Kind of a loaded question isn’t it?
Is there something you’ve lost?
Something you’ve spent?
Put yourself behind and look ahead
Don’t you gain something if you give something instead?
Do you have a family? Or friends? Who you’d do anything for?
Do you value yourself but see that they’re worth more?
I’m not a perfect person, that I can say
I’m only human but is selfish really the way?
Maybe you’d give up time for pain or for strife
But when it matters the most, do you give up your own life?
Maybe you’ve got it all, and you’ve got a life to live
But those who lose everything for others always have more to give
Maybe you don’t care, you’d give up nothing at all
You put yourself high up on that shelf, I hope you enjoy the fall
After reading some words that needlessly rhyme
I’ll ask the same question, but you answer this time
If everything matters, fate, destiny, and luck,
This question falls to you:
So what do you give up?
I haven’t slept in 2 years. I haven’t eaten in 5, I’m not lying.
People lie everyday. “Little white lies” we call them. They mean nothing at all. It won’t hurt anybody. What could possibly happen if I told a lie?
Some people are bad liars, and some lies are just bad.
I’m not a bad liar. But people just don’t believe me when I say anything. Everything I say becomes a lie in another person’s ears, they won’t listen.
So if I tell bad lies on purpose will anybody notice? I’ll mix up the truth with bad lies and see if people can tell the difference.
I’ve never broken a bone, I’ve never been drunk, I’ve never forgotten a birthday. Do you know which statement is true? And which one was the lie?
I’ve been sick for 10 years, my IV is made of tears, my cereal tastes like regret, I’m not lying.
I’ve forgotten my own name, I forgot where I came from, I left my consciousness on the bus. I’m not lying.
It’s very easy to ignore an obvious lie, when you know the truth. But I’m not lying…
My heart is broken, my dignity stolen, and my future is no more. I’m not lying.
My friends are gone, along with my dad and mom, my sibling disappeared. I’m not lying.
My chest hurts, my ribs are shattered, and as for me. Well, there’s not a lot of me left. I’m not lying.
I can’t stop myself from constantly running away from the truth, lies are just so much easier to tell.
They say the truth sets you free…
Ok… Let’s try again.
The poem is filled with lies, some of them easier to say than others. But I want to start telling the truth now.
I want to start this poem over. I want to be better than this. I know I’m better than this… And maybe you can hear it in my voice. But I promise. I’m not lying…
Fact: My sister is a wonderful human being.
After hearing about the tragedies happening around us, she decides to make paper stars. Lots and lots of stars.
She asks for empty bottles from the neighbours and her friends. She fills the bottles with these stars, folding away all her problems into glass bottles and jars of all shapes and sizes. After she fills the bottles and jars she hands them to her friends and family.
She gives one to me.
The paper stars in a rainbow pattern, they seem so full of wonder. Even if they are nothing more than paper encased in glass.
I take the glass jar and place it on the top shelf of my school locker. Reminding me that I can keep a piece of home and happiness close to me.
But it didn't last.
After I made some mistakes I didn't feel as though I wanted any happiness near me. I wanted to take every bit of hope and hide it away.
I took the jar of paper stars out of my locker 2 days ago.
Holding it close to my chest as I walked down the halls of my school.
My head hanging.
Eyes glued to the floor.
Walking away from everything.
But still sort of hopeful...
Wishing for a bit more optimism.
A shining star.
My Dear Friend,
It’s been a long time since we’ve talked, I’ve tried writing this letter at least 10 times because I can’t decide how to write it. Friend, life has not been treating me well.
You see life is like a video game. You can make choices, say certain things do certain things, you can choose to progress, or hit pause for a while. But I’ve never saved my game. I always try to restart and redo choices to stop making mistakes, I try.
But in the end we never do win a game that we were never taught how to play. We were not given a manual to tell us what to do.
Ages and birthdays are like levels friend. A checkpoint to come back to but sometimes… I find it difficult to try playing this game again, maybe I just got bored again.
I choose to write you a letter because talking to you in person is sometimes a challenge I don’t have the strength to face. And I’m not afraid to talk to you. I’m just afraid of talking.
If I say your name too many times it might lose its meaning, repeating words over and over again until they don’t mean anything anymore. So I will say your name only when I absolutely have to. Your name means too much to me, I will not let it lose meaning.
Listen, I’ve been praying for you every night that you’re still alive. That I’ll see you soon. I haven’t slept in what seems like forever, but I don’t really see why sleeping is something I still have to do.
I’m losing consciousness and I can’t speak in full sentences as well as I used to. But this is the price you pay for playing a risky game.
I should probably send this letter tomorrow, but I’m tired. And if I don’t keep myself awake I’ll never get up in the morning. But, I haven’t said anything in this letter that makes any sense. I’m trying to figure this out on my own. But you’re not exactly close by.
When you get this letter friend, please... Come home.
I’ll be waiting by the street corner, and we’ll watch the stars like we used to.
Be safe, be kind, and be brave. I’ll see you soon ok?
I can’t sleep because I’m too tired. I’m so tired that what I just said makes complete sense...
I can’t sleep because I’m not tired at all, I would run around the world and come back home and still be awake. If I could... If I wanted to.
I can’t sleep because counting sheep is stupid.
I can’t sleep because I want to pull an all-nighter. I can’t sleep because I don’t want to pull an all-nighter.
I can’t sleep because I plan to wake up at 6 am tomorrow morning. Or 8, or 12, or 4 o’clock in the afternoon.
I can’t sleep because YouTube.
I can’t sleep because I can’t wait for tomorrow, and I can’t sleep because I don’t want tomorrow to catch up with me.
I can’t sleep because I have a scheduled 3-hour long conversation with God and something tells me we are definitely going overtime. We just have so much to talk about.
I can’t sleep because I’m hungry, but let’s not risk waking my family of the sleep I don’t get to have.
I can’t sleep because I’m afraid of dying in my sleep. You can’t tell me it would be peaceful, or comfortable, when I’m subconsciously fighting for my life, and a rest I will forever never get to have.
Rest in peace right? More like rest in pieces, I am a broken body sprawled out across a bed that is too small for me because I hate sleeping on a diagonal, I keep tossing and turning, so no, I am not resting in peace.
I can’t sleep because I will never be comfortable, I will never be able to sleep in a straight line, or on my left or right side, so lets just stare at my ceiling and wonder why I even bother trying.
I can’t sleep because my dreams will always become nightmares in which I wake up the next morning to forget my dreams of yesterday, I did not ask for a tomorrow, I did not ask for my alarm clock, I did not ask to wake up. Tell the sun to go back down for five minutes.
I can’t sleep because I will wake up to find that my arms are wrapped around my pillow, where I thought your body was. I am not hugging you anymore, because I have woken up. I don’t care it it’s not real, let me dream for just a little longer because I just wish you were here. I cannot forget how lonely I have become.
I can’t sleep because I’m waiting for the phone to ring, for a message to be sent, for burglar to sneak into my house, because I am awake and ready to fight. I will defend what I can see. But I can’t see in the dark.
I lay awake, wishing that you were here to tell me it’s safe to sleep, but we both know monsters exist in the dark.
