With all my heart, I hate these nights
When each step feels like stone.
My body a prison of clay and lights
And I feel so very alone.
One voice drives me to pace and rage
Another counsels sleep
A third invites me to fill a page
And one more just wishes to weep
Each voice in my mind
Speaks right over the top of me
And I cannot find
My words in the cacophony
My eyes are blind, my ears are deaf,
My hands grow numb and cold
I feel raw, and new, and fresh
I feel dry and old
The chains wrapped tight about my wists
No chill wind through my hair.
I look down at my tremb'ling fists
No shackle nor manacle there
Thusly passes my troubled night
Till the Sun shows in the East
Until She rescues me from this fight,
I struggle against my inner Beast.
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Final thoughts on "Unappreciated"
So for the last month, I've been posting parts of a pre-written story every Thursday. I just posted the last installment, about three days late. I just wanted to take some time out and talk bout how i feel it went.
It started as a post on Facebook, in response to... I forget, some petty thing. But it kept wanting to grow, out of control, so I moved it to my blog. It soon expanded into a wall of text I wouldn't want to inflict on you all at once, so i moved it to WordPad, and broke it into the four parts I posted.
I don't really like how It turned out, for several reasons. For one, by the time i posted the last piece, it was completely irrelevant to my emotional state. In addition, because i was posting these, i had little motivation to post something else, more congruent with my feels. Finally, I think it's a little too... boring to post one thing over several weeks, ducking any actual creative effort.
So, all in all, I'm dissatisfied with the way this turned out. I don't think I shall be doing this again. Feel free to leave your thoughts on the matter in the comments, below.
It started as a post on Facebook, in response to... I forget, some petty thing. But it kept wanting to grow, out of control, so I moved it to my blog. It soon expanded into a wall of text I wouldn't want to inflict on you all at once, so i moved it to WordPad, and broke it into the four parts I posted.
I don't really like how It turned out, for several reasons. For one, by the time i posted the last piece, it was completely irrelevant to my emotional state. In addition, because i was posting these, i had little motivation to post something else, more congruent with my feels. Finally, I think it's a little too... boring to post one thing over several weeks, ducking any actual creative effort.
So, all in all, I'm dissatisfied with the way this turned out. I don't think I shall be doing this again. Feel free to leave your thoughts on the matter in the comments, below.
Invisible [reprise] (4/4)
As of right now, I still live with my parents. This is a source of great stress to me. I'm constantly under pressure to "just get a job and move out". As if it was that easy. More than that, I'm surrounded, almost constantly, by the people who see me, not as I am, but as I was. not as the man of today, but as the boy of yesterday. They don't see how I've changed, don't acknowledge any kind of improvement.
I'm just not appreciated. When I create complex conjecture that I can barely grasp, myself, someone says "oh yeah, I think about that kinda stuff all the time". When I post something funny and clever, someone feels the need to interject their own, bland, contrary commentary. When I create something artistic providing insight into my state of mind, someone will vaguely imitate it, while also diluting my message. When I talk about something I accomplished, I'm beset on all sides by "oh, I've done that twice, and faster, and better". Everyone's too busy being talking themselves up to notice what I'm doing, and when I do get props, it feels condescending and forced.
When I mess up, I get berated, or teased, or lectured. When I succeed, and do good things, I get ignored, or worse, nit-picked and corrected. When I do something to help- cleaning, cooking, doing chores- my work is taken for granted. When I don't? I get forced into doing it, and then shouted at until I do. what thanks I do get are few, far between and not very satisfying at all. It gets tiring, and thankless.
On top of all that, sometimes, I still feel invisible. Those are still the good times.
I'm just not appreciated. When I create complex conjecture that I can barely grasp, myself, someone says "oh yeah, I think about that kinda stuff all the time". When I post something funny and clever, someone feels the need to interject their own, bland, contrary commentary. When I create something artistic providing insight into my state of mind, someone will vaguely imitate it, while also diluting my message. When I talk about something I accomplished, I'm beset on all sides by "oh, I've done that twice, and faster, and better". Everyone's too busy being talking themselves up to notice what I'm doing, and when I do get props, it feels condescending and forced.
