The Musings of My Mind

Month: November, 2015


Sometimes I feel like no one can ever truly love me.

So when someone finally does, it’s like…


Well then, you must be the only one

And I must latch on to you before you realize that the sun has gone.

And as if the shades have been drawn,

Darkness has overcome, and that’s what was won.

But actually, it’s ‘who’ because the darkness is me.

Perhaps my mind has been brewed like coffee beans,

Because I believe that I’m screwed so up

That down looks like freedom.

It feels like it make sense, so when you say you love me

It’s like… are you sure?

Sometimes I feel like I’ll never let anyone truly love me.

The words sound so foreign when they tumble out of your mouth.

Doing kickstands and cartwheels, backhand springs of,

“You’re so beautiful”, hand stands based on “I’ll never leave you,”

Looking for the twinkle in my eyes as your tongue dances

While you reveal your love to I…

Am so messed up that I can’t even believe you.

It’s not you, it’s me and the thoughts that won’t let me breathe.

The ones that suffocate me with threads of hate, weaved

So intricately that even those of Ariadne couldn’t compete.

I try to resurface each time you open your mouth,

Each time I look into your eyes and the corners of your mouth raise up

With brightness and hope that perhaps…

I’m normal.

But the thoughts…

The persistence of this self-deprecation is much too strong

For your words laced with beauty.

They outnumber the “I love you’s”

That are seemingly dipped in diamonds and jewelry.

They rise up with vengeance and armor to combat your devotion to me.

So… again, I drown.

Again, I fall.

Again, I believe that you are just speaking.

That you are just trying to trap me into believing

That you, a person, a whole other soul could actually love me.

Now you’re just being mean.

I don’t believe you because I don’t believe me

When I say that I love someone like I…

Who is so messed up.

Screwed so up that my vision of freedom

Has now become distorted.

A.N. – This is more so a spoken word piece so while reading, the flow may feel off. Try to take pauses as you go along and allow the seemingly misuse of sentence structure be an element of poetry used at my whim.



When does the void go away? When does the emptiness stop catching up to you, preventing you from finding what you’re looking for? And speaking of, what exactly are you looking for? I’m tired of these questions, I’m tired of the lack of answers, and I’m tired of the uncertainty. I feel like I’m surrounded by people who just get ‘it’, and for the life of me, I’ll never understand why I’m not one of them. I sound like I’m victimizing myself. I sound like I need to get the fuck up and do something and it’s not that I don’t want to, but what do I get up and do? Where do I go? I hate how this sounds. I hate pathetic and miserable I sound, and most days, I don’t feel pathetic and miserable, but today is one of those days when I do. Today is one of those days when I think about what I’ve done with my life and realize that I haven’t done anything. I think I keep trying to fill my life up with things that I think will give it meaning, but once I’m into it, I realize that it’s emptiness. Again. I have this thing that I can do and I know I can do it well, but what else? How can it reach people, how can it reach me? How can I take this thing I love and un-complicate it so that I can blow up my whole world? In a way that I’m comfortable, of course.

I recently went out and participated in a video shoot with some friends and my role in the video was to kind of direct the communication. Once it actually started happening and we’re in the midst of it, there was pretty much no need for me. It made me realize that anyone can talk to people, anyone can get other to open up, and anyone can do this. What the fuck makes me so special? What makes my work so special that people need to stop and pay attention to it? I had to ask myself some hard questions and I don’t think it really hit me until today. I want to do all these things and I don’t know how to start. I don’t know why I’m here, and as much as I want to find out, I kind of wish I wasn’t being put up to the task at all. As the years go by, I’m realizing that I’ll always be trapped in this state of confusion. Well, maybe not always, but I will for a while. I’m 22 and I act like my life will be over in three years and I can’t stop myself from doing this, being this frantic and fear-filled person. It sucks. I can’t help it. I envy all of you who grab life by the balls and just go for it. I envy those who just know. I hope I become that person one day. I hope I stop disappointing myself and my words. The solution is simple, I’m sure. But it isn’t and it’s a mind fuck and it’s been running me into the ground for years. In a good way, though. Kind of. In the bigger picture, I don’t know what I want to do.

I know I want to write, but I want to do more and be more for all the poor people out there who continue to let life score. Whose motivation hits the floor when they feel like they’re continuously running into a big, black door labeled ‘MORE’, and they simply can’t get in. The combination never worked before, so why keep trying or hoping that something better is in store? Why get up in the morning when all you’ll ever feel is deep sorrow in your core? The answers aren’t written in a book, they’re hidden behind big, black doors with unknown combinations that will never be recovered or restored.