|
SubscriptionsSites I Read
|
|
|
|
| I'm glad I taught you to be everything SHE needs. And I fucking hate you for finally being the man I begged and fought for, so she can reap the rewards of my tears and heartache. Hope she's grown as much as you have. | | |
| I'm glad I taught you to be everything SHE needs. And I fucking hate you for finally being the man I begged and fought for, so she can reap the rewards of my tears and heartache. Hope she's grown as much as you have. | | |
| Some days I think I'm toxic. A plague on the people I love. Destined to hurt someone no matter which way I turn, despite my best efforts and intentions. And I'm so torn, so frustrated, so decimated. I'm tired, it's one of those days where I wanna just disappear, erase myself. Burn the pages my life is written on and scatter the ashes in the four winds. Maybe you'd be happier. Maybe a lot of people would be.
I just don't know anymore. I'm not the person I used to be, not nearly. And in some ways I know that's a good thing, but in others... well, I guess I just wonder if I can find more of the good person I used to be somewhere inside me, or if I already let the world beat her out of me. I hope not... and I hope if she's still in there somewhere, you can see it when you look me in the eyes. If anyone can read my snarled mess of a soul, it's you. But you already knew that, huh?
| | |
| Life is crazy. It's not meant to run in straight lines or fit into boxes (or any other recepticle). It's messy and sometimes it's colorful and sometimes it's nothing but monochromatic gray. So we create. And we're not always good at it but at least there's some effort, at least we use the words or the lines to wade through all the shit and try to make sense of it. Try to find meaning. Try to find all kinds of things, really: beauty, truth, the reason for pain and the rationale for causing it. Try to capture emotion and pin it down to the page. Try to capture an image and use emotion as much as a brush to paint it. And sometimes we fail in creating something that might be considered great, but the truth, at least my truth, is that the greatness is in the attempt. Everytime a pen is picked up or a brush laid on a canvas, everytime a muse inspires someone or the daily realities of life push a person to create, there is greatness. And after all, isn't that why we're here? | | |
| the broken can't fix the even broken-er, but here's to stacking the styrofoam cups with holes even though you know it'll leak... here's to tans in the shade and frisbee golf courses... here's to psychobabble and "teen" angst that doesn't go away... here's to letting your heart get ripped out over and over again... here's to hope in the face of obvious and unavoidable failure... here's to porches and summer breezes... here's to friends you wish you'd never lost, never made, or never hurt... here's to highway signs and felonious wall art... here's to mourning the passing of another bowl... here's to american pie, to hippies in the new world, to the summer of love that still inspires us... to long walks and short ones, to summertime and warmth and sunshine that you feel in your skin, warmin' up your mind... to first dates, second chances, and the third time bein' the charm... to summer lovin', fall heartbreak, winter heartache, and spring hopes... to unsure futures and pasts that are set, and oh, three cheers to youth misspent... to the people who make you, and the ones who break you... to learning new things and remembering the old... to picnics and rainstorms, and picnics in rainstorms... to the ache in your chest... to crying, to smiles, to the one who makes you smile through tears... to bubbles, always to bubbles... to cigarettes and cell phones, with windows rolled down... to bumpin the songs that make you cry... to brownies, to orange juice, to cold remedies and nerdcore... to faking it, to making it... to the world before the depression came back and life turned to black and everyone refused to try... to old xanga posts and reliving the past... to james tayler, norman greenbaugh, and three dog night... to kick-ass soundtracks... to fight club, rocky horror, and ferngully... to meatloaf, now and forever... to lost lovers, lost paths, lost potential... to living and dreaming open-eyed... to tagging, decorating, and staying starky... to dog heaven and cripple hell... to change, to the things that never do, and to the balance somewhere between... to jeremiah, big jim, and ben... to feet on the ground, head in the clouds, and the finger you raise when you just don't care... to inside jokes and outside references... to black nails, black eyes, black clothes, and a whole new outlook... to the first flower in april and the last in september... to holdin' on when you feel like lettin' go and letting go when you feel like holding on... to the tiny dancer and tony danza... to thriller and noses that don't fall off... to expanding your mind... to lighting my candle, candles in the wind, and burnin my candle at both ends... to moving on and to staying stuck... to vacations in your head and vacations out of it... to thirty second videos of the time warp and to having a way to remember simplicity... to the easy smiles and especially the hard ones... to lights out, lights on, and the light in the attic... to frost, silverstein, and poe... and to regrets, to letting them go and to holding them close...
| | |
|