When I mess up, I get berated, or teased, or lectured. When I succeed, and do good things, I get ignored, or worse, nit-picked and corrected. When I do something to help- cleaning, cooking, doing chores- my work is taken for granted. When I don't? I get forced into doing it, and then shouted at until I do. what thanks I do get are few, far between and not very satisfying at all. It gets tiring, and thankless.
On top of all that, sometimes, I still feel invisible. Those are still the good times.
Thursday, December 6, 2012
Friends (3/4)
After returning to my home, I felt whole. I was once more in the weird, mysterious North West. At first, i lived on the coast, and healed. The sound of the waves, and the smell of the salt wiped the hurt from my mind like the tide wipes a drawing from the sand. I even worked out, briefly, although i lacked the necessary motivation. Although i made friends, I formed no attachments. I knew i would be moving on soon.
In a month, i was in Portland, the city of roses, hipsters, and weed. I lived in a suburb of P-town, called Milwaukie. There I found new friends and more lasting relationships. One in particular still haunts me. My first real love. You can read about that elsewhere on this blog, i don't want to bring myself any lower than i already am. This was also where i started falling in love with my home. I lived in Milwaukie for about two years, madly in love (with the girl, not the city). This was where i grew to adolescence. Aside from these pastimes, i was mainly occupied by wasting life in a tiny windowless box, pretending to learn. I spent the rest of my time fighting with and alongside my friends. It was better than before, but still not good. And eventually, it ended.
I moved away. Not very far, only across the city, but it was enough. Oh, i stayed in touch with a few special people. But little by little, i drifted away from them. i held onto Her the longest, but in the end, we fell apart, and she left me. But this was where i came into my own.
Once more, i met new friends. This time, I met some people that were going to go on to become some of the closest, most important people in my life. These people helped me find myself. We were all lost and confused, in our own ways, but we found each other similar enough, and we grew together through all the twists and turns that life threw at us. Some of us grew apart, others came in from outside and the end result was that, at the end of senior year, we found that had formed a tightly knit group. Something like a family, something we all sorely lacked. But what we had was more than family. Family bonds are forged of blood, by necessity. We were held together by bonds forged of shared experience, by our own choice. And more than forming these bonds, we had grown into adults.
Thank you, my friends. you helped get me through the rest of the world.
In a month, i was in Portland, the city of roses, hipsters, and weed. I lived in a suburb of P-town, called Milwaukie. There I found new friends and more lasting relationships. One in particular still haunts me. My first real love. You can read about that elsewhere on this blog, i don't want to bring myself any lower than i already am. This was also where i started falling in love with my home. I lived in Milwaukie for about two years, madly in love (with the girl, not the city). This was where i grew to adolescence. Aside from these pastimes, i was mainly occupied by wasting life in a tiny windowless box, pretending to learn. I spent the rest of my time fighting with and alongside my friends. It was better than before, but still not good. And eventually, it ended.
I moved away. Not very far, only across the city, but it was enough. Oh, i stayed in touch with a few special people. But little by little, i drifted away from them. i held onto Her the longest, but in the end, we fell apart, and she left me. But this was where i came into my own.
Once more, i met new friends. This time, I met some people that were going to go on to become some of the closest, most important people in my life. These people helped me find myself. We were all lost and confused, in our own ways, but we found each other similar enough, and we grew together through all the twists and turns that life threw at us. Some of us grew apart, others came in from outside and the end result was that, at the end of senior year, we found that had formed a tightly knit group. Something like a family, something we all sorely lacked. But what we had was more than family. Family bonds are forged of blood, by necessity. We were held together by bonds forged of shared experience, by our own choice. And more than forming these bonds, we had grown into adults.
Thank you, my friends. you helped get me through the rest of the world.
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