Is It Important...?

Is it important for you to belong,
And to have a group of peers?
Is it important for you to have friends,
To protect you from an idiot's jeers?

Is it important for you to love,
And to be in love as well.
Is it important for you that you were caught,
When you slipped so fast and fell?

Is it important for you to think of me,
Or am I just a member of memories.
Is it important for you to enter my life,
So you can always be there to tease?

I think that it's important for you to know,
That even after I die I won't forget.
The evening that I spent with you,
Driving home as the sun set.

Magic Trick

It seems that not ever having been divorced is a magic trick indeed these days.

I have a magic trick,
Would you like to see?
Don't ask how I do it,
You won't get the answer from me.

First close your eyes,
And slow your breathing just a bit.
Count to one, count to two,
Then slowly move down and sit.

Stop for a brief moment,
Just before you move on.
And begin to guess if I'm real,
Or if I'm just a silly con.

Close your eyes and count to three,
Then open your eyes to see,
What you thought could never be,
Yes I'm here, it's really me.

I really don't like you.

**If you think that this entry is about you, then you are wrong. Trust me.


You pretty much get on my nerves all the time. Everything that you do, in some way or another, gets on my nerves. We are probably two exact opposites, which would explain the reason. And just for reference, opposites sure as hell don't attract.

I suppose it might be my own stubborness which keeps me from liking you. Or maybe its just my shrewdness. I'm not really sure what it is that makes me not like you, but I don't. Sue me. I don't think that I'll ever like you, but then again I'm not going to forever be affiliated with you. I suppose endurance is the best solution to this problem. Enduring until I am finally freed from your chains of annoyance.

I complain about you because you annoy me. You do things that annoy me. You say things that annoy me. You live your life in a way that annoys me. I annoy myself with the way I live, but that's another story. And not a very interesting one, either.

I know that you're just trying to live your life, and that you can't help being who you are up to this point. Just as I can't help that I don't like you. I don't think that you'll ever know that I don't like you, unless you're a very good guesser and somewhat inquisitive. Yet still, it feels very eerie putting on this show when deep down I just don't like you.

I probably don't even have a fair basis to say that I don't like you. I probably don't have any good reasons for saying that I don't like you. But that's OK, because I'm talking to myself here, and I can be as opinionated and subjective as I damn well want.

I think that you're ignorant. I think that you don't know many things. I think that if I were to ask you what you live for, you wouldn't have an answer. I think that if I asked why you believe in god, you wouldn't have a good answer. I think that if you called yourself a Christian, then I could call you a hypocrite. Those are some of the reasons I don't like you. Perhaps invasion of my privacy is another reason I don't like you. I'm a very private person. I enjoy the time I spend by myself (usually), so long as I am with other people to interact with. But you are here, and I don't want you to be. This annoys me. And thus I don't like you.

But hey, it's all good. Life isn't fair. You can't always get what you want. Things that you don't like are going to happen. I can't kill you (or atleast I never would), and I can't escape the situation I'm in, so I suppose I'm just going to say this:

I really just don't like you.

Dreams (Of You)

This is an actual dream that I had.

I'm there with you. The two of us. And I don't know why. Why we are together. Together and having fun. It's what I've always wanted. So why does it have to be a dream? Why does it have to be fake? Why can't it be real? Why does it have to be a dream...?

I don't even know all of what we did. All I remember is being with you, then losing you for a few minutes, then with the help of my old best friend (who I haven't talked to in about two years-plus) I found you again. After that I don't know what happened. Did you run from me? Did you want me to find you? Were you relieved that I found you, or disappointed? These answers I don't know. My unconscious will not allow me to see that deeply in to such matters. I was not supposed to know such things.

A man held out his hand before we boarded the elevator to go up to the third floor. He said something religious, to which I retorted something smart, and the door shut after I shook his hand with a grin. We looked at each other. For a few seconds atleast. You were looking at me. How wonderful that felt. To have you look at me. Then you smiled, too, because me and you are religiously the same. That was a good moment.