I can’t stop wishing that you were here, I’m sorry that I can’t stop thinking about you. I just can’t explain myself, and I will stay up all night thinking of something to say to you. But I can’t…
I can’t sleep, I can’t let myself fall asleep I might never be as alive as I am right now
I have so much I need to do, so please don’t let me fall asleep again. Because being here alive and awake with you is already a dream come true.
It’s 11:30 at night, and I’m staring at a screen that no longer notifies me that anyone I know is awake. For I am once again avoiding sleep, but I am waiting for a reason to stay awake. I do not want to sleep for fear of never waking up, but if you send me a message, I will have a reason to get up in the morning.
Fact: Our communication is more body language than it is words but not that this applies to the text message you will send from your phone. For the only thing that doesn’t involve words in a texting conversation is silence.
You’d be surprised at how often I’ve had to be silent for the sake of others. You see, I have been told by many that I am too selfless, and that I need to look out for myself a little more. But I can’t. I do not have the ability to stop caring about people who need me, even if I am suffering more than they are. It hurts…to know that people I care about are in pain, so I pretend my pain isn’t there.
But slowly, I begin to realize that listening to others and caring for them is not a bad thing, but it does give me a reason to ignore my own problems. I don’t want to ignore my own issues, but I don’t have the courage to tell them to my own friends, why is that?
One time, my brother was so sick he could barely swallow without feeling pain, so I only asked him yes or no questions so he could nod or shake his head to answer. His pain, kept him silent, and my pain keeps me silent. The only difference between his situation and mine is that my communication with him was working and this silence within me prevents me from even saying hi to people.
I want to tell people everything, I want to have 5-hour conversations about everything that makes me silent and I want to be able to send you a text message without worrying about whether or not I just interrupted your life for 2 seconds. I want to tell you that I’m having a bad day, but I can’t because seeing you makes my day so much better that I have to smile. I want to tell you why I hate the weekends because I love school because my friends are at school, and that I had a fight with my parents, and that I hate looking at my own reflection, and that every time I say to someone that I’m sorry, I’m also trying to say that I love them. I am sorry…sorry… I want to tell you that I sometimes feel so much pain that when you say hello or goodbye, I will only have enough energy to give you a small smile and a wave, I am lonely…
I want to get better, I want to say everything and be honest and just WHY GOD WON’T YOU HELP ME?!? I want to play music, and have fun, and live my life, please somebody hear me…
1 New notification:
“Hey, are you still awake? You seemed a little out of it today. I’m always here for you if you need me.”
It’s 12:00am and I’ve missed the moment where today became tomorrow. So maybe today is the day I tell you everything. Maybe our communication isn’t broken. I write back saying: “Thanks for checking in on me, it means a lot. Now that you mention it, there is something that’s been bothering me, I have something I need to tell you…”
You just can't help but love the feeling that you know something they don't.
But at the same time, you can hate that feeling until the secret explodes from your heart.
But in the event of this good secret, I can only watch people be oblivious and love that this secret won't stay a secret forever. Because I know something that will hopefully make them happy.
But when someone is dying to know the secret...
You can only hope you don't disappoint them when you finally tell them what it is.
Because you've been holding this secret for 3 months.
And it means something to you.
Hopefully the same applies to them.
You ever walk from place to place with your earbuds in and music turned up? I do that a lot. I’m a hallway walker myself, used to run everywhere at first but not anymore.
So since you’re a hallway walker, where are you going? You got somewhere to be? I find myself walking halls a lot. Sometimes it’s for absolutely no reason. And sometimes we all just need to walk out our problems or feelings.
You get used to seeing the same walls and doors along the way. Sometime that halls are empty and hollow, and sometimes you’re trying to walk through a crowd...
Have you ever wondered about where other people are going? Maybe they’re walking the same way you are, or maybe they’re walking to nowhere. Either way, we’ve all got somewhere we have to go. I hope you make it there safely.
And hey, don’t forget where you’re going, but don’t forget where you came from either. The journey is just as important as the destination. Thanks for finding my letter. Now keep walking, I mean, don’t you have somewhere to be?
The three poems I have made private here are all about you.
It seems like everything about my opinion of you is some kind of private matter.
I still care about you.
I think you're amazing.
Maybe I still love you.
But not in the same way I used to.
I'm sorry I'm not worth all that much nowadays.
I just wanted you to know that I'm going into therapy soon.
You said I needed to "sort myself out".
I've been through a lot of things that shouldn't have happened to good people like us.
Or maybe I was never that good person.
Who am I kidding?
You're not reading this.
Last time you did, things went wrong and now all those poems are private.
I can't even muster up any courage to say "hi" in any situation.
So I won't.
Makes things easier.
Sorry I didn't try harder.
Sorry I wasn't there.
Sorry I called you late at night.
Sorry I still remember the circus.
Sorry I still want to send you gifts for your birthday and Christmas.
Sorry I didn't say anything the right way or even at the right time.
Anyways... talk later?
Or never I guess.
You'll be busy.
And I have a therapy session to go to.
I'll wake up earlier than usual and for a split second, I forget what happened 24 hours ago. It seems like a blur, like it didn't happen.
But I know it did.
And I can't change that.
So I'll throw on a checkered shirt and look at myself in the mirror as I put on my key necklace and rings, looking dangerous and ready to kill.
I wonder whether or not it's worth it to button up my shirt, but I seem to like the aesthetic of looking like I'm helpless. So I leave the shirt open to seem lazy too.
But I will roll up the sleeves. I'll always roll up the sleeves. Can't risk snagging the cuffs of a good, bad, decently fashionable looking shirt.
Pick out a complimentary hat and go.
Face the day why don't you?
Because I know I'll still end up crying eventually.
And I'd rather have those shirt cuffs in tact to wipe away the pain when I do.
I woke up sick.
And I feel awful.
But not for the reason you think.
I can assure you that I am fine, I just need some time to lucid dream and wish my worries away. But that might never happen. And honestly, that's okay with me.
I'm wearing the same infected clothes, and wrapping up in the same infected blanket hoping to get better.
I've gotten the rest of my family sick, so good for me.
Because my family is made up of some of the strongest people I know. We never get sick.
And yet, here we are. Bound to our beds and eating soup like it's the elixir of life.
But we will get better. Physically...
As for everything else... we can leave that until tomorrow.
But I'm still in these infected, sick clothes. But I'm too tired to do anything about it. So I'll sleep.
It's the best thing I can do right now.
Don't you think?
Usually, I'm pretty impatient about well... anything. Like this trip for example. I kind of wish we were already there. But at the same time, I'm not too eager to rush through today. Making this experience last as long as possible.
Getting as much out of it as I can. Living like to the fullest sort of thing. And yet, this plane ride is becoming sort of draining. But plane rides are usually like that. Not much to be done about that.
So for right now, I'll enjoy some time to lat back and try to relax. More air time above the ocean.
There's really nothing more to be done about the time left on this flight. And writing seem like the best time killer I've got. But it's not that I'm bored of writing. It's just that I'd rather be singing or playing my uke.
I could still be writing... But I'd be creating a song or poem or something new.
Something good. (So like I don't know, the bachelor?)
Something... (Yep. Definitely the bachelor.)
But I have to continue to wait out the flight. But again, I'm not really complaining.
I have the whole trip ahead of me.
There's a guy I know who once used an entire 2nd period class to draw out his entire family line on the white board.
He explains in great detail the divorces, the half siblings, the brothers he truly cares for. And you forget that somewhere in this family tree, he exists.
