There was a time when I knew everything to say,
Where the world was not indefinite and grey.

I realize now, though, that I was only young;
That that world is gone and a new one for me has begun.

For we are only what we feel
We cannot be anything more than
What in us is urgently real

Nameless object;
Acute anxiety,
Deem me unworthy, for
In your company
Rests the root of all nothings

cant

                                          keep
              eyes
                                                                      open

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.

my mother's tongue says i write too many untitled poems

i am not bloodthirsty like it.
i wish not to **** my creations before they bloom in the mind of any who come upon them.

Touch me
tOuch me
toUch me
touCh me
toucH me
touch Me
touch mE

tell me about the memories that don't belong to me again

about the days i wasn't there
and you found yourself
in conpany of a blank stare

those are days we did not share .


stop ******* telling me about the things i did when i was a baby
i don't remember ****
and you smell weird.

HOWEVER IT DOES NOT FOLLOW THAT ONE IS INHERENTLY GOOD AND THE OTHER, INHERENTLY BAD!
SUCH WORDS ARE USELESS

LET THIS NOT CAUSE YOU TO STRAY FROM YOUR PATH,
OR TO GIVE UP HOPE IN REASON.

WHILE THERE IS NO TRUE, UNIVERSAL GOOD, AND THERE IS NO OBVIOUS, DEFINITE ENEMY:

CHOOSE THAT TO WHICH YOUR HEART HEARKENS. AND FIGHT, WITH ALL YOU HAVE, AGAINST WHAT IS THE ANTITHESIS OF SUCH.

BUT NEVER SAY YOU ACT IN THE NAME OF GOOD.
NEVER CLAIM THAT YOUR ENEMY IS THE EVIL IN THE WORLD.


For Those who Know, will have no choice but to pity at your fallacy.

A wise man once said:

"Art is long, but time is swift."

To which I replied:

"And the odour of a woman's intimacy is forever. It is a stain upon your hand, between your teeth, and between your legs.