It was on the third floor I lost you. You went to the bathroom, so I decided to also. People were messing with some poor kid in the bathroom, so I decided not to go in, so as to avoid attention. I suppose that's a subconscious action I've been doing throughout my life. Avoiding attention. Especially unwanted attention.

I think that we escaped. I cannot be sure of this, but after I found you in the room that reminded me of both Italy and Shakespeare's Hamlet (even though upon reflection I was wrong in my dream - the setting was actually Macbeth), and after we escaped from that weird thing that had almost captured you (did I save you?), we were at a staircase. The last thing I remember is staring down the staircase. I imagined that if I ran down it at full speed, you would follow me.

That feeling, that you would follow me wherever I went, was possibly the best part of the dream. I begin to think what it would feel like to be able to have someone like that. Perhaps to be able to have you like that. I pictured us running down the stairs in my mind, but we never actually did so. I just pictured it in my head. Over. And over. And over.

Until I woke up.

I'm Sorry!

I'm Sorry that I don't know what to say or do.
I'm Sorry that I don't know when to say or do it.
I'm Sorry that I don't know how to say or do it.
I'm Sorry that I don't know who to say or do it to.

Worst of all...

I'm Sorry that I know why I should say or do it, but I don't.

Goodnight My Love

Goodnight my love,
'Til the next night I am alone.
'Til I look up at those bright stars,
Whose love upon me shone.

Goodnight my love,
'Til I reach out to you once more.
'Til I can see you laying there,
On the ocean's shore.

Goodnight my love,
'Til the long night is done.
'Til I awake,
With the rising sun.

Goodnight my love,
'Til I start loving you.
'Til I learn to finally live,
And learn to love, too.

My Pace

This isn't an original work.

Count to one and you can move forward.
Count to two, and you can rest.
Count to three, and you can think...
That moving at my pace is just fine.

Time passes by,
Leaving things behind.
You can't forget these feelings of haste.

When they say that putting up a fight is pointless,
You must not give up.

Offense!
Let's raise our voices through the tough times.
Offense!

Let's look towards our own ambitions.
There's no need to fear,
the towering walls that surround us.

Don't get lost in this life,
where answers don't always exist.

Count to one and you can move forward.
Count to two, and you can rest.
Count to three, and you can think...
That moving at my pace is just fine.

Spring Break Writing

Please visit http://spring-break-06.blogspot.com/ for the majority of my writings over Spring Break. The separate blog is a continuing effort until the end of Spring Break, so be sure to check back periodically.

Patience versus Wasting Time

They say miracles happen every day,
But I'm still waiting for mine.
As if I'll be handed a form,
And a dotted line to sign.

Patience isn't rewarded,
Certainly not with joy.
Waiting is doing nothing,
And forms a man that's still a boy.

Biding my time surely won't suffice,
If I wish to change my ways.
Yes I fear, that nothing will come,
Simply by noting the days.

This is how I know,
That change will never happen.
This is why I am sad,
And my will to live has slackened.

Cut

**I've never cut myself, and never will. Makes me too woozy to think about lol.

Some people use them to cut paper,
But I use them to forget,
The volly of insults you threw,
And how they made me upset.

Some people use it to shave hair,
But I use it to move on,
From how sad you make me feel,
From the time I awake at dawn.

Some people use it to start a car,
But I use it to silently cope.
Maybe if you push me too far,
I'll end it all instead with rope.

"Ugly, hermit, loner, loser",
Cut, Slice, Dice, and Slash.
Keep throwing insults my way,
Eventually my life will not last.

'Til that one day when I tripped,
And he held out his hand with care.
My sleeve came up when I moved,
And he could do nothing but stare.

I tried to run but he held on firm,
And my heart suddenly backflipped.
He hugged me and cried, as did I,
Thank the Lord that I tripped.

---
*If you don't get the "underlying message" to this let me know, 'cause it's pretty neat.

