What Happened

People are funny. There's been a couple things that happened that just reaffirm this. She gave me this glare and those shifty eyes because of what I said, but I was just saying. My teacher agreed with me. My coherent thoughts are sometimes lost in a bumble of nothing important. I do have something to say though. It's not easy sometimes in cases where people's feelings can get hurt. That aside however, saying anything at all can be so frightening. I want something concrete to be handed over to my communicator, but this is rarely ever the case. The journey from mind to mouth is a long one. Oh the bullshit in between...the he said she saids, the ambiguity, the similes and metaphors...sometimes there's this overwhelming need to be deep, but it's trite. It's not necessary. There's so much of what's done these days that just isn't necessary. It's just planned and there to be done. Going back to this girl...she's funny. She just gets under my skin because she stands on her soap box all high and mighty like she truly can see the world for what it is. What she wrote though was so incoherent. It made me laugh. I wanted her to know that what she thought was completely the opposite of what was true. Oh the poor people of my day and the lies they believe. Not trying to exclude myself from any such elite group. I try to humble myself in these kind of situations and think 

"Oh well it's the same for anyone including yourself miss..." 

But not in this case. Just dumb things she thinks makes me laugh. 

Oh if...

What was said was reiterated in my mind so simply over and over and over and over and over. And over. I'm over it. I'm waiting for what is meant to burst into clarity. What is most magnificently and truly meant. I'm not talking about that in between the lines trendy bull shit. I do sense some kind of relief to an end. It's almost like an orgasmic peak, holding tight and my fingernails clenching to dirty fibers and filaments of a dark carpet around me, thrusting my entire body forward...Just leave me! Leave me with that overwhelming sense of warmth and security that is so characterstic of clarity. I want it so. I know a book that can be a topic of discussion. It will leave you flabberghasted and jaw dropped at the absurd nothings it says but the absolute truths in the index. The corner's of your eyes will become but white with dismay. A simply pure color indeed that will fog in a reflection of themselves. I inscribe nothing to you. Take it as it is. No such silly trivialities are needed. You are so silly. Turn your sense upon themselves and truly understand what it is you have done. No. Can you? I want you to. Oh how I always want. I want you to hold my hand across the street. Buy me a great big balloon. I want a swimming pool. Give me all your music and your time. I'll use it far more wisely. And I'll take care of it. Promise I will. I'll walk it everyday, wash it, feed it and love it like it should be. You wouldn't regret that. Don't be trite. Just be right. It's not as hard as I'd always thought it would be. It's just a matter of doing it. Actually doing something that is a matter of importance to anything. I just want a note to read something as this: Smile for the love you make is greater than anything you could ever hope to accomplish. Live in this and be proud.

I Don't Want To Stop

I feel as if I'm bursting at the seams. There's a hurricane in my belly and the storm's eye is a sort of deception I fall into. There's this massive sense of being undone that wants to tear me apart. It is what it does and I do not want it to. I want to do me. It's so important and I don't see a solution it seems like. I constantly feel like something pushes me the other way. Like when you rub against something soft but in the other direction it's harsh and hurts a little bit. I'm longing for that sensation of comfort and trust in myself. I know it's capable and isn't very difficult. I don't want to stop. But here I go.

Proceed...

My rough draft for life: distortion, manipulation, sheer mutilation. Carry this with me and take it to the baker down the street. Burn it. Feed it to no one but those with enough humility and understanding to taste its passion in between the crust. I want you to have this. Take it from me and enjoy it as it should. Give it to your kid neighbor Samuel and have him take it to the elementary school. He'll play a silly game of vulnerability with the other kids, smash it into the ground and let the bugs of the playground enjoy something they don't know is new but know as something to thrive off. Let's be like the bugs but let's not be like the bugs. I want you to thrive off of this but I want you to know why. I want to stuff it into every hole and crevice of your body and have that sense of fullness explode and illuminate out every single pore of your body. This to me is great and beautiful and only makes sense to further pursue this sense of beauty. Why doesn't it happen more often. I want to change things and have these things known to be something better because of what I did. But where do I begin? Do I even? Did I already? I break down... What now? How? Who? It must not matter. I want to see a grand procession of love with streamers and balloons and confetti...that whole nine. I want it to center around a concept of originality and antiqueness but with a certain flair only capable of brilliant minds of my age. If any... To be amazed is a wonderful thing. I want to do it more often.