living

Suffocate on eternal bliss.

I am done.

Exhausted, drained and every exasperated feeling. My emotions are on over drive and I can’t think straight. I have no energy for the same repetitive things and gentle formalities. Living in a world full of “Yes” people, with people so afraid of hearing “No”. When did we become frightened with the truth, and become discouraged with unfamiliarity? We’ve been lied too. We’ve been told to follow our dreams, because they always come true. No one ever tells us to work hard and then watch our dreams unfold.

No. Instead we all bite the hands that feed us and expect more from the next person. We are all in for the using and taking of everyone’s resources. We stop asking for help and instead ask for people to do for us. Do this, because I can’t. Do this, because I don’t know how.  Do this, because I fucking desire it and for the rest of the world to follow. All these materialistic needs with superficial tendencies. Generations of “likes” and who can make things easier for us. A thousand moonlight superficial “yes”  are prettier and better for our complexion. Let me love you more, until I have used you. Until I have sucked all your resources dry to fall in love with the next big thing. That is all that truly matters, what you see through a filtered photograph that claims to be truth. At the risk of running my mouth, I can’t lie. People expect so much and yet want to do so little. The bare minimal of life instead of setting out to live their own adventures. Learning and experiencing, doing everything for yourself. I don’t mind helping but when does helping become doing everything? We say “yes” so often, everyone is afraid of doing things themselves. We say “yes” so often, that hearing “No” can be discouraging. If people only knew we are entitled to nothing and the world owes us just the same. The world should never be handed to us. We all have to work hard to get what we desire. People make it look easy but only they know the true struggle of maintaining a dream.

Dreams are only easy when we are asleep. Easy when everything is within our reach, when we lay our head  down at night. If only it were that easy. If only everything I truly wanted was right within my grasp. Instead I watch my dreams go further from reach and completely out of my grasp. The sweet is never truly sweet until we experience the sour. The sour has overtaken my sense of taste, that everything has remain a bitter embrace. Still I solider on, still I keep going. Because one day dreams won’t seem like dreams anymore. The blood on my fingertips will be worth it in the end. At the end of the day I will be grateful for the thousands of “No” words I’ve heard, instead of the deceitful “Yes”. In that moment I will feel I truly earned it. I can’t lie to you. Some days I wish everything was handed to me. That everyone would do everything I asked of them and that I wouldn’t lift a single finger. That being so bold would get me everything I wanted, without doing a single damn thing. I want to use people as they have done to me. Use them until they have nothing left inside. Until they are dried out and drained, left unresponsive. I want to hear a thousand “Yes”, instead of the “No” I always receive. I want to believe that all these lies I’ve been fed can be some aspect of reality. Only in dreams do these things exist. Only in dreams can I be showered in riches and my talents praised from every rooftop. Sometimes doing things for yourself hurts. The hardest thing is life is doing things for yourself, even if it hurts, even if kills you in the end.

I am not afraid to do things myself, neither should you. Do things yourself and the rest will follow. There is no harm in asking for help just don’t expect everyone to do things for you. For every “yes” you hear, next time you’ll hear a thousand “no’s”. When you use people enough, they will stop helping you. It’s time to do things for yourself, even if it hurts, even if it kills you. Because when you least expect it, something beautiful will come from all this pain. For once in your life, the sincerity of accomplishment will mean more than anything in this world.

I guarantee it will be worth it in the end, trust me.

 

 

 

 

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Hometown Glory.

No matter where you go, you can always come home.

We are no longer who we say we are. We are slowly drifting further from who we were when we started. Growing up and accepting life’s responsibilities of being grown up. Different places, different faces, different times, changing us into who we are suppose to be. It doesn’t matter where we are going, but we end up further from where we started. “Don’t ever change”, you would once say. Now all I want to do is be someone else, some place else.

Running away is easy. Run to the hills where no one will find you. Run to the streets and to the oceans that will separate you from me. I’ve run to bigger cities with their ever eclipsing skyscrapers, to escape these thoughts. To escape my footsteps that stay cemented on the grounds, that have been repaved to be broken again. How big the city seems that makes me feel small, how small my hometown is that never let me grow. I can’t help but watch it all happen all over again. I am growing older but feeling the same. In the same places in different spaces. Your soul feels exposed when the light hits you just right. In a town where everyone knows your secrets and you can’t help but hide from the lies that always seem like truths. Its not where you’re going, it’s how far and fast you can leave this place. Away from familiar faces and away from the boring mundane familiarity of yesterday. If I stand still, I watch everything pass me by.