Skeletons, Fossils, Telephone Calls, Enemies, and Dreams.

Skeletons. What do they mean to you?
Perhaps when I was young they meant Halloween, or spooky things like haunted houses. It meant going from door to door and opening up a pillowcase and getting some candy. What does it mean now? Now it means learning the anatomy of a human body, or the evolutionary aspects of primates. Now it means my future. The candy I get from skeletons now is an A in a course, and eventually a degree.

Fossils. Do they disprove the Bible?
I'm not religious. I don't claim to be. But if fossils prove that there have been evolutionary advancements of primates, and that perhaps all primates ascended from one ancestral primate, then what can really be said to dispute that? If God created man such as in the form of Adam, then where did these "ancient" primates come from, and why do they exist? Fossils can't lie. Words can.

Why I don't talk on the phone.
There's nothing to talk about. I'm doing fine. You're doing fine. Even if you're not, you'll say that you are. Same with me. Because that's what people do on the phone. Next time you call me don't start off with "How are you". Start off with, "Hey, Stephen, what do you think of the blind-sided views that members of a religion carry, and the effects their narrowed view of the world has on their lives?"

Enemies. You are your biggest one.
No one else has the capability of bringing you down and keeping you there more than yourself. When you rely on others to pull you up, you become dependent. The world is not geared to reward or profit dependent people. Learn to get up on your own, and keep yourself there. Whether it's by writing, reading, music, or whatever. Other people can knock you down. That's a part of the world, a world that really isn't fair. It's up to you to get back up. Don't expect anyone else to help you in that regard. Only you. You're all you will ever have sometimes. Learn to deal with it. Learn to move on with no one else. You can only hope that, in time, they will come.

Dreams. Get some.
Stop thinking that your life will amount to nothing. Find someone worth protecting. Find something worth fighting for. Find something you want. And get it. Don't let someone tell you that you can't. They don't know what you can and can't do. Only you know that. And you only know when you try. And you'll only try when you dream. You'll fail. I can assure you that. You won't succeed every time. You might not ever succeed. But to stop trying in the face of failure is to admit defeat. It is to be defeated in the act of life. There isn't a goal of life or a specific rule that says you win. That's because we each make those goals and rules for ourselves. If you want to be a winner, then you know what you have to do. Don't listen to someone else's rules. Make your own, and live by them.

What Could Be Better?

What could be better, than a lifetime in Italy, with one that you love, to live in forever happiness.
What could be better, than early mornings views of the Vatican, and afternoon dinners outdoors.
What could be better, than living amongst Romance, and breathing the air of art and majesty.
What could be better, than having your loved one, share this with you, in a perfect moment.
What could be better, than writing both your names, on the tunnel walls of Juliet's balcony.
What could be better, than watching the sun set, shining off of golden churches, and landscapes.
What could be better, than the starry night sky, and the clean night air, and a lover to share.
What could be better, than living day to day, as if each day, you were born again and again.
What could be better, than having a dream, even if the dream is unrealistic, and unlikely to occur.

What could be better?

Making it come true.

I'll Be Happier In The Morning. I Hope...

For those who are reading this as the first thing ever on here - I realize it sucks. Alot of the better things are in earlier months (in the Archive links on the side). And FYI to anyone who might actually care - I'm haven't ever tried to kill myself, and probably never will. People just do (or in this case write) stupid crap when they get depressed.

A bottle of pills,
Only a few feet away.
Should I take twenty and die,
Or just one to live another day?

I sure wish I had some friends,
Who could talk me out of this.
Who could stop the metal knife,
As it slowly approaches my wrist.

I am so small, so tiny,
That I almost don't exist.
Other than some of my family,
I know I wouldn't be missed.

I wonder if I make them sad,
By talking about this stuff.
Don't worry folks, you've nothing to fear,
'Cause killing yourself is really tough.

