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"We build too many walls and not enough bridges."

I'm 20 years old. I go to school at the University of Central Florida in Orlando, however, I am from Naples. I like to write so I hope you like to read.





Oct 2 '12

a chasing commitment 

to an aqueous poison 

our partisan  intent

the forbidden bitten

while change insinuates 

an invisible imposed barrier 

sequestering our fates

please keep playing an actor

The temporary constituents

of an apathetically chosen separation 

while I manage to assume valiance

and your slogan admits no vindication

Tags: poem poetry politics love prose creative writing writing long distance

Jul 9 '12

Anxiety Attack (to be continued)

This is not a diary. This is not here to help keep track of what I’ve experienced, however much my memories seem to be a drain. Clogged, filled with the lose split ends of my hair I was too lazy to brush. This exists and that is all, like I exist- scared. Did I create this world? Well perhaps in a scientific way, there’s proof. The artist, a creator, through perception. 

MUST CHANGE THE FUCKING SUBJECT.

Um… I miss you.. fuck who is “you”? Where are “you”? So I can avoid my existential crisis. 

Never mind.

I’m scared to die, I’m sacred my mother is going to die- every day. Without her how could I feel real? She’s the only living proof I have that I came from something concrete. That I just didn’t make my life up and yours. 

“1+1=2 , 2+2=4, 4+4=8”

inhale, exhale

My body hurts less now. My vision doesn’t feel so spotted with black circles and blind spots. As if my brain regained proper circulation, not hurting to exercise it, no more pins and needles. 

Tags: writing words anxiety psychology novel art Creative Lit prose

May 21 '12
clean start… (Taken with instagram)

clean start… (Taken with instagram)

May 8 '12

Always Unfinished Business

I started taking pictures recently because I felt no connection to my past. However, as I recollected on them I realized I started to harbor too much nostalgia. I miss him too much as it is without the reminder.

I’ll attempt to find the most comfortable spot I can in my bed but without him my mattress is uneven. Too high on one side from consistent absence and sunken in on the other. It is perhaps a blatant metaphor, he unknowingly balances my extreme personality characteristics. 

Besides the reliable empty bed, there is one other consistency I’ve noticed. Right as I train myself to find comfort, I’ll sigh the words “I miss you so much.” 

As soon as I wake up, I check all signs that maybe he thought of me. No call, no messages, no notifications. I’ll tread through the list of excuses why he didn’t contact me and why I should contact him- but I never do.

I didn’t believe in it until recently. The way we met accommodated my anxiety. I didn’t stutter and it portrayed extroversion. My nose which typically would have started to feel as if I suddenly had allergies and reaction that looked as if I was snorting something were missing but not missed. There was a five minute gap of time that decided I would meet him, and I didn’t believe in it then either. Every encounter after the very first was not forced. I’ve never ran into someone accidentally so many times. A greeting was never necessary and our eyes somehow always found each other. Even if that’s all it was, it was all I needed to believe in fate.

Note to self:

*insert introversion writing perhaps?*

*to be continued

next topic: timing, hurting heart

1 note Tags: novel writing writer love fate awkward creative lit prose art

May 6 '12

Waiting

Complaints

the service

avoiding

yet expecting 

to walk out

pockets full

“I want my check please”

the obvious difference

between the lower classes

one either learns

the force-

ful behavior

and uses it to manipulate

their status

or pure heartily 

contemplate the knowledge

creating a stronger bond

between intelligence

and wisdom

remaining un-categorized 

growth from within

undefined 

by how heavy their pockets are

Tags: poem poetry prose money star wars writing creative lit words

May 6 '12

I wrote this on a napkin.

He changed his alliance, unrecognized to himself because of his simplicity and inability to derive a sense of responsibility. Apparently I am “too judgmental” according to him.  However, he judges me unknowingly believing somehow I just judge everyone around me and forget myself. I’ll tell you what he should say, “you’re so egotistical.” Fits my liking to judge myself more frequently and critically, occasionally pretending to think about others or him. 

Proximity is the most crucial factor in his sudden switch in behavior. I could blame myself, for two reasons: obsession and embarrassment I had to force my way out of. However, he was left faking a friendship I had created for him so that I too could intervene. When I disappeared, he spent too much time learning from someone who half asses his relationships. I could have warned him, but bonds were already tightly made from a pseudo-blood line and a charismatic leader. 