And he talks....and talks....
It gets to a point where you forget he's monologing.
He stops talking about and slowly begins talking about his view on love and relationships. I forget that he comes from a somewhat messed up family.
I mean, I'm still optimistic about love. So much so that I forget that people don't see the world the way I do.
And he is... not as optimistic about love.
Or rather, he just doesn't see love as an opportunity worth chasing. He explains it as, "I can develop feelings for someone, but I don't act on them because I don't see the point."
Or something like that...
And well, I can't think like that.
So I'll leave this mindset here. I guess it's something worth talking about. I guess...
My headphones are on.
I know what I'm hearing.
And I hope you can hear my heart break with every hit.
There is no excuse.
There is no cover up.
You wouldn't allow me to sit idly by and listen to you drain the blood from your hands.
I've been there, I've done that.
Are you even counting? I'm not, and even I know you've doubled up on the hits.
I can hear it.
I met you 3 years ago.
5' 2" and terrifying.
You never got any taller, but your rockstar personality shot right to the moon and back. And you never let anybody bring you down or tell you what to do. I admired that about you.
I remember the dumbest things about our friendship. I remember working with you on a group project we both didn't care about. I remember becoming friends with you like it was an easy thing, like we both knew we would be friends eventually.
I remember the first song I ever sent to you, and not expecting you to like it but you did anyway. You told me the song would even get stuck in your head. I promised to send you every song I would ever write.
We were close. I would always make time to talk to you. It didn't matter whether or not you were interrupting anything, I would set anything aside to talk to you.
We shared our jokes, and our pain. Our laughter and longing, we were good friends and we never let each other down.
And I will admit that this is my fault.
Please don't place all of the blame on her.
She may be guilty, but so am I.
2 out of the 3 problems were caused by my impulses.
I can handle 66.7% of the blame and consequences.
I can do that.
You can hate me if you want.
You tell me you don't want to talk to her anymore.
I tell you I respect your decision and that I will be here if you need me.
I am sorry.
I know I screwed up our friendship, and I wish I could take it all back.
I wish you could remember me as the innocent songwriter who held out arms of comfort instead of words of contradiction.
I am terrible.
And you don't need me.
But if your heart finds enough forgiveness to see past this.
I will give you a way out.
And if you choose not to take it.
Then maybe you believe that I am worth taking back.
That our friendship is worth fixing.
So tell me:
If I am worth that much...
Are you okay with the idea of starting over?
Because I want to make this better.
You don't have to be around me if you don't want to.
But if I can start over.
I will live through my life thankful that I got a second chance at all.
The truth about being a superhero, is that only certain people know when to call us at exactly the right time. When the world is about to break into chaos and when the cities need us to be there.
But this isn’t exactly the job I thought it was going to be. I have devoted myself to being the best I can be for the people of my city, for freedom and justice, and for you. And for the first few months of my job, I was everywhere.
People knew my name, I was in every newspaper, children looked up to me, put me on their lunchboxes, they wanted to be me…
They say heroes aren’t born, they’re made. But I was born! Of the kindness of my mother, and the bravery of my father to create this image of strength. I am a superhero! I can fly, can you fly? Can you wear this suit? Can you handle the responsibility?
Not all of my city wanted a superhero. Some of them became the villains. And it’s not like I can’t handle a few bad guys, but sometimes, the citizens are my kryptonite.
Sometimes they don’t want me, one day they praise me and the work that I’ve done, the next day, they say they don’t need another hero, I’m just another problem, they say “Leave us the way that you found us: broken. And not needing anybody around to fix it.”
But I’m not perfect either. I can fly, but gravity still brings me back to earth, I can run, but not from my problems, I can carry cars with my two hands. But the weight of the world still sits on my shoulders.
The day they told me to leave the city, I reminded myself that if I harmed any one person, broke my promise to be the sole keeper of freedom and justice for all. That I would hang up my cape and quit.
And I did. I became human again, I am not as strong as you made me out to be. You told me I wasn’t needed. And soon after the villains had returned and they were shouting for me to save them again.
I thought you didn’t want me, stop it, I’m no hero, I’m just a person. Please, my powers only do so much. Do you still need me to save you? I’m just an alien, a science experiment, a mutant, a drawing in a comic book.
I am not your superhero! I can’t do this anymore! It was you who pushed me away, you fear my powers, you fear me. But I didn’t do anything wrong.
Please… Just let me go. You are the heroes now. Just let me go.
From "Unsolicited Advice To Adolescent Girls With Crooked Teeth And Pink Hair" By Jeanann Verlee
"When a girl with thick black curls who smells like bubble gum stops you in a stairwell to ask if you're a boy, explain that you keep your hair short so she won't have anything to grab when you head-butt her...
Then, head-butt her."
I have never felt stronger than when I allow myself to make choices that nobody else would dare make for me. Because I am the divide between the words “yes” and “no”, I am a choice.
This choice comes to us in many forms but for those of us who wonder about how many choices we have left, we ask ourselves, “Where can we go from here?”
I have never attempted suicide, but I have thought about it many times. I have seen death in many forms. Usually, they come in the most harmless appearances.
I too, have held pills in my hand and felt the weight of death. And it didn’t weigh anything.
Death is a lightweight… and a heavy subject.
I rely on my faith to pull me together but if you turn things the opposite way they can become something terrible. My faith’s cross turned upside down is a representation of the devil and a simple necktie turned upside down is just a fancy way of hanging yourself.
Simple things can become deadly if you let them. The window you used to gaze out of, marveling the world, is now a doorway spiraling downward and few people stand up when they get to the bottom, but everyone stood tall at the top.
A plastic bag can hold your food, a necessary thing for you to live, but plastic can take you oxygen away, another thing you need to live. You need water to live, but you also need water to drown, at least in most cases.
There is a red rope hanging on a hook on my bedroom ceiling, representing a story from the bible, a woman wanted to be saved because she knew that her city was going to crumble into pieces. So she hung a red rope from her window for God’s people to find her and take her away from death.
But the red rope seems to close to a noose now…
So why couldn’t I do it? Why couldn’t I even try to attempt a choice only I have the ability to make, why can’t I do this to myself?!
I know there are people who will actually consider a choice, and go through with it, or they will fail and suffer afterwards. But for me… I have wondered who will miss me when I go. Who will be the first to know, the first to cry, the first one to consider the same choice I made after I made that choice, this choice… Is mine to make…
But I decided to stop. This is not a choice I make for me, it is a reminder that I still have another day, that I have another chance. I am the divide between “yes” and “no”. So for the people who still care about me, I looked death in its eyes… and I said “no”.
So you must have something you really care about to call yourself a fighter. There is a certain amount of pride that comes along with that.
I’ll be honest with you, this world will try to bring you down, along with everything you care about. Maybe not all the time, but there will be days when it feels like the world stopped caring. But for some reason you didn’t give up… Why? I guess only you know that.
Everybody has something they’re willing to fight for, and maybe you had to fight physically or internally. But you have something you’re willing to defend. Whether it be your family or possessions, beliefs, or even yourself. And I get that, believe me I do. I may not know you, but I get wanting to stand up for something.