Would you even try to save me,
Or would you continue to watch me to fall?
Would your words be true and filled with love,
Or just an effort in trying to make me stall?

Don't Leave Comments On This Entry. Pity? No Thanks...

So instead of complaining like everyone else my age about why I haven't met "the one person", I'm just going to come right out and do the exact thing that I shouldn't. I'm going to talk about my personal life.

Honestly it isn't like it matters. I could count on one damn hand the number of people who even read this stupid blog. My poetry isn't even good. People tell me it's good because they want to be nice. And they want to be nice because they know I'm pathetic and only have my writing to show that I'm worth a damn. I'm not great at sports. I'm not a good musician. I'm not exceptional at any one subject in school. I'm just average like everyone else. Perhaps that's the root of this dilemma.

Everyone goes through a process where they make the world a whole lot smaller. This is often done by falling in love, finding a passion/hobby, getting a job/career, etc. (or any combination of those and other ones too). Seeing as how I really don't have any one of those except writing (which all I do is write on this damn obscure blog) I'd say that I think the world is a pretty damn big place. And that vastness is overwhelming me. That's my problem. Now go ahead and tell me to deal with it. That's all anyone else will say if I try and tell them how I'm feeling. The world is full of people who love to put you down.

I lead people on through my writing that I am intellectual, deep, empathetic, sentimental, and "wise". Let me tell you all something. I'm just a socially-under-developed, lonely, and at times pathetic, individual. Now I know calling myself pathetic isn't very attractive. Then again I'm not trying to be attractive with this entry. To tell you the truth, I don't know what I'm trying to be anymore. It wouldn't be too farfetched to say that I hate my life right now. Alot of people probably feel that way sometimes. I just have no one to ****ing call and talk about it that can relate.

At this point you are either pitying me or pissed off at me. Most of you are probably pissed off at me. Pissed off that I'm complaining and have to this point wasted precious minutes of your lives. If I could I'd shave those minutes off of my life and give them back to you, since you would probably make better use of them anyway. But alas, I cannot do that, so I guess I'll just apologize. Alot of people read this blog and think it's a fun little hobby I like to do. Maybe it's something I do in my spare time, or something to pass the time while waiting for a class. Let me tell you people something.

If you're in love, then this blog to me is like your lover to you. The only difference is a blog doesn't say "I love you", and you can't really communicate with it. Of course I don't "love" my blog like I love a person. The implication I'm trying to make is that the same emotions you pour from your heart when you love a person or thing is the emotions I put in to my blog. So there you have it. Of the miniscule population that even reads a damn thing I write, you know it now. You aren't reading random thoughts or intellectual bursts of my brain. You're reading the inner struggles and triumphs of a conscience that is fighting for survival in the present world in which it exists.

Enjoy.

Or hate it.

I don't really care.

*Sad Face*

I just want to go away,
And I just don't know why.
I just want this all to end
I just want to stop and die.

I think they love each other,
Which is wonderful and great.
But who is there to love me,
Or go out with me on a date?

I think I'd sell my soul,
To have love for just one year.
For it is loneliness I loathe,
And not pain that I fear.

In the end I hate myself,
Just like the song said I would.*
I would probably take my life,
If only take my life I could.

---

*There's a song with the finishing lyrics "You will hate yourself in the end" that I got this line from.

I Don't Really Know You (So Can I Say I Love You?)

If I hardly even know you,
Why do I hate to say good-bye?
It may be my spontaneous love,
And the fact that I am shy.

Far away from you,
I run and I hide.
You can't tell from looking,
That I'm crying inside.

It's like my entire chest,
Is being pressed inward so hard.
Because I know you won't call me,
Or even send a Birthday card.

You don't even know the real me,
Unless you read what I'm writing here.
You won't know that confessing my feelings,
Is the biggest thing I fear.

Why He Killed Himself

I bet that 25 sleeping pills,
Would be more than enough for him to get his fill.

I bet a few sharp razor blades,
Would allow this tragic scene to slowly fade.

