Divorce Please

If there's a way to divorce a sibling, sign me up.

Yes, I am writing. I like writing. This is how I vent, while you just be a psychotic mental patient. So fuck you.

And I said, "You can't make everybody happy."

He said, "You'd like to at least make yourself happy though."

I am a person who will always seek to make others happy before myself. I deny myself happiness, I disbelieve in my possible happiness. I shield myself from it because I truly believe that I don't deserve it. Others deserve it before myself. But what I'm figuring out is that if I am unhappy, it's near to impossible to achieve my goal of making others happy. Sure, I can fake it any chance that is easy enough, but sometimes it isn't so easy. It's so clear that my happiness will bring others happiness- it's a natural chain. But I am determined to overlook this simple fact because any pure happiness that touches me, I feel, is taint. And that's so messed up to think that way, but I can't stop myself. I see the way your lips move to the word "love" but I make myself deaf to your voice. I can't believe you because it's not true, I can't believe you because it's true. I am realizing that maybe I am genetically unable to receive love. This scares me, because it jeopardizes so much potential for us.

The Art of Loving

We are happy, but submerged. Not completely, about halfway. And decisions and choices determine how far we sink or how far we elevate. How did we come to be submerged anyway? Was it carelessness? Was it comfort? We may never trace the origins of this calamity. But we know now that it is apparent. It is real. And if we simply overlook this problem with more misunderstanding and less care, we will be head under, dear. And there's no going back from that. Not easily anyway.

What Was

Sometimes I wish I didn't feel so much. Feelings get hurt too easily and they just get in the way of something bad or something good. And then sometimes they control you and you forget how good you've got it. I wish we were like how we used to be. I wish I was like how I used to be. I try to bring back the beginning but only see my folly. I'm a fool, the jester of this life's party.

A Curse?

I have this tendency where I intend on laying my head down for a while and I find myself being grasped by my own thoughts. They pull me in, and an hour goes by and sometimes two. This happens also when I just sit somewhere comfortably. I don't realize that I just sit so still like a statue just thinking until someone shakes me or I snap out of it myself. I figure that 80% of my daily activities consists of thinking. I often wonder if I'm the only one who experiences these weird spells. I know that Greg doesn't really understand them because he doesn't see the sense in sitting for so long. He needs to get up and get things done. But I don't think I do this because I don't want to get things done. It's just something that I do. Probably something worry warts do. My thoughts usually are about the future, my regrets, my goals, my fears, something that I am upset about, something that I wish for in someone, or things that have changed. And because I think so much, I have this crazy belief that if someone else doesn't do this, then they must not care about me or about anything. It's a ridiculous idea, but I still half believe it.

Turkey Day

Firstly, I would like to make a request that the Universe stop thrashing on my car. It's a good car, I promise. I pay for it monthly. Secondly, Turkey Day was delicious. I spent it with a bunch of my favorite people, but I only wish that I could have done so with ALL my favorite people. This was the first Thanksgiving where I didn't spend it with my family. I didn't think it would affect me that much, but it turns out that I have a bit of a heavy heart over it. Of course it will pass, but still. I tried to work it out, but timing wasn't right. I was speaking to my Dad on the phone about all the timing, trying to figure something out. Before we got off, he said, "Hey." I said, "What?" He replied with, "Happy Thanksgiving." That's when the twinge came and the pressure in my eyes rose. "Happy Thanksgiving, Dad." I told him.

Insight

I'm not able to harness creativity anymore, I've noticed. It's quite sad to realize that I may not be able to force out any decent poems or stories anymore. I feel blank, and that's just it- I feel. That's all I have to work with. Feeling. That's all I've always had to work with. I am not blessed with effortless creativity and an interesting imagination. I am not blessed with any raw talent other than expressing my feelings, and really, what good is that anyway? I feel zombified. I'm a boring old corpse that walks around with no interest or talent in anything. I can't prove my worth to this world and it disturbs me. Everywhere I look everyone seems to be the perfectly shaped puzzle piece to this world, and I look at myself and see augmented sides and distorted angles. I don't fit anywhere.

A Room Worth a Thousand Words

This room aged with me. It underwent changes as I changed. The walls listened to my cries in the night of troubles only a lone soul would know. The old bulletin board above my computer is odd. The transition of who I was to who I am clashes like two wild cats competing for game. There hadn't been open space on this ancient board for years and I imagine now that I naturally just layered on memories with the point of a tack. It frightens me that the majority of these memories above my head feel much more distant than they should- I can hardly remember most of them. However, the recent rekindling of a broken friendship aids in the remembrance of these lost memories. They bring a smile to my face as I allow them to rush back to my frontal lobe, out from the deepest and most forgotten parts of my mind. I have finally found an inkling of who I might be, but I am not what you remember. And I'm not entirely sure if you will accept this.

The Truth About Fortune Cookies is...

While they are more than often just a string of mystical words no one may ever comprehend, sometimes the phrases inscribed on those little rectangle pieces of paper can prove to be the revelation that you were looking for all along. You just needed the odd way of discovering it. The one that brings smile creases to your face.

Seams

You're short tempered
Hostile
And ungrateful-
But I am forced to love you anyway

Unpeel flesh
Pick at bones;
Leaving only red behind
And see that we are so similar

Treat yourself well and do so to me
We are born of the same tree