Because everybody’s got something worth fighting for. Why else do we decide to defend ourselves for what we’ve got? So keep fighting. In some cases, it keeps us alive. Take care of yourself. It seems like you’re doing a good job at doing that already. Thanks for finding my letter
I used to walk down the block to the bus stop everyday.
Whether it was a bright sunny day, or a dark icy winter before the sun woke up, I was there...
Backpack slung over my shoulder, alto saxophone in its case in my right hand. Leaning to the left to balance out the weight so I didn't fall over walking over the uneven rectangles of grey rock.
Artificial building blocks that make the world flat.
When I was little, I rode my bike to a nearby school park. They had a water park right by the school and surrounding the drain was a wide circle of bricks set in the ground.
But they had to take some of the bricks out of the ground, I don't know why. But they filled the gap with cement...
And lucky for me, I had gotten to that water park just before the liquid rock turned to solid ground. I pressed my right foot into that patch of grey. Just barely leaving the treads of my shoe in the cement.
I sometimes stop by to visit that old water park. Some 10 years later and that mark in the cement is still there. And no one will know it was me who left a temporary mark on that patch of grey all those years ago.
My footsteps are bigger now. I can run faster now.
Or maybe I can just walk.
I am older now. I don't take the bus much anymore. I drive my car to get where I'm going. I run everywhere, I don't take the time to walk through my life. I live too fast.
I've made mistakes.
I have regrets.
And even if I don't want to...
I have to walk with them.
I have to accept my actions and live with the consequences. I must walk slowly with my choices. My rights and wrongs... my own self inflicted pain.
I step in rhythm with the music playing through my headphones. I don't step on the lines that divide the building blocks of my pathway. I follow the grey brick road, not traveling with anyone this time.
So now I am leaving.
I will take everything.
I will go...
Song lyrics slung across my backbone...
Guitar in my right hand.
Ipod in my left hand.
I look ahead at the sidewalk before me.
I feel the sun on my skin, and the wind in my hair.
And I walk.
I could write a meaningful story with a meaningful message for you to carry with you into the future and beyond.
No, I don't think I have enough time to create a picture in your mind of what I have to say.
There is nothing to gain or give to the words I write in the time I have left.
How about 5?
< 5. Would you be able to pull this off by then?
I can't and I have < 10.
Maybe it's easy for you, but accept the fact that it is not easy to write good poetry with purpose and meaning and feeling and anything that is important to you in < 10 minutes...
I don't need a poem written about me.
I mean, I could argue whether or not it's worth it to write about me. I am an original among billions of people but only so many people are going to get to know me. And fewer than that will want to talk about me or write about my life and how it affected theirs.
So really now, what is there to tell?
You can start with what event brought us together...
And end with how you think everything will work out.
I'm giving up my author status for a short time to let someone else tell this story.
Because right now, I need another opinion.
So I'll leave the paper here.
Write what you will.
And write with everything you've got.
You said if I ever write a poem about you, that I should read it to you. Well here you go:
You should know I’m never the best at making first impressions. And although this isn’t the first time we’ve met, I still think I have something to prove. We never have as much time as we thought we did, and maybe that’s because we only have so much time to begin with.
Because you’re a story of sorts. And I’m not much of a reader anymore, but I can’t seem to get enough of how you view the world. Let me assure you, I’m listening.
I don’t really know how to say that I sometimes seem to want to know somebody even though we’ve never met. I remember handing you math notes, only to find that you’d disappear from math class like math notes disappear in school binders. How strange is it that you’d reappear from math notes to music notes?
A scripture of musical notation written on your skin and suddenly I needed to know who you were. But here I am asking about your tattoos thinking, “We’ve never met”. Only to be reminded of math notes I didn’t remember for tests I didn’t study for. So my first impression happened twice it seems.
And you seem so nice, offering your writing for mine. Offering up stories like it was over a nice dinner… or some type of wine was it? Offering up my listening ears only to find out how different we truly are. And how odd is it that we’ve met before?
Now that I’ve met you, I can’t imagine chalkboard hearts without wondering for whom the heart beats. Scrawling signatures like the chalk was meant to be permanent. I’m not much of a cursive writer, just a songwriter of sorts.
Like I said, we don’t have much time. You’ll leave soon, and I’ll wait another year to wonder if somebody else will offer up their hands as a gesture of kindness. And they will, but they won’t be your hands.
Forgive me if I ever forget your name, or the reason why I wrote this. But if we meet again and I ask about your tattoos, you can tell me all about them all over again. And between music notes and math notes, I’ll look at you and ask with the smallest bit of doubt, “Have we met?”.
And this time, I’ll let you make the first impression.
I like to believe that I'm stronger than I am.
That I'm braver than I am.
And yet, I fall into cowardice like any other reflex built into my skin.
It's a program the world wanted to overwrite onto my story. Like I didn't have a choice about whether or not I wanted to be miserable.
And I want to be better.
I just... fall away. Like it's so easy to give in to what you've been exposed to. No matter how dangerous or vulnerable it makes you.
You just fall.
I drop into a broken conversation, it just ended with an "I'm sorry".
It feels so final.
Like the unsatisfying ending of a story you wish you could rewrite. Like you're in so much control, you'll do anything to keep that control within your grasp.
I didn't want this.
I didn't want the final result I got.
An open road, and being told to just go anywhere.
Anywhere but were you came from.
Leaving home, and not returning to the comfort of the arms that held up your body when it couldn't fight gravity, falling to the ground.
They pick you up like it's the only thing they were ever taught to do.
I wish I told them everything.
I wish I told them how much I could cry.
How it could make an ocean all on its own.
I wish I hugged them more.
Told them they were the best thing that ever happened to me.
Told them that I would drop everything to be there for them.
That I would write songs about them.
That I would write and write and write until we had no more jokes to laugh about.
So, I guess the writing and laughing would never stop.
I wish I said more.
I mean. I wish I said something.
I wasn't so afraid of being here.
I was told to go back to them.
I wonder if they'd ever want me back.
So how do I go about this sort of deja vu?
Being told that:
"Maybe one "Hello" will flip everything."
Maybe. But I haven't gotten there.
Not yet anyway.
Yeah I know, you weren’t exactly expecting this, trust me I get it. But I’m not big on writing long letters so I’ll keep it short.
You decided to read this so you might be curious as to what I have to say. Well, to be completely honest, I wanted somebody to talk to.
But listen, this letter is the first of many that I will handwrite and leave for complete strangers. I’m not trying to fix the world, and I’m not trying to change lives. But I think that we all need a little more good in our lives. I guess I should tell you that wherever you are in life right now, keep going.
Let some curiosity take over and open up to the world for a bit. Take this week by storm and live a little. Yeah, I get that this may or may not be the best week of your life. But take a minute to just experience what you’ve got. Appreciate the small things like the sunshine or the quiet. I hope that you’re feeling okay, but I think I’m running out of paper. Maybe you’ll see another on of my letters sometime soon. It was nice talking to you. Thank you for finding my letter.
What can I say? I would love to be you. If you really do approach the world with love instead of hate, then maybe you could teach me to be less cynical about the world.
I don’t consider myself to be a hateful person. But It seems more difficult to be a loving person instead. In a way, you could just see it as confusion, but love is a complicated thing, it always has been.
I’ve never truly understood love in general, but I never expected to. So really, how do you manage to live life while still loving? Well, I admire that you can live life like that. Whereas I still have to learn.