Perhaps all it would take is one silver bullet,
Hand on the trigger and the courage to pull it.

Should his life he end or start?
And whatever happened to his heart?

He loved too much, believe it or not,
He never found this love, but forever it was sought.

Convinced it didn't exist, he supposed he would concede,
Realizing love was not for him, he begins to slowly bleed.

Tag

Tag!, You're it,
It's your turn now.
You can't stop yet,
Quitting I won't allow.

Did you know what you were doing,
When you began to play this game?
I warned you with my words,
So I'm sure not to blame.

But still, I'm really happy,
That you're playing tag with me.
So run from me my darling,
While I close my eyes and count to three.

Don't Mourn The Dead

You must not mourn death, for it comes to all things. You must not cry when it occurs, even though you know you are going to. There is nothing wrong with the passage of life in the world. Instead of lamenting a person's passing in this realm, rejoice in their achievements and accomplishments. Relish in their marks left upon the world, and remember them until you die, so they can continue to live on through memories.

It is not an evil thing, that death. It is something which simply governs people. It tells us that we must do what we can when we can because we can't always do it. It motivates us to do something with ourselves, because we won't have forever to do it. It is the driving force of all that is done and achieved. People do things because they will eventually die and be unable to do them.

Don't be sad when someone close dies. You're going to die too, but you won't cry for yourself (partly because you'll be dead of course). Yes, that person no longer is living, but do not insult their previous existence by wishing they were still in our world. Rather take pride in the fact that their life has reach its conclusion, which is a phenomenon in itself. The ending of life is the beginning of a new. Mourning the deceased is to be expected, but honoring them is a much more difficult, yet prideful, thing to do.

Next time a loved one dies, take pride in their life. Be proud of their life's accomplishments, and how they might have affected the way that you live. Then continue to live and pass on the joys of life to youth all across the world. Attachment will get in the way of doing this. Attachment will keep you bound emotionally to that person, and cause you to grieve. But not all is lost. We do not know what happens when we die. Some people claim they know, but they don't. Don't cry or mourn for someone when they very well may be in a separate realm and in an unhappy mood because they have caused their loved ones sadness. The deceased do not wish to cause people sadness with their passing. So do not be sad.

Poem From A Song

**Inspired from a song that's only about a minute long but with beautifully sung lyrics about love.

Still not a day goes by,
When I don't think of you.
When I look upon the sky,
I wonder if you think of me, too.

Perhaps 'tis best to simply let go,
But a heart does not slacken with ease.
I don't wish to again love you so,
But might we be friends pretty please?

Maybe that will also fail,
But this song causes my heart to ache.
Now that my love has become so pale,
I sit and question the meaning of "fake".

---
Lyrics for "And Forever..." from Big O TV Series.

Sometimes I feel so all alone
Finding myself callin' your name

 When we're apart, so far away
 Hopin' it's me that you're thinkin' of

Could it be true, could it be real?
My heart says that you're the one.

 There's noone else, you're the only one for me.
 Yes, this time my love's the real thing.

Never felt that love is so right.
The world seemed such an empty place.
We need someone we could give our all.
Baby, it's you, we'll be together now and forever.

Could it be true, could it be real?
My heart says that you're the one.

 There's noone else, you're the only one for me.
 Yes, this time my love's the real thing.

Never felt that love is so right.
The world seemed such an empty place.
We need someone we could give our all.
Baby, it's you, we'll be together now and forever.

Never felt that love is so right.
The world seemed such an empty place.
We need someone we could give our all.
Baby, it's you, we'll be together now and forever.

Oh, So Tired...

I died a little today,
And I died yesterday, too.
Every day I'll die a little,
Until my life is through.

Running is worthless,
As is hiding from your fears.
It's not easy to escape something,
That forever approaches and nears.

Rather I choose to stop,
And stare it in the face.
I let the ultimate harbinger know,
I won't partake in his race.