This new person created a relationship with money, I found the most disappointment in: greed for the sake of being able to “treat” with hope to also be “treated” by others with an expensive bar tab. Money became a guide to manipulation and a sense of entitlement- holding it over our heads because if he needed anything we had to give in. The way he “shared” his wealth, even further alluded to evil. Tempting those around him with the poisonous apple of intoxication. Laughing at his body suffering from alcoholism. 

The next relationship is with this liquid substance. Since he was being force fed, at the slightest stop or unavailability he know longer was pleasant to be around. He felt as though alcohol was the only gift worthy of calling a night “fucking awesome.” I couldn’t stomach it like he could, so I never participated. Brainwashed into believing I was no longer a means of having fun. 

While the last relationship is one he never wanted to achieve - it’s simply not by the code of being a “man” (quoting man because his definition is distorted). But this last relationship is woven with irony because it is a relationship. Most strictly with love - like most would associate the word relationship with. I’ve tried psychoanalyzing this fear- but all I came up with as my etiology was control. He had to have it. With alcohol as an excuse, he could soothe his appetite for control. 

He was taken on as an apprentice, most definitely because he was easy to control.  However, this “friend” never took account for proximity. So I’ll always have hope. If he were to become close to a being with great intentions and wisdom. I hope he will embody their ideas of individuality and create his own. I trust in being a follower he will learn to become a leader. 

2 notes Tags: writing words prose novel creative lit dark side poison friend love alcohol money

Apr 18 '12

I wonder who didn’t love her in the past?

She was tanner than me

and I lived on the sun

craved for attention

when I got none

obvious disinterest in her

but she never heard no

while they caved 

in effort to appease

all her desperate pleas

no self worth

no self control

too high self esteem

she’d never realize 

her dirty image

she was proud

“I get what I want”

but no one wanted her 

because she was self-less

and selfish 

too spoiled 

to sense their denial

and her angst

from their disapperance

will never disappear

until she washes her face

and shuts her legs

2 notes Tags: poem poetry writing creative lit prose words love lust sex punk makeup slut blonde

Apr 13 '12

Introvert

I’ve worked on faking extroversion. I’ve received and handed out my number. Genuinely attempted to remember a response is appropriate. My hand went through all the right motions, from the simple gesture of a strong handshake and the typical 90 degree angle leading upward to my mouth- timed perfectly so I was not incoherent. My head, beginning to dizzy, even reminded me to unfold my arms. I even recall the limitation of small talk and the absence of disagreement. I presented myself to be likable and so I was. I could not though refrain from biting my tongue, and although my eyes were contacting theirs, I was not interested. At least not for good enough reasons, perhaps only because her words lingered, “you need to meet people and get out and make friends or you’ll never be happy.” As much as even then I wanted to shove that same run on sentence down her throat, I did it again and bit my tongue, pretending that there was justification in the fact that other people will make me appreciate myself more. Of course, it worked for a split second as soon as a seemingly moderately decent male approached eventually leading to “you’re adorable, we should hangout sometime.” My ego hurt less momentarily, until somehow I talked them down in my head. “They don’t have a job, they don’t go to school, and they’ve just admitted to doing too many drugs.” My thoughts caused my ego extreme whiplash as their approval, attention, and compliments lost their credibility. I knew she probably shouldn’t have held so much credibility, since she was suffering from teenage angst for the last 20 years and despite being of legal age to drink managed to get us kicked out. Belligerent, an alcoholic, and openly loose. Somewhere she had stopped, not just pushed paused, but stopped, with no intention of playing the rest. Yet I accepted her criticism or as she would say “advice” because there was a sense of obligation but mostly confusion. I wanted to bring her to care and to grow with me instead of withering. I needed to understand the reasons why she acted so cowardly towards her future yet did not posses the quality of being a coward with her personal interactions. We both lacked what the other had. I knew, however, I could not progress through the future fixated on possessing her extroversion in the true form because I too would have then ceased. 

1 note Tags: writing prose novel introvert drunk party words creative lit anxiety love friendship

Apr 12 '12

Going to start using Hello Poetry as well. So if you have one or care to read mine here is my url:

http://hellopoetry.com/-fara-pizzo/

Tags: hellopoetry poetry poem writing

Apr 10 '12

Everything is invisable

planned and processed

with an escapble fate

that you first must acknowledge

but yet not over-analyze

to become dizzy with detachment

however, for many

they need the created direction

but they forget it exists

using force

while my feet are inclined 

(to do so)

I’ll reach the same destination

I promise

1 note Tags: poem poetry writing prose creative lit words life love