So use this to your advantage, remind yourself of why you love, who you love , and why it’s all worth it. Because this is something only you can understand.
Because love is different for everybody. Love may be weird and confusing, but it’s something we need. And who am I to argue? I may not know much about love. But I can agree it’s worth it. I hope you’ve got love wherever you’re at. Maybe you can help me figure it all out. Thanks for finding my letter.
It's 10:00 at night and it's been at least a half hour since you've eaten something. You make your way to the kitchen, empty bowl in hand. You place the bowl with the dirty dishes and the world slows down as you turn to see the small container with your name on it...
I hate it.
You grab a glass of juice and stare at the container down. As if the black that so neatly stamps your name could stare back. You open the kid proof cap and pour out half its contents into your dominant hand.
Just to feel the weight of death in you dominant hand. "Take 2 twice daily." They said.
The half orange, half yellow capsules still in my palm. Feeling the plastic-like coating I feel like I could crush in 2 seconds flat.
This, is when the protagonist eats as many pills as her body will allow, when she gives in, when she dies. This movie is almost over...
Nobody else is awake, it's just you and your handful of pills.
This movie goes on, the protagonist will live.
You-- are not built on a mountain of clichés and stereotypical archetypes.
And still alive!
You pour the pills back into the container, with 4 still left in you hand. You take 2 but you still feel like it's stuck in your throat, so you eat something small to force it down. Even though these pills are supposed to be take on an empty stomach...
You get a glass of water, and set that aside with the 2 remaining pills for tomorrow morning.
Now go to sleep, make sure this protagonist lives to take the Hollywood medication tomorrow.
Let's me be honest when I call myself out for being a narcissist.
Because I am a narcissist when it comes to things like music, or poetry, or worldview.
In short, I'm pretty terrible.
But in my narcissism, there is a bit of a God complex.
Feeling like I am invincible and unshakable. Like no one is above me and like nobody can possibly be in my way.
Like I am in control of everything.
But definitely not like God.
I try to pull myself away from that kind of thinking because it dehumanizes me. It makes me something I don't want people to see.
It doesn't matter if I enjoy the insanity while it overtakes my body because eventually I will come to realize that this is not the life I want.
That I am better than this.
Am I not better?
I don't know.
Can you tell me?
I appreciate that you decide to work well. Not everybody puts the best of themselves into their work. Some of us never had to live hard lives or put up with the world treating us like we don’t matter. But some of us have something we’re looking to achieve, something we want.
Something we’re willing to work for. Now I don’t know what or who it is that you work for, but for some reason you work. I hope that whatever it is you’re working for, that it’s worth it.
Not all of us have something worth fighting for, or working for. So don’t forget why you work so hard. But also remember to take it easy sometimes. You may not have time, or maybe you don’t want to, but you should at least try.
I hope that you get what you want, and that the hard work pays off in time. Thanks for finding my letter.
How’s the view out there? Did you count the cars as they drove by? Is it snowing out there?
I’m only asking because I don’t know how you see it. I’ve looked out my fair share of windows and seen the world. Almost makes you grateful that we have something this amazing to look at. Even when the storms roll in, you feel good that you’re inside watching a natural chaos.
Something about that can make you wonder why we deserve something like rainbows or sunsets. It’s nice to just take some time to appreciate the simple thing like a good view from you corner of the world. Some of us don’t do that as much as we should. So do us all a favour and stare out a window for just a little longer. Not everybody will see the view the way you do. I hope you can see the beauty from where you are.
And hey, it’s a good reminder of what we’ve got on this planet. Enjoy your view, it must be beautiful. Thanks for finding my letter.
Truth be told, I probably need therapy, or counselling I'm not sure.
But I'm not going to get involved in that.
So instead I go to a karate class twice a week. And it's a good outlet for anger.
Just imagine the person or thing you're currently mad at and go crazy. Punch, kick, fight!
Make it known that you are blazing mad! Don't back down until you have won!
When the class is over, you're probably tired, you've used a lot of your energy, so you can maybe sleep your anger off.
But somedays, you rage does not give up, it sticks with you and you're still not satisfied with the service, you want a refund? Well too bad, you don't get one! Remember, this is not a real therapy session...
Maybe I should go into therapy -- or counselling.
Because even if you fight with all your rage and anger and hate, you won't win a fight if the person you're mad at --
If the person you are fighting...
This state of limbo is the calmest and scariest place to be.
Where all of these decisions seem to matter long before they've been made.
And here I am just staring down the possibilities...
I can stop you know.
I have self control and that is something I can be sure of.
But even now, what are we supposed to do?
I'll start with saying this:
I'm not going anywhere.
I am not a guarantee for what you might want, but I won't leave.
So here's what I propose:
Stop. Think. Act.
And sure, that's brutal honesty, and it's not easy.
But you've got an iron will do you not?
Just watch some TV with me.
I'm still in my car after the school day ends and I cry again.
It's non stop.
And I have to wait, for my brother to show up and then I can drive him home.
And not long after I start crying, he shows up.
He gets in the car and sees me in my guilt ridden, sad, apologetic state. All wrapped up in my pain.
And he tells me, "You should know that I love you."
My introverted brother, who rarely shows any affection towards any of our family, reached out to me in my time of need.
And God couldn't have given me a better little brother.
Despite all I've done and all the pain I've caused...
He could still say that.
And I drive us both home. Still crying, but definitely feeling a sense of hope again.
I still act as his role model most of the time.
And he listens to me.
And for a guy who doesn't talk much...
Listening is the thing he does best.
Most of my life is a forgotten cliffside. There's nothing you can really do about it, it's just the consequence you pay for being alive.
I don't remember a lot of my childhood. I can remember my schools, my friends, my parents, my teachers. But I don't remember my sisters. Only my brother, the little boy carrying the family name on his shoulder blades... But he is not ready for that.
As for my sisters... I do not officially "know them" until they begin to leave. I was 11 when they started leaving my house, and 13 when they started re-entering my life.
There is no excuse for arriving late to my life crisis. But what crisis is there anyway?
I grew up alone.
Sisters too old, brother too young, parents too protective.
Too eager to run through the halls of my early life, and high school is not what I expected the years to be. But I am still here... alive.
And there will always be that to hold on to when the sky falls from the stars that pin up the rest of the universe.
Or the the clouds fall from the blue sky just before that cliffside collapses into the abyss.
This is the artistry that is my life on a power surge. Feeling the shock of the first kiss, and the break of the last word.
The many voices, and single sayings. The before and after. The push and then the fall.
The feeling of all my memories being shot.
But not killed.
This is the joy of living off of the electric tower... or the Eiffel tower.
This is life made wild, love made public, friends made family, me made whole again.
Me surviving the cliffside fall for the 378th time this week.
Safety nets were never written in the fine print of this circus act.
But this feeling can kill as much as it can save. It is, and always will be a cosmic shot across the front of my skull...
Opening my mind into eternity. Until I decide to go back to that cliffside...
1. Dust is constant. It is a symbol of time telling you that either something needs to be cleaned, or you need to take a picture.
There will never be complete cleanliness so when people say "cleanliness is close to Godliness" promptly hand over an invitation to have dinner at your dusty house. And then show those people where you pray. Notice that sacred space has dust.