He'll beat at me every day,
Like Gandhi and the Jews.
But atleast when I die,
I won't be tired like you.


Tired from running.

It's Like A Boomerang

I've had you,
Hated you,
Cherished you,
Wanted you.

I've lost you and yet,
I want you back with me.
Life's addictive drug, I say!
That both condemns your heart, and sets it free.

A juicy stick of gum,
Once so flavorful and rich.
Will soon dry up and sour,
Like dried leaves in a ditch.

You'll rake the leaves up,
And throw them in the fire.
Then buy a new stick of gum,
Never ceasing to aspire.

No matter how hard you try,
You'll always want another.
And imagining life without it,
Causes even a hero to shudder.



Love.

Stray

For ever as I'm alive,
Going to live as I choose.
I live life with no regrets,
'Cause I got nothing to lose.

A stray so alone,
Not a love or a job.
Nothing is behind me,
Not even a family or a dog.

The memories of life,
Float around on the inside.
Tears fall when I recall,
Those memories have not yet died.

I forgot how to open up,
A long, long time ago.
A stray who walks alone,
A thing which noone will know.

If I were to cry,
Would tears touch the ground?
Would they fall down sadly,
And never be found?

Stray.

Bees-Me-We Together Make Three

Sometimes I'm overwhelmed,
At the sheer number of people I see.
They're all beautiful and smart,
And I am just another bee.

My buzz is low and I fly slowly,
Taking care not to attract attention.
Inevitably they all fly quickly past,
I'm punished by my own detention.

I wonder if the biologists know,
That the unattractive bee is the worst.
Even though it's color is slightly dull,
And moves about as if it were cursed.

Because its life will be the longest,
And that's the only goal bees possess.
When the bee is old and wise,
He'll reside lonely and above the rest.

329-721...

Three-Two-Nine-Seven,
Only three more to go.
Two-One, I can't do it,
Maybe I'll try tomorrow.

Three-Two-Nine-Seven,
This time I'll do it, I know.
Two-One, My fingers lock up,
Maybe I'll try again tomorrow.

Three-Two-Nine-Seven,
My love to you I'll show,
Two-One, Do you love me?
Guess I'll find out tomorrow.

Three-Two-Nine-Seven,
Time to stop acting like a sheep.
Two-One-Four, I did it!
"Please leave a message at the beep."

My Disease

The disease that I have,
Is I care a little too much.
I love you and them,
And that and such and such.

So when you feel pain,
I surely will feel it, too.
My disease never dies,
For each day it's born anew.

Why do I feel for others?
What a silly question to ask.
If I don't - then who will?
No one wants this taxing task.

But I take it nonetheless,
Knowing it must be someone's job.
Even if it steals my heart,
And my sanity it might rob.

Someone has to carry the pain,
Whether a friend or a Giver,*
Even if it rocks my mind,
And causes my soul to shiver.

---
*The Giver is a book about a person who controls all the emotions and such thoughts (both good and bad) for a society. Thus he carries with him the burden of having all the negative feelings of pain, war, and the like.

Cheesy Love Poem

You're the only person that he loves,
Like two majestic turtle doves.
He wants you to know that when you part,
You'll be gone, but still have his heart.

Thousands of miles apart in a land far away,
On a lonely bed by yourself you lay.
His touch is gone, and his love is foreign,
Your soul is lonely, but your heart is soaring.

How long will you wait this time,
Before you board the overseas airline?
Every second is a dagger to the chest,
Each new one is sharper than the rest.

But he's not going to leave, he'll always be there,
Time will not destroy his love or will to care.
Despite the hurt, and despite intense pain,
He'll be there waiting, when you step off the plane.

So don't stop loving him.

For: You-Know-Who (Or Maybe You Don't)

He's a lonely man,
But that's okay.
He had a special night,
Despite his bad day.

Special because of you,
But I don't think that you'll know.
You're an angel in a disguise,
That to yourself will never show.

