Mouth Heavy.
Handwriting is really bland right now.
Why do I always alternate between print and cursive?
My right ear hurts again, at lobe, just like last night; feels warm & pulled.

Pressure on my right elbow. Being left handed is irksome at times. I wonder if all the sayings & studies about us are just complete & utter *******. Last morning, and every other spent with her; Sleeping outline.

I’m happy she doesn't snore.

What do I write???

My mother snores. I need to sit up
I hate my rushed handwriting. This is truly chicken scratch.
I haven’t written like this since my Biological Anthropology and Archaeology class. Back hurts.

Is something wrong with me? Probably multiple things.
Should I read this aloud? I always feel others worrying for me. Though, I suppose I shouldn’t assume they always will. Regardless, I fear weighing anyone down. Why does my girlfriend sleep so much?
Do I just sleep less?

turn the page, adjust yourself. I have three minutes to finish this this isn’t even poetry. I forgot my last thought. Oh! How am I supposed to write about anything besides my mind when writing like this?? Well, I’m probably not supposed to.

What does my mind- not my brain- look like? Probably cluttered and unorganized. Everything that comes out is made up of what is within. I could have said that so much more poetically.

When you stand tall
Looking beyond the clouds
Vast nothingness
Welcomes you
Lucky you have reached
Through the filters
Your soul set free
As it now soars above
Levitating among space
Filled with celestial truth
A higher resonance
Your frequency matches
With the similar wavelength
Burdened illusions down below
Here, truth has found safe haven
You enter the sanctum sanctorum
Privileged among hallowed souls
Charismatic, euphoric
At the benevolence of this place
Graffiti on the hearts
And hymns emanating from souls
A rhythm with the awareness
You flew beyond
Nothing, to hold you back

Body, mind, and spirit:
  itself aware through it: self.
I witness i am.

Where is the darkness?
Have you found it in the light?
Next to your sadness
Because of your children
Or the lover who rejected you
Or your job
Is that where the darkness is?
Or is it in your mind
Soiled
Fouled
Absent of light
Disgraced
A bottomless pit
But is it?
Is the absence of light
The same as blackness of skin?
Who said a word must define what you are?
Who said that what you are is that word?
The question is asked because you believe the world
You have judged yourself as they would judge you
Black is bad
White is good
But we know everything that is good can be scorned
And everything that is bad can be praised
And you have decided that what is black envelops your mind
Do you believe certain people do not love their children?
That they do not cry?
That they do not fear?
That they do not die?
Yet they walk with their head held high
Why can’t you?
You must find out who you are
You must find out what you know
You must know your consciousness
You must know what makes you aware of your existence
Then you will begin
For who knows of this existence other than the physical body
And your voice
It is your voice that is driven from within
Yet you speak with their words
Because you think with their thoughts
You must begin to think with your thoughts
You must ask them why they can be so easily swayed
You must ask them why they refuse to stand alone
You must ask them why they cannot be who they are
Do not let anyone take away from you that which was given to you
For they do not feel your existence like you do
Break every mirror
Ignore every flattery
Ignore every insult
Ignore everything that diminishes who you are
For who are they?
Who gave you life?
Not them
Who will be there when you die?
Not them
Who holds the key to heaven?
Not them
Who knows you?
Not them
But who hurts you?
Them
It is time to be what you cannot see but can only feel
Close your eyes
Are you not still alive in the blackness behind your eyes?
Who lives there?
Not them
Only you
But not in anger
But instead in calm realization
That is who you are
That is where you will begin

The distance between real life
and living your fantasies is the distance
between piano lessons and playing by ear;
expression cannot be taught, it must
be lived, bled, left for dead and
brought back alive by the one who knows

The problem with our pain is the why
behind the experience; is there a
redemptive quality like the pursuit
of spiritual growth and humanity or was
it merely fingernails on your back from
someone you’d rather see naked than to
actually get to know them

As soon as you stop being impressed by
anyone you meet you can clear the way
to be who you really are; stop thinking
of what they have done because that
time has already passed; the further from
imitation the closer to originality even
if it take ten years for you to gather
your thoughts

What you have to understand is nobody
is going to tell you a secret that will
change your circumstances; you have to
know that inspiration is lying next to the
man on the next corner that you pass
because that is the meaning of life right
there but did you notice him or were you
instead reading something that somebody
else said

If you want to be a mystic then you have
to stop waiting for proof and instead look
for truth in things that are not apparent
to you such as why your heart beats without
your intervention or why consciousness
is far beyond physical capabilities; but
as soon as you declare yourself to be a mystic
then it’s already lost because it’s not something
you can elect to be

The problem with that way of thinking is
in the eyes of your child; the one who is now
living the moment of true belief in the wonder
of the things that you found to be fleeting
in their love for you; you at least owe it to them
to more than feed them, if you only speak of
the future you will make them like you, a person
who wishes he were a child again