat ‘I can do this’

You begin
Because lets face it, what else is there
What else could you do

I know what you want
You want as everyone would want
To be Free
& Simple.

word up.

There are so many different ways to write. There are short stories, biographies, novels, poems, songs, diary’s, memoirs. The list goes on. Words, scribbled across page after page. Words ring throughout the world in hundreds of varieties. How does one begin to write a book when the worlds written or said everything that’s needed to be said? What can I say that will be unique? What do I have to offer? I’m a simple and complex human. I have thoughts that run with the sun and the moon. But how can my words even come close to interesting. Who am I? What is Interesting? All words seem to be tainted, tainted from past lips. Passed down and reformed to fit each individual. A thought is the closest thing I have to being simply me. Although it is influenced by its surroundings it is also unique in this. But a Thought is kept to one’s self. It can be shared, but in its most simplest from can only be in the mind of the thinker. So how do you portray yourself without the world tainting you, splashing you with its influence?

A list of extraordinary things to do when bored

• Do a repaint of the Mona Lisa
• Color yourself happy
• Create a new language
• Make a giant sized cookie
• Invent an awesome list of 20 Qs and ask them to everyone who calls
• Attempt to invent suction shoes to walk upside down
• Give yourself a new haircut
• Try to put on as many t-shirts as possible
• Attempt to find the phone number of someone famous
• Invent a miniature city out of multi-colored marshmallows
• Do a wicked air guitar solo to the next person you see
• Attempt to count backwards from a million
• Write a brilliant laugh-so hard you pee your pants knock-knock joke
• Defy gravity
• Stick a cookie on your forehead
• Build a rocket ship
• Have a water chugging contest
• Try to beat a Guinness World Record
• Attempt to do a back flip, then front flip
• Spin until your dizzy
• Learn to converse with your dog
• Clap your hands for the next person you see
• Dig a hole till you find treasure
• Build a boat out of paper count the seconds it lasts floating
• Play a prank
• Catch a scare on cam
• Count the stars
• Face paint…your entire visible body
• Learn an instrument
• Puddle jump
• Dance outrageously…in the middle of a store
• Build a robot
• Grow a mustache
• Smile till your face goes numb

words from a silent mouth

Satisfaction in our fiction minds.
Where is our release found?
In our chaotic, crazed world?
Crap TV
Dazed Minds
Static in the ears
bound to our delirous thoughts.

Happiness In A Cup.

Happiness. Happy, A feeling: simple and joyous. Easily obtained. Easily lost. Seconds to change.

Associated with good.

How are you? Good, And you? Good, thankyou.

Good: good, happy, fine.

Sweet little lies we tell you.
Good, really? In this chaos, where is good?

Good is the ocean, in its violence?
Good is the tree, which snaps in the winds might?
Good is the people, with sweet little lies?
No.

Good is the ocean, in its peace.
Good is the tree, which sits swaying its sweet leaves in its flames of color.
Good is the people, the honest ones, truthful in their love.

Happiness, a feeling.

No Name

It's been awhile...no reasons, just no inspiration lately.
Its difficult wanting, yearning to express the way I feel when I myself have no I idea how I feel. But yet there are these spurts of moments, thoughts, words jutting out as if to touch the sky and then reversing, evaporating all to quickly to even write down. So its difficult expressing me. Instead I hide, blend in with cream smudged walls in back row seats of classes. Fallen into pattern I am just a silent being with a lost mouth. And so I come here in hopes of expressing myself, my thoughts, & feelings.

Lurking.

My head it swarms with thoughts. And as I write it is my hope my head will empty. But filled it is with thoughts of you. No matter how many I spill, your still here.

Report Card.

Today I recieved my report card. An A, B, B, and C+. For grade 11 those are decent marks. In fact looking at my past grades those are my best grades to date. But I would say this report card bogged me down the most. I felt little satisfaction in them. For a short moment I was pleased but that was all, nothing more, nearly 3 months of effort and that is what I recieved, a single piece of paper with a few comments and letter grades. 3 months! 3 months! And that was it? a piece of paper. enraged, with an urge to crumple it in to a ball and throw it off the earth. I keep asking myself is it all worth it, and I guess/hope in the end it is, because in this moment I am filled with such discouragement. A longing to quit sits in me, but with one report card left, I need, must, have to continue...

Day Dream. Snap.

You dream of being an artist, a fancy photographer, a traveller. A creator of pockets of imaginations. To live on the beach, or a house in Paris. To drink expensive wines while eating foreing cuisine. To listen to the music, move your feet and sway to the beat. To be known, admired, loved. Maybe this is not your dream, maybe its just an image to be longed. Snap- reality just called me. Lets follow our own feet, maybe we will end up in a foreign country, taking photos, admiring their culture. But maybe not, so lets be content in the present.