I Reach For The Bright Future

hmmmm... should I deprive myself of human interaction...?

Forever That Child At Age Five

Do you ever wonder if people can really change beyond their formative years?

"Sure they can. Maybe not the whole, but a solid chunk? Yeah."

Well, I suppose that's true to some extent.

A man can live the first 20 years of his life in a constant state of movement.

Studying, working, doing chores, being what he needs to be in order to survive a harsh environment.

Then he can live the next 20 years in a carefree state of relaxation,

and live the last 50 as the hardworking man once more to provide for his family.

Or at least, that's the story of my father.

But I fear I am still going to be that same child I was, back when I was five, ten, fifteen.

I fear I am forever going to be under the shadow of that man,

that man who had two children without even realizing how fucked up his own childhood was.

I fear I will never become anything more, at my core, than that five year old child.

Sure, I suppose I'll change, superficially; maybe I'll know a bit more, fit into society a bit more, and so on.

But at heart I will still be that same, sad, scared little child,

a child who would do anything for a bit of affirmation and approval.

I fear that when I am thirty, or fifty, or eighty, or a hundred-twenty, or however the fuck long I live,

that I will still be no different from the child I was when I was five.

I fear that I am always going to be the same little boy who begs for just the slightest bit of love.

I fear that I am forever that child at age five.

Day and Night

The sun shines brightly

on a joyful new day.

Let us laugh and laugh

until our minds are jelly and paste.

No, I will not

"take it down a notch."

Not for you, for myself, or for anyone.

I am free as the sky.

I know, you know, we all know,

What happens to me when the dreary time comes.

The world falls apart, reality losing its lustre

as all returns to the correct muted gray and _____.

But who cares? Let's not let the spoilsport

ruin our fun. Live in the moment,

Die in the moment, be your authentic self -

For there is no future to look forwards to.

I am Night, the eternal slumber,

once again reminding you of outstanding debts.

Your soul is mine, as ruined as it is,

For even the most damaged of people have value.

There is only fear left

I am sitting here.

All alone. By myself.

Bothering nobody.

You come along.

To do whatever. I don't care.

You look at me and sigh loudly.

No, what the fuck?

What was that supposed to mean?

"Nevermind." Nevermind my ass, tell me.

Is what I want to say, but I don't.

Instead I take that bravado and use it elsewhere.

I fake strength as I shrink inside.

I already know you do this bullshit on purpose.

This is something you do all the time.

Always ends the same way.

But it doesn't always end the same.

I'm not the only person in your mind.

So why do I assume it is?

You go and argue with the pacifist bastion.

She yells back. I fear it is about me.

I sneak closer. It is not.

This is the second time that I assumed wrong about your yelling.

You have much bigger troubles than me. I am not important.

So why do I always assume? And why do I always fear?

I have no answers to such questions.

I have no solutions to such problems.

There is only fear left in this husk.

The Temptation of Silence

Oh, how tempting that mistress is,

to be shut away and not a bother to nobody,

To make absolutely no-one the sadder

by reciting the same pains that ailed them.

Oh, how tempting that emptiness is,

to be quiet and subdued and unnoticed,

To make absolutely nothing go worse than it already has

by moving again to the great god of failure.

Oh, how tempting that nothingness is,

to be perfect and nonexistent and unbothered,

To make absolutely everything nothing, and nothing everything

by emptying the whole world of its contents.

Oh, how tempting that silence is,

to destroy my self in mine own vainglory.

Just One More Year

Just one more year until the Event That Decides My Life

and then I'll finally be free

The event comes and goes.

I am now free.

He takes it away again.

Just one more year,

Just one more year.

Just one more year,

Just one more year.

Just one more year until you can get what you want

and then you'll finally be free

The year comes and goes

You are free. Nothing changed.

Because he took it away again.

Decisions

So many decisions all the time.

Like a hydra, each head popping out two more

and each of those heads doubling up again

like it wasn't decision-anxiety-inducing enough at the start.

And that's all very well and good if you didn't force me to interact

but nooooooooo I have to actually choose the singular right one

or at least one of the few close enough to the right one

which, of course, is none, since the only "close enough" is on the dot.

You know what? Take it away from me.

You're the smartass here. You know which one is correct.

Why don't you do it? Take my autonomy away from me, pilot my life?

Anyways you clearly know how your hydra works. Won't that help mine?

But no, you have to hide the whole concept of the hydra away from me

Making it my fault whenever you hit the wrong head like a fucking idiot

So that when I am first introduced to it I am met with a thousand heads

and little clueless me is told "yeah that's your fucking problem I quit."

And with each wrong, clueless swing I make

the number of heads only ticks higher

An Unrealistic Wish

Fair lady, your grace

astounds me. Your beauty is

simply unparalleled. Oh, what I would give

to be one of your faces, each beautiful,

each with their own touch -

immaculate, pouting, smiling, caring, sharp, soft, all perfect.

But I'm sure you don't need me to tell you that.

Instead, I am stuck in this

muck of a body. My ugliness is

quite gastly. I suppose it is nature.

To be a Man, this vulgar, disfigured-at-conception

shambling mound of meat, fucking years of effort

just for the body to be fit and healthy, much less attractive,

and even less so the face.

And don't get me started on the person.

Oh, yes, I suppose partly inherited, but I'm sure mostly inherent -

the rage, violence, crassness, brash impusiveness,

the chaos and unbefitting nature of it all.

Why, I can't even love myself like this -

What kind of asshat would I be to ask for love from you?

But I digress. See, this is what I mean -

Even now I overpower, I crush and push and talk

as if I am the only real person in the world, a spoiled brat -

whining about how bad he has it

to people who've had much worse.

Forget me. I've been

too much of a burden on you. I'm sorry.

Even now your kindness and generosity shine through

my darkest clouds, my deepest woes,

and I'm sorry I waste your blessings like this.

Thank you for your time. I know, I know -

I cannot be one of your faces. I am what I am:

a greedy little shit of a Man who is only after your looks

and even if I had it, it would be fake, a cheap imitation

of your boundless perfection. But thank you for

at least considering it. Oh, and before you go -

I love you. You're beautiful.

Finally did it this time.

3rd time’s the charm.

today i am going to run on the treadmill until either my lungs or my legs give out

the pain will remind me to exist

I Have Not Changed

I still carry

that fear of you

of your dissappointment and

anger.

I still fail

to see what is important

what I need to be doing and

how I can do it better.

I still wait

for salvation to deliver me

instead of moving my own

two legs to walk

I still think

that I can fix myself

even though time has shown that

I cannot get up alone.

I still hope

to never be a burden

nevermind the burden I am

to the world I take from.

I still allow

my passions to be tainted

by approval, by fear, by time

as I run myself ragged for you.

I still shudder

when I hear a ping

wondering whether it is praise

or deep, vitriolic scorn

I still fear

that the beautiful, wonderful, spectacular people around me

will retract their blessings

and leave me godless.

I still fear that I am not worth a second of your time.