2. Chairs are complicated. They can have 4 legs, 5 legs, no legs, wheels on their legs. Chairs are such a wild forever changing species that we don't really have a good concept of what a chair is. Which begs the question, what is true chairness? Plato believed that somewhere somehow there is a perfect concept of such things. Which begs the question, what is it to be truly human? From where I stand, we all wear skin, breathe air, and hate high school anyway.
3. Appreciate your couch. I realized this at a young age when I figured out that dying means, never seeing a couch again.
4. The bed is not sacred. It is not a stronghold or sanctuary. It is the place you go when you are either done or satisfied with the world.
5. Windows are the windows of your house. It doesn't sound as good as eyes being the window to your soul but my point still stands. The windows are beautiful. And snowflakes freezing on them is a captured moment of nature being transparent.
6. Take a painting class. Learn how to make art of a canvas and hang that shit up. Buy a painting for no other reason other than that it costs more than $50. Travel and bring back a print and frame it. Learn to cross-stitch and hang that up too. The walls may change colour from time to time, but at least put hang something on them.
7. Look for imperfection. When I was a kid I took a pencil and wrote in jagged penmanship "The end" at the bottom of my staircase. My mother, of course, scolded me for writing on the house, but for whatever reason, she kept the phrase there. Maybe because I knew the end had to be somewhere and I might as well end in the home I started in.
8. Buy refrigerator magnets that teach kids the alphabet. Organize them so that reading a message in the morning makes breakfast seem a little more inviting. And as a firm believer that breakfast is not a necessary meal, I too, need something in the morning to make me feel less alone.
9. Fill one closet with cleaning supplies. We may never get to the end of many tasks, but we can clean this house. Clean the cupboards, wash the windows, sweep the floor, write on the walls, just so you can erase it. And when you finish cleaning, and you bring all of your supplies to that closet, organize your closet. Notice that there is a small amount of dust on the shelves of the closet.
10. Work around the house, big or small, is never completely over.
In John Green’s book “Paper Towns”, the main character believes that every person gets a miracle. A single miracle, a gift to you, possibly from God, that allows you to feel like you might actually be a lucky human being for once.
But this statement is not true. Because everybody in this world doesn’t get “one miracle”. I mean sure, you can get one miracle, but that doesn’t have to be it. You could get millions of miracles if you were just a little more patient. If you waited just a little longer.
Miracles can come in different shapes and sizes, different people, different amounts of money, different words, or sights, or stars. You, yourself can be your own miracle.
I believe that every friend I’ve ever had is a miracle to me, every song I write, every word I speak, I am shouting miracles at you, even if you’re at the back of the room my voice will make it to you if you just wait a little longer to hear it.
Some miracles happen more than once, like a boomerang coming back to you, you keep getting something and you pray as hard as you can that every miracle you ever got comes back to you.
And every boomerang will come back to its thrower if you just wait a while.
Now if your miracle is a person, you must be willing to be the most patient you’ve ever been in your life. Because people will change direction, this boomerang sometimes decides it wants to take control of its path before it comes back, and it will come back. Just wait a little longer – Just wait – because if you leave you won’t be there to catch a miracle you knew the joy of having.
God has sent me so many people. So many boomerang miracles, and I’ve been waiting for too long. But nothing can move me, I am rooted to where I stand, I will wait for as long as it takes for my person, for my miracle to make it back to me.
Sometimes I doubt. I consider walking away, and maybe somebody else can catch my miracle, and call it their own. But if I believe that God sent you to me. And I’m the one walking away, then maybe I’m the next boomerang, but I promise I’ll make it back to you – this is all I know how to do. I have been waiting, for so long...
Please God, I need these people to come back to me. They mean so much to me, more than they will ever know.
So I wait, and I will keep waiting, until God sends you, one of my many miracles, back to me.
Just between you and me, clowns…are extremely creepy. And whoever decided that clowns were funny and appropriate for children….. Just noooo.
But even though I hate clowns, I’ve seemed to become one. My red smile on a white coat of paint that is my face.
I didn’t always look like this. I used to look like you. But now I have this, A red painted frown plastered on my face and guess what?!
It’s stuck there.
This is not the kind of make up you can just wash off, scrubbing the skin until it start to bleed and I can’t take the pain anymore.
And I don’t just mean the physical pain. I tried to paint another colour onto my skin, I tried to cover it up but I can’t. People still see it, they ask about it as if it bothers them more than it bothers me.
Yes! Of course! Eyes up here remember? Stop staring at it. Don’t ask me about it, it’s been there for too long…
My clown face can scare people. Do I look like a scary person to you? Is there a reason why children are afraid of me? There is still a person underneath this face paint, underneath this skin.
And people say clowns are supposed to be funny, no wonder people find my face so easy to laugh at.
Come on! Tell me it’s funny, TO MY FACE. I dare you, tell me exactly what it is, and why it’s so funny. I can laugh at it too you know, because I’m supposed to. I’m supposed to just laugh it off.
At the end of the day, I decided to visit the house of mirrors. I walk down the hallway mirrors on both sides and I stop in front of each one and stare at myself in the mirror.
I’m not happy with what I see in it. I’m not content with it, I am not okay with this image being forever, I don’t want this to be me forever.
So, one day, I will find a mirror that doesn’t show me like this, and it exist in people’s eyes, these mirrors exist in the people who see me the way I should see myself. So when I look into the eyes of my friends and family, I can see myself, and I don’t look like this.
One day, I’ll find a way to get this red frown off of my face one day I tell myself.
One day, I’ll stop being a clown…. And I’ll start being me again.
I've run away before.
Not for an overly good reason.
But because I didn't know what else to do.
I had no ID, no licence, no accessories.
Nothing that could possibly describe who I am or what I've done.
So I ran.
I went to the end of the block and turned right...
And the right again.
I ran around a block, but still ran in a circle.
Back to where I started.
My mouth dry, legs weak, heavily breathing and sweating out the 15th fever this week, and it's scary to not have a justifiably good reason to be here or to run off.
I want to scream until singing is a lost memory but I would not do that here. Not when I still have enough energy to cry.
And I do cry.
More than I should.
More than anyone should ever have to.
Running in the middle of the street not even close to being scared of the cars speeding down the pavement.
And yet, there are no cars on the road.
I do want to disappear sometimes.
But I wouldn't do that now.
My suffering is already a public hanging nobody watches.
I ran away.
And I would run out of the city and never return.
The only problem is...
The only place I was ever taught to run to...
And even that doesn't seem to exist anymore.
So where can I go?
I have never been employed or earned any money for the work I do. And yet I still have a job to do.
For I am the door keeper, a guard, a lookout... a friend.
My job is simple yet complicated, for I have many jobs rolled into one.
I stand by the door and wait for people to approach me. Some talk to me, most people don't. Don't you know that I do my work for you? I don't get paid for my work, but I still think it's worth it to keep working.
I am the door keeper.
I stand by the weak, injured, and the broken with the strength I still have. When the people who I help finally regain their strength, they walk away from me, not even leaving a "thank you".
I am the guard.
When danger arrives at someone else's doorstep, I am there to see that they are not harmed, I will warn the of danger and guide them out of harms way.
I am the lookout.
Whenever you need me I will be there, I'll hold your hand and help in any way I can. I will always be here.
I am your friend.
