I'm seeing you tomorrow

am I excited or scared?

I like the way you touch me

and how you pull on my hair

but I'm not sure I really like

how it all feels fake

though it feels really real

in a weird type of way

and yeah, I'll meet your mom

and I'll teach you how to skate

and you'll kiss me on my neck

and ask about my day

on surface level you're perfect

the problem may be me

I'm scared to get too close

but I don't want to seem mean

so, I'll smile till it passes

be happy to be here

and keep on repeating to you

"I'm all right my dear"

because the red that's plastered on my face

is nothing short of real

and I promise I'm not lying

about how you make me feel

I'm just a little bit scared

of myself to say the least

but I think that you are the one

but I'm scared that it's just me

so you want to be a writer?

by Charles Bukowski

if it doesn't come bursting out of you

in spite of everything,

don't do it.

unless it comes unasked out of your

heart and your mind and your mouth

and your gut,

don't do it.

if you have to sit for hours

staring at your computer screen

or hunched over your

typewriter

searching for words,

don't do it.

if you're doing it for money or fame,

don't do it.

if you're doing it because you want

women in your bed,

don't do it.

if you have to sit there and

rewrite it again and again,

don't do it.

if it's hard work just thinking about doing it,

don't do it.

if you're trying to write like somebody

else,

forget about it.

if you have to wait for it to roar out of

you,

then wait patiently.

if it never does roar out of you,

do something else.

if you first have to read it to your wife

or your girlfriend or your boyfriend

or your parents or to anybody at all,

you're not ready.

don't be like so many writers,

don't be like so many thousands of

people who call themselves writers,

don't be dull and boring and

pretentious, don't be consumed with self-

love.

the libraries of the world have

yawned themselves to

sleep

over your kind.

don't add to that.

don't do it.

unless it comes out of

your soul like a rocket,

unless being still would

drive you to madness or

suicide or murder,

don't do it.

unless the sun inside you is

burning your gut,

don't do it.

when it is truly time,

and if you have been chosen,

it will do it by

itself and it will keep on doing it

until you die or it dies in you.

there is no other way.

and there never was.

Lately I’ve been trying to figure out what I want to do with my life and most of advice I’ve been getting is “do something you love” or “don’t worry you’ll end up where you need to be” and all I can say is that I have no idea what I love doing. I’m 19 and all I’ve done so far is get A’s in standardized tests for no reason, get into a university I have don’t know what to do at and freak out literally every day since the beginning of this year.

Maybe I’m putting too much pressure on myself but I am just so lost right now. Everyone I know either hates their job or doesn’t have one. I guess Dubai isn’t a great place to look for inspiration in that area but I don’t know... the future just seems so bleak.

times have certainly changed.

I'll raise a little boy, turn him into a man

Teach him how to love, teach him how to stand

Teach him how to fight, teach him to be a king.

Crying is okay, but you better stand your ground.

Keep your head high, be the leader of the table round.

I'll raise a little girl, turn her into a woman.

Teach her how to love, teach her how to stand.

Teach her how to fight, teach her to be a queen.

Crying is okay, but you better stand your ground.

The throne is yours, dont let anyone else claim your crown.

When the waves of sweet insanity

come crashing at my door

with tsunami type force

I chose not to fight it,

but let it drift me away

Like pieces of the Andrea Doria in ’56

Wanting to get lost

in its smoothing madness,

but every time I try

I only find myself

once again on the shores of sanity

(A Wilhelm Gustloff like tragedy!)

The long intervals of horrible sanity

causes me despair and misery

Yet here I sit

waiting for the cracked bell of liberty to ring,

but that will take forever

So, I guess the bell of the Whydah

will have to do instead.

Waves of sweet insanity

Please come crashing at my door

For this horrible sanity is more fearsome

than the sight of Queen Anne’s Revenge

Allow me to get lost in your madness

So that I will truly escape this hell

And never be reminded of gruesome reality

Come waves of sweet insanity

Sink me to the bottom of your depths

So that I may forever be lost

like the stern castle

of Nuestra Señora de Atocha