Quote of the Week

Character is like a tree and reputation is like a shadow. The shadow is what we think of it; the tree is the real thing. -Abraham Lincoln

I Am…

I am tired

Tired of people who bring me down

Tired of people who don’t care

Tired of people who are self absorbed

I am…

 

I am sick

Sick of people who do what they want without consequence

Sick of people who want to call me out for everything

Sick of people who are fair weather friends

I am…

 

I am done with

Done with their phony smiles

Done with their timeless lies

Done with their ignorance

I want…

 

I want to be

To be happy without corollary

To be trusting without fear

To be free to care for everyone else

I…

I don’t really know anymore the world I so warped and confusing

People don’t care about one another and expect you to care about them

They want one set of rules for them and a next for everyone else

They want the spotlight and don’t care who they have to step on to get there

 

I am tired of, I am sick of, I am done with this me, myself and I world.

Why does it have to be about me, he, she, it. Why not about us?

All of us, the world of us…

Do you know the answer?

am i the only one who thinks in word pictures? whose world is a collection of water paintings and photographs with stories yet untold? or maybe scenes of a movie with a long monologue yet to be written? the only one whose thoughts occur in the form of prose? if not am i the only one who feels incapable of understanding other prose? of grasping the thoughts, messages, inuendos, and implicit reasoning and emotions of those whom i would have assumed shared my mindset? if not can you also tell me, am i the only one who fears giving life to the pictures in my head through words for fear of giving it wings, and will to leave? who holds off on diving into the world this thought might have created if i feel incapable of documenting it? is that unfair to what i might have created? is it selfish to desire a method of remembering and revisiting this feeling and rathering it die off without the flesh and blood that words can give it? is it evil to simply let it whither away in my mind rather than set it free in the universe?

What I Saw Today

Out of the window all that seemed to speak to me were the dead trees with their gaunt twisted fingers reaching for the skies. The world seemed to be moving too fast  for me to take it in, but too slowly to excite the blood in my veins. However, the marks of death scattered through out the scenery that jogged by seemed to seep through the persona presented to the world and whisper to my core. The girl in there was happy to meet them, she was happy they were dead, dead like this land was to her, dead like the person on the outside seemed to her each time thoughts aroused her from sleep. My gaze was dragged forward, half reluctantly, and the streetlights seemed to form a tall wall on either side of the street, making me feel small, and mouse like. However, the instant passed and the whispers of the dead echoed between houses until, the song was over, the thought broken, and she who had woken went back into her deep slumber