I have always been here, but people don't see me anymore. I have become a ghost. I wonder what it takes to become alive again. But I can't just leave, whether or not people see me. I need to keep working. My job doesn't cost money, it costs lives.
A treasure more valuable than money.
I can't stop working.
I am the door keeper watching for their smiling faces. I am the lookout for their lives, and the guard of their hearts. But most importantly a friend.
A friend they might never see, but I'm still here.
I can't leave just yet. Because I still have a job to do.
I'm never going to be ready.
Another day or month is never going to be enough time to get ready for this.
But if I wait, I will be waiting for the rest of my life.
Or just until the summer washes away.
Please don't leave me.
But if you do...
I guess I should've tried reaching a long time ago.
But I'm here now.
...I'm here now.
No matter what happens here..
I'm not dying today.
~ The Letter Writer
The following is a series of letters written for complete strangers. These letters were written, put in envelopes, and then sent off for people to find. I’m not trying to change lives, but I thought it could at least help out the people who need it most. And who am I to stop people from remembering what’s important? Whether or not they find out who I am, that’s another story...
When walking through a gravesite, you forget that several feet under lies the body of a person you may or may not know.
I have a surname and plot number...
This could have been my family.
Maybe it is.
Maybe it was.
I don't feel worthy enough to sit in the grass before the tombstones.
To place my hands on the stones... they're so cold.
I've read the inscriptions.
Never forgotten by wife and son.
Faithful unto death, may he rest in peace.
A soldier of the great war.
Known unto God
Known unto God
Known unto God.
I have a surname and a plot number written in roman numerals, somebody tell me where I can find the plot under the number 30.
I ran through the gravesite only to find 29.
And I ran out of time.
So tell me where I can find him.
After all... an unknown family wrapped in a common surname is all I really know.
You know I'm a simple human, I don't worry about much except for school, and food, and work opportunities, and the future in general.
And the future is big, it's one of my personal biggest fears, connected to my fear of the unknown.
I like to know when and where things happen and why. Needless to say, I'm an organized person.
I don't worry about much.
Sorry, I lied, I worry way more than I used to.
I can't do much of anything without needing confirmation and reassurance that I'm gonna be okay.
Mostly because I'm not okay.
Sorry, I shouldn't do this.
I do this thing where everything I write becomes about the same sorry tragedy, starring me as the main character.
But far from any kind of protagonist.
My best friend texts me and asks me if I'm doing okay, and I tell them "I don't want to talk about the end of the world".
At least, that's what I would say if I had a best friend.
Sorry, am I lying too much? There's only been two lies, and that's too much on the record for most people so just don't stop to address my mouth, just walk away in hopes that I might shut up.
When I was a kid, it becomes the end of the world when a classmate lets the entire class know who your crush is. And that sinking feeling that happens when I wonder if Jason would like a girl like me.
So yeah, the world's ending. But 10 years later Jason turned into a jackass, so it's not that big of a deal.
If you believe in multiple dimensions, any one of those worlds could end just when the story gets good, like a cliff hanger that never gives you closure, or when a song cuts off because your phone died.
Like popping the question and before deciding to spend the rest of your life with someone you might love forever, the world splits in two and you fall away.
The world ends.
I want to live to answer that question like the world won't end until it has an answer from me. But somedays, even I'm indecisive.
When a test score comes back and it's just below what you wanted or needed it to be, the world ends.
When you put on your seatbelt on before your first driver's exam, the world ends.
When there is only one Oreo cookie left in the package, the world definitely ends.
December 21st, 2012, we were so convinced the world was gonna end, we made a movie about it that only managed to get 39% on Rotten Tomatoes.
And where was I the night before?
In karate class. My sensei standing before the class, shrugging it off saying "So the world's ending tomorrow... let's do some work".
The world goes on.
But when I woke up successfully the day after doomsday on the 22nd, I was surprised to be alive. Because what is any average kid supposed to think?
I was scared. But we continued on to Christmas anyway.
2017 comes along and we have yet another eclipse, one of many passed and yet to come.
I did not look up to see the sky shining of falling, my heart couldn't take it.
I am told, it is a sign. A link in the long chain of events leading up to coming of the Anti Christ, to the ends of the earth as we know it.
I have woken up countless times more scared of the ground falling out from under me than the sky falling onto me. I don't need alien invasions, or nuclear war, or acid rain, or killer volcanoes, or my own depression because the world is ending, and I don't want to talk about it.
They ask, "You're a Christian aren't you? Why are you scared? Of death, or the end, or anything?".
Being religious, and afraid are two worlds I'm told are never meant to touch, but yet they are still ending. I still haven't read the book of Revelation like a "Good Christian" Because I'm afraid of scaring myself. The world is going to end!
I did have a best friend.
Or at least, I treated them that way.
They said, "Death, is just another adventure. that's why I'm not scared of it."
I ruined my friendship with them about 8 months ago.
I haven't spoken to them in...
I'm sorry. I can't remember.
But suddenly it feels like the first grade crush reveal all over again.
But it's different now.
Someone has left me.
And it hurts.
The world is ending...
And I don't want to talk about it.
Setting: My Hometown, The School Ground, The 3rd Space, The Front Seat Of The Car, The Church, 2014-17 and beyond
Main Cast: The Musician, The Punk, The Tie-Wearer
Other Important Roles: The Prince, The Parental Units, The Body Guard, The Boy With The Glasses, The 5 Personalities, The Logical Thinker, The Multiple Third Parties, etc. There are too many to count.
Edit: Do not cast the 5 personalities... I mean, you can, just be careful. They might quit their jobs halfway through the film.
Deciding to make this movie is a challenge that nobody is prepared to execute, so don't be surprised if you cannot handle the emotional scarring and strain on every single character in the film. This is not your average story.
And these are not your average characters.
So we start our story off in 2014.
2 of our main characters meet...
And our story begins...
Welcome everybody to the most exciting event of your lives.
Welcome one and all, and thank you so much for attending my funeral!
And I know you’re probably confused as to why this is an exciting event, but believe me, this is an event you do not want to miss!!
Make sure that when attending my funeral, that you do not wear formal clothing, and do not wear black.
I want you, to wear the most colorful thing you can find in your closets. I want my funeral to have so much colour!
There will be so much rainbow, that my funeral could be the set for a Skittles commercial!
Die with the rainbow, Taste the rainbow!
I, of course will not be dressed formal.
I’ll be working a pair of sweats, a t-shirt, an open jacket and a snapback turned at 180 degrees, because IT LOOKS AWESOME!
You all should also look as amazing as I do. But do not, under any circumstances look better than I do.
Remember, this is still MY day, I am the most important thing in this room, Why?!!??
Because I’m super dead!
Side note: I’m afraid of dying…
But it’s not like that matters anymore, because I’M DEAD. Literally living my eternal fear. (Or dying in my eternal fear.)
Anyway!! Another rule! Do not… get drunk on my funeral day. You MUST be sober, in order to fully experience this event for what it is. And what is it?? A celebration!!!
Why would anybody celebrate MY death, you ask?
This question has a simple answer: I don’t want you to cry at my funeral…
I want you to laugh, I want you to laugh so much, that you end up crying anyway. Laugh because even though a journey has ended, it ended on a good note.
I want you to party! Dance until your tire of moving! And when you dance.
Tell yourself that you feel good.
