When I was young, I wanted to learn how to fly.
Until I broke my arm in doing so.
I gave up that ambition afterwards.
When I was young, I wanted to a princess.
Until I realized that; princesses weren't poor.
But I was.
When I was young, I believed that dreams were for everyone.
Until one day I finally understood that dreams
are for the rich and reality is for the poor.
When I was young I believed that love would make all my pain go away.
Until I endured heartbreak,
which shattered my dignity away.
When I was young, I used to believe that words
were made for those who can express themselves through them.
Until I encountered the fact that they are no words to express my dullness,
there are no words to explain my pain,
and there are certainly no words to define my worries.
There are only words to describe my limits.
Where’s the edge of what’s possible and not?
How much weight can one person bear alone?
These are questions I ask myself a lot.
I wonder if the answer’s even known.
People say “You’re crazy with that high mark.
What you’re thinking is not realistic.”
Should I view these words as an extra spark,
Or is that overly optimistic?
Who’s to say what the limits are for me,
And if I can or can’t do something great?
Only time can tell me to what degree,
I should have spent more time to cogitate
On the implications of these subjects,
And the lifelong value of their effects.
Time and Wind raced the wallowing skies,
speeding past spiraling leaves,
glorying triumphal in veiled in lies,
an interminable pursuance of meandering
through mystical myths of life
lopsided and rustical in guise,
hung up on the horizon gates;
"I'm no confluence for commingling
for opposites merged with binds"
Staring into the limitless
An infinite spectrum of qualities
Devoted to expressing the duplicitous nature of divinity
To construct reality to hold both fabrication and purity at such equal esteem perplexes the pieces that perceive the local frame for such a minuscule amount of time and yet it binds the boundaries of evolution, attaching string after string, until every good thing becomes muddled and unclear
Not from hatred, nor fear or depravity
But from the tumultuous distinctions made when a pattern found itself being in rear to itself
And then it finds it's equilibrium once the fluidity of origin reverts attention from every intention muscled from the nudge of inner tranquility
They code or key in the magic of three
Nature begets life begets virtue to enlighten the majesty
If limitations aren't pushed
how will you know, your capabilities?
“The sky is the limit.”, they say.
Tell that the guy who is afraid of heights.
We all have them,
and yet similar.
Limits that limit the speed of our car on the highway of life.
Limits that cover the sky with dark daunting clouds.
Limits that are steel bars of our steel cage.
We are not alone in this cage.
Everyone carries a list in their pockets.
It's good to know about the list.
And to recognize the handwriting.
You will see that some of them are not yours
but just passed on from others
Others are well-written in your own words.
But either way:
You've got the pencil in your hands.
Scratch out what doesn't serve you anymore.
The sky is the limit, they say?
Remember the astronauts who launched themselves into space.
It all just seems so utterly hopeless. I try to become happy; I try to be strong, but its getting harder just to live on.
Its not a death sentence, manifested in my mind. But a lack of faith in my future.
The right thing to do is always the hardest. I've lived by these words my entire life and it kept me strong enough to carry the world on my shoulders.
But it seems that my body is caving in and I am slowly losing my right to live. I thought I was passed being depressed. I'm not a kid anymore. I should be able to conquer the world with a pain in my chest and a smile on my face.
Now I know what it is like to feel erased from the face of existance, yet watching my life carry on as if i am a ghost. Trying to see the life i would have lived as if i were still alive.