I’m eighteen years old and there are things that I feel like I know more than anyone ever could, like how much the color yellow infuriates me and how I can never get tired of my mother’s voice, my friends are the closest I’ve ever had to a home and my father’s temper is almost as understandable as the Rubik’s Cube on my bedroom floor that I never could learn to solve. Continue reading
By the age of thirteen I had been in six different schools, staying in each for up to three years at the most. It wasn’t because I was bullied or because I couldn’t make any friends but it was rather because my family just moved around a lot. Along with every school that changed so did the house we lived in and the street I had grown familiar to or the neighbors that were always nice. Continue reading
These Metaphors seem to be the only things stitching us up into one, we have been burning up at the edges lately and I fear the flames leading up to me. My father told me to let go of my dreams, Continue reading
I was listening to Shelly Kagan talk about death on a podcast. He said, “How can non-existence be a bad thing if I’m not there to experience it”.
I’ve always had a very complicated, entangled relationship with the idea of “non-existence” the whole general concept of it makes me shudder but at the same time it’s almost an anomaly in itself something that’s inviting, and seemingly decorated by the curiosity that lingers in my mind at the mention of this word. Continue reading
My eighth grade French teacher smoked cigarettes out back near the football field every morning. Heaving in heavy breaths he’d cough like his throat was on fire, fumes in his lungs. He drank like the skies inside his eyes had fallen, clouds of silver smoke on his lashes would linger until they looked more like fragile tears wiped by trembling thumbs before brought into account by the twenty students who wanted more than anything to leave the classroom they were stuck in.
Labels as I perceive them:
Labels can be an odd combination ranging from constricting air tight jars embedded with vague ideas of who you are or who you appear to be, then falling straight into classification of similar people to help alleviate friendships, blooming into concepts about your very being and boosting the process of self discovery, apparently.
So I’ve got many talents ranging from an expertise in procrastination and thinking about the inevitability of death 24/7 I’d say I’m good at a reasonable amount of things for someone my age. On the other hand though there are a few, I mean a lot of things I absolutely suck at, those include sports, cooking, going outside and the list goes…pretty far. But we’re going to focus on one, which is making conversation with someone.
I said I’ll sleep on the floor tonight. With Bon Iver playing from the vinyl on the top of your bookshelf. I turn my head to face the mason jar filled with “reasons to live” I scribbled with my trembling left hand at four in the morning when I thought I’d lost you to the flame colored crimson blood on your arms. And I told you I’d write you a song, a poem hell I’d even write a book for you but you didn’t need my words you needed so much more.
Suffering and smiling are two things I’ve learned to do side by side. Some days it feels like my intellect is collapsing the power to think for myself as it leans on opinions guarded by somebody else, but is that okay? I, I fail to push away the colorless spots my vision often creates, and my solid solid dreams are starting to loose their solidarity they don’t seem that real to me, anymore. Because I built my today on what will happen tomorrow, every day is like the burning wax under a candle flame, it’s never really here to stay. And I wonder how long till that candle withers away and I have to face the day.
Because someone once said that happiness is overrated but how can that be true when happiness is all that I’ve ever chased,
I’ve never really been good at excepting change, whether it’s with something as small as buying clothes in colors apart from black or weather it’s something as large as moving house. Change doesn’t just scare me like it does most people, change is like that step from warmth straight into the winter snow. And there’s this feeling the unfamiliarity of a situation brings that I find hard to digest.