Miles from home you tend to still feel alone. You hang on to different experiences to make you different. To feel like someone else in some place else. All life is, is a bunch of experiences to make you grow up. Be different, be weird, be who you’re suppose to be. Inside you’re aware of how phony you feel. Even 300 miles from home, you still yearn to be home. Still seek comfort in the familiar that you’ve tried desperately to escape. I spent a lot of time running away from my hometown. Wishing I was somewhere else, any where but here. Even being 300 miles away, I am still wishing to be somewhere else. I am still wanting to be anywhere but here in this moment. Everyone once in a while, when the light hits just right my hometown feels like home to me.

Being home I don’t feel so alone. Even after a while people leave and go off to far off destinations. I am a plane ride away from my next adventure. Living in and out of a big fat suitcase and still I linger on. Home is just a concept to make you feel something you can’t explain. Home is another word for failure and all it’s hurtful things. Home is how I feel when ever I am here with you. For the first time all these love letters I have written to other cities seem misplaced. After all these years I search for things to remind me of you, and here I am again.

Home is not a concept in my mind. Home is my feet planted firmly on the ground. Across the cracked pavements of the streets I know by heart. Home is a house that sits empty on gravel street in my memory. Even after all these years. After all the places I’ve lived. All the places I made my home, in cities bigger than my hometown. It’s my hometown I come back to. It’s my hometown that makes being alone not feel lonely anymore. It’s in my hometown that I feel that I have something, when I lost everything in sight.

For the first time I am home, even when I have failed miserably inside. It doesn’t hurt me anymore.

 

 

 

Skin and bones.

If I was who you wanted me to be, would you still love me?
If I had been exactly who you wanted me to be, would you still want me?
If I had listened to every word you said, would you still hear me?

I wonder about the silliest of things. Like how a person could disappear and leave their ghost behind. Still haunting when their corpse has long been buried. I am suppose to move on and forget, but I can’t help but reflect and remember. If I had been a fraction of those expectations, would you still give me a chance?

I changed my ways to accommodate your wishes. I changed every aspect of myself to make yourself better and still you wanted more. I wasn’t the change you expected. I wasn’t who you expected me to be. Yet, I can’t help but wonder if I had been exactly what you wanted me to be, would you still want me. I would have bled myself dry, if it meant that this would work. I would have stopped the madness hurting inside, if it meant you would stay just one more day.

How you flocked to the girls with their skin stretched over their bones. How you loved the illusion of this skeleton of a body and fixated on the ideas of that perfection. The countless nights, I counted meals and accounted for every last calorie. Would that be enough? How the extra calories could be slept away or purged until the obsession starts all over again. The illusion of being perfect and the risk of losing it all. I couldn’t control the monster of madness inside. I couldn’t control the obsession of hurting, all for being exactly what you wanted me to be. I begged, I pleaded, I cried, and still you stood so tall. Ordering your demands and I couldn’t help but want to do everything, just to make you stay. It was never enough. Your words flew out like venomous rage, still here to haunt me. I was never your perception of perfection. No matter what I did, I was never enough. You liked me, but you loved her. You cut me down but raved about everyone else’s perfections. I purged every last bit of my insides and you stood tall counting on my imperfections. It wasn’t enough that scratching the surface never deepen the cut. How foolish to believe that if I had been every word of what you wanted, I would have you.

Skin heals, cuts fade and eventually all the bricks you threw at me, will rebuild the little foundation of life I see. You disappeared and buried every last bit of who we used to be. You didn’t count on your ghost being left behind to haunt the remains of a memory. I loved you and all you ever did was bring me down. Took my sadness and devoured it into madness. Maybe we are all just a little mad, but some worse off than others.

You liked me but you loved her. How I always thought otherwise. If I were skin and bones would you love me in the end? If I purged ever last bit of you out of me, would I finally let go of you? If you hadn’t met her, would you still want the same from me?

Would you?

7/12/2007