He sees your wings and halo,
Even if they are just fake.
Even though he had a bad day,
His happiness you did make.

His advice to you,
Is to love who you are.
Love will come and go,
But from yourself you're never far.

Husbands and boyfriends,
Will all come and go.
But it's worth it to love yourself,
That's what he wants you to know.

"Good-night" until we meet again,
If that meeting should occur.
You're going to find true love one day,
Of that fact I am proudly sure.

After Giving It Some Thought...

Our lives occur in periods, or eras. We have distinct lengths of time in our past which can be identified by one or two significant factors which at the time helped to shape us in to who we are today. If a person looks back on these time periods with regret, however, they will be wasting time. Any time spent lamenting the spent time on previous periods of eras of one's life is time that could be spent building a new era.

Often times it is very hard to move on from one period to the next. Sometimes there are transition periods where we aren't really motivated by anything at all. In fifty to sixty years I'll be looking back at the important periods and eras of my life. Only time will tell what those periods and eras of the future will be. My existence may mean nothing to the cosmos, but it can hold purpose and meaning if I allow the periods and eras to stand for who I am. The actions or emotions felt during periods and eras not only affect who you think you are, but also the entity you are perceived to be by other souls.

I'm just experiencing the end of an era. Such periods in my life are to be expected, and I must be ready to deal with them. Enough of these ramblings I've been posting the last few days.

It's time to get back to poetry.

I'm back everyone.

*The following is what happens when I close my eyes*

*The following is subjective material of a person who had a bad day*

I see you both. One represents my hope, and one represents my despair. Two different people, and they probably don't even know that they mean so much to me. I'm taken back to a specific night, or multiple nights. I can't be sure, although I do know that it is night time, and I'm driving. Something about the night is good at that particular moment, although I'm not sure what it is. Little did I know that disappointment awaited me at my destination.

Part of me wants to pity myself for being so lonely. Then part of me wants to blame myself for being so shy. Then part of myself wants to be angry for not changing who I am to meet people. Then a part of me wants to pity myself again for being shy. Then part of me wants to be strong, and a part of me hates that word strong. I can be strong by myself, but I might not necessarily want to. If a person doesn't know what they want, then no matter how hard they work they can't get it. I suppose that's the point I'm at right now. Something like that anyway.

It kind of hurts to see other people with friends, knowing that I don't really have any. It hurts worse to know that it is my fault that I don't have friends. I don't mean something is wrong with me - other than I just suck at making friends and meeting new people. I can see why sometimes. If I wasn't me I would probably think that someone just figured I'd rather be left alone. But someone has to tell them that that is not true. I'm kind of tired of being alone to be honest. The only few people in my life have finally stepped out, so part of me can truly say I'm alone. I'd imagine it is only a matter of time now...

Sometimes I'll look at my cell phone and give a sad smile. I smile because no one ever calls me except my family. Then again, I don't give my number out, so people won't call if they don't know it, and they won't know it if I don't talk to them. Back to the pity thing again. Part of me really wants to pity myself, and part of me refuses to. Feeling sorry for yourself won't really ever get you anywhere, even if it does feel really good to do sometimes.

Maybe something really is wrong with me. Maybe the something that's wrong with me is that I'm trying to find out what's wrong with me. I was never good at conversing with strangers, even though I preach about broadening of horizons and all that crap. If I die tomorrow, will it have mattered if I talked to those few extra people during the day? Of course not. You can understand my dilemma a little more if you understand the fact that I know that it is worth it, and I know that every opportunity should be taken to grow as a human being, and yet still let my fear overcome me. Whatever is inside of me that's causing me all these problems is really, really nasty.

Besides killing myself the alternatives that arise are to overcome this thing or submit to it. I was never one for giving up very easily, so I'll keep fighting. I'm beginning to wonder for what purpose I'm fighting though, other than to survive of course. If the only significance my life holds is survival than I don't want to continue living. I'd rather die and laugh in the face of fate. Atleast then I'd be having some fun.

