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

unfinished thought…too tired

I forgot how to speak

somewhere in between

being afraid 

and never being able to spell

so I learned to talk

myself out and into things

learning to stick up 

without being stuck up

I feel like this whole SOPA and PCIP bullshit was just Lamar S. Smith trying to propose something utterly ridiculous to make Obama look bad because he know’s Americans are dumb enough to blame congresses bills on the president or every problem with government. Hrmm.. and in an election year.. and he happens to be a republican.. seems odd. Prove me wrong. I mean he would be only tricking those who go and vote who aren’t informed or well educated. I wish I knew the stats on that.

They say the great die young.. but the only reason we recognize them at all or that they were great was because they died and it triggered some emotional response either possessively that you want them in your life or it reminded you of your own eventual demise. To which we seek an answer to questions that are scientifically impossible to answer (when and why and what will happen?). Those who are obsessed will gravitate to religion.. which ironically will tell you not to believe in the theory of gravity. Other’s will suppress their anxiety and pretend they cannot die until death shoves it’s existence in their faces and all that was buried arises through panic and substance abuse to forget again even if just briefly. I float somewhere in the middle of the death continuum. Choosing mostly to ignore it but in emergencies I’ll need the answer privately convincing myself that a God exists because I know being forced to forget the anxiety through drugs brings me closer to a death I want so badly to get away from.

The warmth

no need for a blanket

the agonizing perspiration

from trying too persistently

to get your attention

when my cheeks turned red

not from embarassment

but from the lack of heat

your arm intuitively

spoke

answering my next question

but you had to leave

perhaps you gained forsight

that I wouldn’t need your cover

till next winter

or undoubtably 

you brought the cold to me

Hell is a paradox

if evil loves evil

why does he torture them

in a fiery solitude

when behavior is relinquished

through punishment 

and learned through rewards

but his image would not stand

and the devil would dissipate in intentions

so hell is over populated 

with those who never change

from their mistakes and bad habits

a masochistic desire 

chaining themselves

willing 

to the train tracks

only further falsifying

the negativity 

that we are slaves to fate

when our perception

is our true reality

A wave that starts from head to toe

like

static

that just won’t let go

of its currency

that both of us produce

can you feel the

time difference

as we reverse

shadows of our recollection

of those who deserve affection

or a true outline

of experience

no need to convince

taken off

swallowed by

time constraints

and an unsettled stomach

I could have wrote something poetic, but I just couldn’t think straight. All the lines were there but unorganized to the point where I couldn’t even process what I was trying to portray. It might of had to do with describing those pretty hazel eyes but that was always his line, not mine. Could of had to do with the man I met but never knew. The fact that he never got to see the end of this war just like I will never get to know who he was. Might have been a story of a post anxiety attack, a mental breakdown and how I realized I was much better than it. Including my newly found self confidence, poise I only used to see in others I envied, brought on by reaching a sought out goal and receiving continuous praise that slapped me in the face out of love because I wouldn’t accept it. Should have been about how I can’t stand that I love being loved but won’t give the same love back because I don’t know how it could be appropriate without leading them on. Definitely would have been about a temporary neglect of friendship due to reasons I felt selfish yet I proclaimed I understood while somehow genuinely learning to understand.  I felt I should never confess how I see those around me as less intellectual, not in an arrogant way but in a way that contributes to my subconscious desire to alienate myself. I knew I would never again write a poem about a boy, and I stress boy despite the appearance of being a man, who’s arrogance to which I lacked proved to be the motivation I needed to realize my self worth. How despite being insanely in love with an idea I didn’t want to admit I could not ever picture correctly, am now incredibly embarrassed and angry. I wish I could explain how I need someone who incorporates my mentality, emotional capabilities, comfort, appeal, and humor without taking advantage of my willingness to bend so as I do not break. Could I even describe how each individual I choose to nag at for attention and affection gives me satisfaction of one of my criteria but never all? If I did, I would have to imply that I am grateful so as not to feel guilty for receiving anything I want. Is this possible or perhaps do I need to begin writing a novel?

Gone

I don’t know you

Well I didn’t

but I feel like I did

through their eyes

I could gain prespective

feel how you made them feel

Gone

I didn’t know you

but I could make a judgment

based off of what they told me

it wouldn’t be accurate

because I don’t know you

Gone 

Sad because I never will know you

Never understand why they feel that way

Never accurately make a presumption of you

Still here

you don’t want to know me

well it didn’t seem like it

but I’ll still try to introduce myself

with more than small talk

and laugh at your false accusations

because I want you to know me

I know I shouldn’t write for recognition, but sometimes it’s frustrating when it goes unnoticed. It’s like talking to yourself or getting interrupted when you are venting. I write for myself, that’s audience I want to impress, but it would be nice if others could appreciate it too. I feel like writing is a dead art. No one wants to read anymore even if it meant understanding the person better or feeling some emotion. Everyone on this website just wants to stare aimlessly at pictures of pretty girls or laugh momentarily at a meme making fun at other’s expense. Not read. Not think about how beautiful life is. Not try to comprehend how the brain works. Not listen to intelligent music. It’s like you all have adhd now from the internet. Can’t focus on something for more than a second.