Because even though I’m dead, I’m thankful that you came to my funeral.
Enjoy the celebration.
And if, you write my eulogy, write about the times I made you laugh, or the times I won medals, or hugged you so tight because I really didn’t want to let go until I had to.
Don’t write that you’re sorry, or that I deserved more time, or that I’m in a better place now.
Thank you, for everything. And my last gift to you is giving you a reason to be happy in a time of sorrow.
Be happy knowing that you got to be a part of my life. Because I’m happy knowing that I was part of yours.
Over the logs and dirt of a camp ground, you still shine. A blazing, bright fire.
Fire is also an element of destruction, of rage, but also of love. The burning red love you have for someone.
But my favourite type of fire is blue fire. Looking like the polar opposite of burning red hot, blue fire is hotter than red.
And to think that a full rainbow can come out of the flames of chaos.
How beautiful is the colour of destruction...
I have a confession.
I am not a good person.
I know it isn't original, and I know you've heard this too many times from too many broken people.
But it's the only shred of honesty I can give so please accept it...
Because I do not know how to forgive myself for this tower of lies I built over the last month and a half.
I am not a good friend.
And you know I try. But I haven't been trying as hard as I used to.
But I want to try and make things right.
I have convinced myself that heaven seems too high up for me to get to.
And I'm here asking you to tell me there is still a chance for me to be saved from my life.
I went to church today for the first time in months.
I saw old friends, and read new verses... I learned more.
Although I still feel like an outcast in this place we call "safe".
I can't feel your presence near me even when I pray.
It's like I've cut the communication lines and there is no repairing them.
I am willing to work for my life.
I will build houses of faith and sing praises until I drop, but it won't be enough.
I work well under pressure. So if you told me that getting to heaven was as simple as building a ladder as high as I could in 24 hours, I would work through war and hellfire to get there.
I would climb every rung until the ladder ended above the clouds and started feeling like the solid foundation of a life restarted.
I can only hope you will accept me with open arms, forgiveness...
And a "hello."
~September 5th, 2017~
~Sometime between 10 and 11PM~
You're an empath.
I guess so.
Have you ever thought about it?
Being an empath?
I never knew there was a name for it.
I never knew there was a name form my kind of pain analyzation. Like I have some kind of supernatural power to read into pain of all kinds.
Is it that you understand other people's pain or your own pain or both?
I think I’ve always done both.
I had a feeling.
Here we go.
How does it affect you?
A loaded question, and being the person I am I answered it the only way I knew how:
I always get this feeling that when people are sad or hurt, I have to be too.
Sometimes it’s just my way of showing that pain is just something people have.
But mostly, it makes me helpless to stop other people’s pain.
I get sad, like some kind of way to share the pain that isn’t even mine.
And when it is my pain, nobody can seem to understand it fully.
And it’s not like I completely understand someone else’s pain,
but you see and hear a lot when you turn silent for awhile.
Lots of people try to say that people aren’t alone when they suffer.
And most of it is comfort.
But most of the time I see people in pain, and I don’t see a reason to comfort.
I see more of a reason to just be there.
Experience something beyond yourself.
There a certain type of selfless peace that comes when pain is no longer just one person’s fight.
It’s not about being together in pain. It's about experiencing life with pain just passing by.
It’s been said in books, “Pain demands to be felt”
I don’t know, something about that makes me wish I could do more.
I’m empathetic a lot of the time.
Maybe that’s why I stick around even when I shouldn’t.
I stop. I've said enough.
Sorry, I’m rambling...
That’s a ton of text.
And for a minute, I wonder if anything I say is being understood.
The way you speak is beautiful.
I'm marvelling in it.
... I sit in awe. Grasping at a full acceptance of the way I convey myself in feelings, but more importantly, here, in this moment.
You speak poetry.
No wonder I’m a poet.
It’s like destiny or something idk.
Part of me wishes I would have spelt the whole phrase out, it has the same amount of syllables.
I'm here for you.
I suck at comforting and that's not what I want.
All I want is for you to know that I am present.
And sharing the fight.
This, THIS right here, is companionship, and friendship, saying that "I can be here", and that will be enough.
I want to fight with you.
Even though I'm not very aggressive.
Hearing this said, "I want to fight with you". Not "I want to fight for you". This says more than any kind of battle with someone at my side, this is real, in this moment.
Hahah, we’ll fight it with music or something.
Doesn’t have to be aggressive.
Faith, hope, the essentials.
We're believers in things like love, God, and good songs that rock the world... and we don't need much more than that.
That said, music can be aggressive.
But we'll stick to the essentials.
We'll stick to our guns and hopefully, we won't have to fire.
Please know that you can ramble to me as much as you like.
I love it.
I know... me too.
Goodnight, love you.
And as we come to an end, we fall back into a small but familiar silence between us.
Goodnight, love you too.
Sidenote: I highly recommend listening to these songs/watching the musical, it is amazing.
Song title: Lyrics My thoughts/feelings
Anybody Have A Map?:
Anybody maybe happen to know how the hell to do this?
I'm in this confusion so deep that I can't find a way out.
I'm flying blind, and I'm making this up as I go.
Ha. Me too.
Waving Through a Window:
Step out, step out of the sun if you keep getting burned.
I've been burning forever.
Waving through a window!
Put your soul into this song.
All we see is sky for forever.
An ecstasy I do not know.
All we see is light, 'cause the sun burns bright!
Shouting hallelujah from here.
Life will be alright for forever this way.
I hope so.
All that it takes is a little reinvention!
I need that.
All you gotta do, is just believe you can be who you wanna be.
Just believing right?
I will sing no requiem.
Neither will I.
I gave you the world, you threw it away. Leaving these broken pieces behind you.
Everything wasted, nothing to say.
Within these words I finally find you.
The words are not mine.
Now that I know that you are still here.
If I Could Tell Her:
But he kept it all inside his head, what he saw, he left unsaid.
Secrets work wonders do they not?
If I could tell her, tell her everything I see. If I could tell her how she's everything to me. But we're a million worlds apart... And I don't know how I would even start.
How do we begin to say the words?...
No one deserves to be forgotten. No one deserves to fade away.
No one should come and go, and have no one know he was ever even here.
I'll make sure of it.
You Will Be Found:
Well, let that lonely feeling... wash away.
I should let the weight drop from my shoulders.
To Break In A Glove:
And a little uphill climb.
Just more work.
For a kid who's lost control.
I'm just trying to make sense of it all.
Try to quiet the noises in your head. We can't compete with all that.
No we can't. But we try.
Good For You:
And you say what you need to say, so that you get to walk away.
I hope that it's all that you want and more.
I'm not proud.
And you play who you need to play.
JUST LET ME OUT!
I am not okay.
I never thought that it would go this far.
I really didn't.
So I just stand here sorry. Searching for something to say.
I am still searching.
There's nothing I can say.
There really isn't.
That's a worthy explanation, I know. Nothing can make sense of all these things I've done.
I wish I could make it up to you.
So how do I step in...
Step into the sun?
I wish I knew how...
So Big/So Small:
And I knew I'd come up short a million different ways.
And I did.
And I do.
And I will.
And I will... I already have...
Today is going to be a good day, and here's why:
Because today, at least you're you and that's enough...
All I see is sky for forever...
I'm going home.
Yeah... I'm going home.