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Monday, November 21, 2016

I still love you...but that's okay.




Disclaimer: I'm writing about a man I wasted too much of my life on. I've written about him before but I'm hoping this is the last time. Getting him out of my system feels good.



To be completely honest, I am still in love with you.
I'll probably still be in love with you till the day I die.
You left a mark on my soul and good or bad it will always be there.

I will love others I will move on.

I will still love you.
I will meet other people I will go places.

I will still love you.

You never asked for me to love you and no one made me.
Loving you was never a choice. It was an unmistakable accident. I let my guard down and before I knew what happened there you were chipping away at my heart. I will always love you because there will always be a string tied to my heart that leads to yours.

Loving you was never a choice. Leaving you was. Leaving the place we both existed together was. Loving you made me crazy and to this day it still does. Loving you was painful and I still have the scars to prove it. Loving you was anything but enjoyable. It was dark and twisted and led me down a road I didn't know I could leave.
Leaving you was worse.
For days I thought you would show up to my door and tell me you loved me too. I knew it was a fantasy but it was my fantasy. It was what got me through the day.

I had to step by step erase you from me.
Erase the way you made me laugh like no one else.
Erase the way you made me smile a mile wide.
Erase the way you made my heart soar.
Erase the way you annoyed me in a way no one else could.
I had to erase the idea that we had a future together.
So yes I love you. As much as I did in the beginning and as much as I will in the end.
I love your laugh.
I love your voice.
I love your walk.
I love your wit and your spunk.
But I am able to live now.
I am finally able to be happy without you.
I'm finally able to breathe again.

Monday, August 15, 2016

Maybe a book? Maybe a novel? Maybe nothing?

I suck so bad.
Keeping up with things is not my best quality.
I've been pretty busy since last time we talked.
I cut my hair and dyed it brown.  I turned nineteen too.
I guess I'm not technically little red any more.
I'm neither a red head nor am I little.

(sigh)

So guess what guys.
I'm writing a story.  Hopefully a book of sorts it's all really up in the air.
I've just been inspired recently.  I honestly don't know if it will be any good and I don't know if I'll ever finish it because like I said before I suck at keeping up with things.
Here's to hoping.

The story is basically about a girl who falls in love with a man but it's not the right time so she basically has to get over him until the time is right and they meet again.  The first book is really just going to be a feel good growing up book and hopefully the second book would be them meeting again and figuring the whole life thing out together.  In all honesty I'll probably get lazy and put it all into one book.

(meh)

I wish I was a more talented writer like I wish I could put my feelings into text in a better way.  I mean I can put the simple stuff on paper but nothing too creative.
For example let's say I was describing a log:
"The log was brown and covered in moss."
(insert famous author here) describing a log:
"Suddenly I saw a log the same shade of brown as the fur on the dog I had growing up.  Moss freckled it through out like a small ginger child."
I don't even know but I'm not that creative.
If any one has any genie wishes they'd like to lend to me that would be great.



Adios Camarades





Friday, June 24, 2016

Night Owl



Late night writings are the best hands down.
When you are most at your most vulnerable.
When your walls are down.
The masks are off.
You can see who you really are.
I've embraced my night owl and turned it into my full time personality.
I hate barriers.
I despise the falseness that is modern day society.

When did being yourself turn into something that should be feared?
Locked away?
Hidden from the world.

When I was younger I loved to climb trees and read and eat apples like a horse.
Then I turned thirteen and those things weren't cool.
Climbing trees was for boys and toddlers.
Reading was for losers.
Eating too many apples makes you annoying and fat.
I would talk about what I would do if I could go back but lets move forward.

I read fiction books about romance and magic because I'm the biggest loser you've ever met.
I climb trees because I am a teenage boy.
And to this day apples are still my favorite meal.
(Like I can eat four in under a minute I'm literally insane.)

Why is is that we linger in the idea that its okay for others to tell us how we should act and who we should be?
How we should talk.
How we should love.
Who we should love.
What we should wear.

Never forget you are your own person so screw anyone who tells you anything otherwise.
Embrace your inner night owl.
Build bridges not walls.

Tuesday, June 21, 2016

Young and Dumb

I snap the top of the lighter with my thumb.  An orange flame escapes from this little plastic tube.  I put the cigarette to my mouth followed by the flame.  I inhale and smoke coats my lungs like silk.  This is what it is to be young and dumb I think.  I exhale and smoke arises mixed with steam due to the cold.  There’s a cut on my thumb and I stare at it for a moment.  It’s a dark red scab now but what’s truly befalling is that I have no idea how it got there.  This is how my life goes.  Bruises and bumps just appear on my body and I have no idea how they get there.  I’m about 50% clumsiness, 40% forgetfulness and 10% of an attempt at a personality.  I pick up my satchel and throw the strap over my head.  I float back to the school parking lot where I can see all the parked cars.  I start naming who’s who.  I stop at the top of the parking lot.  I look down at my boots.  Scuffed and to worn out considering I just got them.  I look back at the school.  I could get caught I tell myself.  But I ignore this statement by taking in another puff of my cig and continue to slowly kill my lungs.  I know as soon as I enter that school again I will be judged, criticized, and talked bad about.  Teachers will tell me I don’t try hard enough and students will scoff.  I don’t care.  Caring to much is the problem.  Caring to much is their problem.  I take one last puff of my cig before rolling out the ash.  I watch the little light slowly go out.  The though returns to me as I reenter the school building.  This is what it is to be young and dumb.




(Old writing but still one of my favorite pieces.)