Thought I Would Share This :)
I sit here alone
Overtaken by darkness and silence
Thoughts are racing
Worry kicks in
Everything floods back
You keep thinking
You may cry
You have nothing to do but sit here
And think
Have you ever sat in complete darkness for thirty minutes? It can both help and hurt the mind, Try it once. I promise it will change you. It was a bit hard to start off by sitting in the darkness, it almost felt silly, but after those thirty minutes I felt better. I felt like I had thought about everything. I promise you will regret it. :)
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No matter what I do, it's never good enough.
No matter how hard I try, it is never hard enough.
No matter what I do, it is never right.
I always keep trying.
I always try to get back up,
but it is getting harder to get back up.
In the cards of life, I have been dealt so, so many bad cards.
I am on the edge of a cliff right now.
And I do not know how much more I can take before I jump.
Surrealism—Once there was an empty classroom.
Its stomach grew between ripe Science classes and a weedwork of electrical wires and the pink-feather of insulation. The door remained unlocked; the lights were flicked on in the morning by a sleepy department head and flicked off by a custodian whose back vac made her a ghostbuster. A general lack of students kept the air icy and mostly free of the muck-must of human bodies, a scent corrupted by cheetos and armpit and the cheese of feet, although the room occassionaly fed on students looking for a place to study, romantic couples with forged hall passes, and a red-nosed assistant principal who napped on Fridays by the cabinets—some of their grease and wet spray of conversation remained behind as particles on the carpet. The only noise was the buzzing tempo of air-conditioned lungs.
Since classrooms have no natural predator, the room sat, and sat, like a forgotten box of baking soda in the fridge—without purpose—without function — absorbing funky odors. The first pang of its profession came with the appearance of a bearded fellow, shaggy and shortsighted as a bear with spectacles, who lumbered into the room and occupied the desk, a vantage which offered the desktips and distant blue cabinets—a corner where he wouldn't fear a sneak (in truth, the fellow only dreaded poisoned coffee). The hermit hid there, received his paycheck, watched for enemies at the door, and put up posters that read, "You never fail until you stop trying," and "It's okay to not know but it's not okay to not try." Perhaps he operated under that mantra of bibles and baseball movies: 'if you build it, they will come.' But no one came, and the fellow died in the fetal beneath his desk.
Angry
Anger... why am I filled with so much anger? I blame love. The best way for me to describe what love is that it's like the new guy everyone else thinks is cool and great. If you ask me though, I would mumble "it's okay" and it would take a lot of energy from me just to get that out. I guess, with that said, I have befriended loneliness. I rather hang out alone than with love. Without getting into too much detail (it's a whole other story) love is an acquaintance of mine. The fact that we know each other and it never comes around makes me even more angry. There are beasts in this world that know love better than I do. To think that wild animals, mean ones that kill anything that come their way know love better than me. That tells me something about what I am. I'm a monster. Maybe I'm worse. I'm a monster that hides under other monster's beds. As I watch my brother with his family, and my parents with their grandchildren it hurts. It hurts that I won't ever be able to give them that joy. It hurts that I won't ever be able to feel that joy. I'll never feel that special father-child bond that even the beasts get to experience and enjoy. It makes me sad. When I get sad I don't show it. It just turns into anger. I feel like anger is my only emotion. I feel other emotions but then they all revert to anger. When people pass by and rhetorically ask "how are you?" I am the guy that actually responds and a says "I'm good. How are you?" I know I'm not good. Maybe that's why I'm so quick to answer the rhetorical question. I immediately go into defensive mode. Am I that good at hiding my emotions that nobody notices or they don't care? I guess I can blame them. Who would want to be around a mean angry person? Nobody. I'm so tired of being angry that it makes me angry.
Part in the Waves
There's no difference any more
Between when I wake up and go to sleep
It's all one big, never-ending nightmare
I'm in a boxing match with no gloves and endless blows
I fall and get up just to fall again
I'm a pawn in a game
An object
Not a human being
A toy to be chucked in the garbage
My eyes are so swollen from crying it's hard to see
It comes in waves
Sadness, pain, anger, hatred!
But still through all this, love comes through and parts the waves
(Won’t be) Your Pawn
You seemed so sincere
Told me what I wanted to hear
Said you'd always be there
But now it seems you just don't care
I'm all alone now
On my own now
I'll make it through somehow
Find my own way
Fight another day
Try to get by
Try not to die
Try not to fall for any more of your lies
I have seen the dawn
Now that you're gone
I will never be another pawn