Good-Bye (This Is The Last Time, I Swear)

I thought that I really loved her. I really believed that I did. Every time I'd leave the house to go to work or school was always just time that I was waiting to be with her again. I was never sad because I was alone, because I knew she was there, and that she loved me. I even looked on the positive side of life for once. She didn't teach me new things or make me a better person, but she gave me hope. A hope that nothing had ever achieved before, and has never achieved since.

Maybe that love wasn't really love, but just hope. Just knowledge that maybe out there it is possible for someone to be right for me, I just have to look. Either way I was shown this possibility and mistook it as love. It isn't a very good feeling when you look back at the past two years and admit to yourself it was all a lie. You have to move on with the knowledge that you wasted so much time and energy on a fruitless effort.

I suppose then it was good for me, as it helped me get through obstacles that would have otherwise crushed me. I suppose it is like this:

I had to jump over this really big boulder in order to move on in my life. This person was like a vault who launched me up and over it. After I got over it, though, all that was left was to crash down on the other side. I can move on now, but I'm not necessarily in any better condition than I was before.

This conflict/battle/etc. is one that takes place in my head and my heart. I can get help, but ultimately there's only one person that can help me, myself (so cliche). I don't know how many times we've said good-bye thinking it was the last time, only to come running back to each other when it hurt too much.

There's a book series called 'His Dark Materials' in which people have things called daemons. If a daemon and a person walk in opposite directions, both feel extreme pain, since the daemon is symbolic of a person's soul/spirit. In a few ways I feel we shared a similar relationship. Something would happen, we'd walk away. The pain would ultimately be too much to bear, and we'd be sprung back like some kind of emotional bungee cord.

I'm not really worried about the pain this time, though. You've hurt me enough for me to be strong enough to atleast endure that much. I've learned alot, but lost alot more. I suppose it is better to lay a brick a day for your entire life, rather than lay a bunch at once and then quit. So I'm going to keep laying bricks. Right after I finish knocking the ones down that you built.

Writing Only Goes So Far

There's a reason I didn't call,
But you wouldn't understand.
I wish I was exciting,
But I'm nothing but boring and bland.

I'm told I can write,
But that's no big deal.
Simple words on a page,
Cannot my heart steal.

Instead of calling,
I write to you here.
What keeps me from speaking,
Is some unknown fear.

Shy and reserved,
But a great person overall.
What a tragedy I hide,
A masterpiece in hidden hall.*

My conscience runs deep,
Through miles and miles of my soul.
It skips a step where my heart's supposed to be,
As if it were a little lump of black coal.

---

*Masterpiece is hidden hall is alluding to a great work of art in the form of a painting hidden in a hidden hallway. The painting is magnificent and amazing, but no one will ever get to see it because it is secluded away.

Short Poem Before Sleep

I should be in bed right about now,
But going to sleep I cannot allow.
If I fall asleep I might not think of you,
So I stay awake, 'til half-past two.

Maybe you're awake miles and miles away,
You're awake in my mind, and there to stay.
I might pass out, since I'm tired, it seems.
Alas I still have you, waiting in my dreams.

Firefly

Firefly that's burning bright,
You fill the air with your light.
It draws me in, captivates my heart,
From left to right you quickly dart.

I gaze at you with longing stare,
Wishing you could be mine to care.
I dare not touch that light like a match,
And wonder how you I could possibly catch.

With an outstretched palm should I wait?
Will waiting long cause my heart to abate?
Should I try to grasp you with all my might?
Would you submit to me or put up a fight?

Your light wavers between bright and dim,
A testament to my love, so fragile and thin.
If I manage to catch you I'm keeping you for sure,
I wonder if I'll find it, and if I'll love her.*

---

*The last line differs from the others because "it" now replaces "you". The "you" subject of the poem is now gone, since it only existed in my head in the first place. The "you" does refer to a specific subject, and the last line is a clue as to what kind of subject it is.