Sometimes

Sometimes you just have to accept the fact that they will always get on your nerves, and they probably won't change.
Sometimes they won't grow up and that irritability you experience around them could be for a reason.
Sometimes you realize that there will always be more work to do, more mouths to feed, and more problems to fix.
Sometimes you just won't care.
Sometimes crying would be nice.
Sometimes disappointment lasts.
Sometimes you should have less maturity than them but really don't.
Sometimes your clouded view of everything is ok.

Sometimes you just have to sit back, blast some post-black metal and simply call it a day.

Welcome Winter.

This stressful land has come back into my travels.  The radiator chatters for new coolant as I pass through the murky mire.  It's hot to the point of boils blistering on my skin, it freezes me to shivering heap, wounded and fetal.  An intense mental tangle of situations, morals, relationships, people, and circumstance all make up what is left of my tried cranial space.  I scrape at my scalp to no avail, as the twisted tapeworms of relation eat away at the soft gummy brain tissue.  The amount I could still take is uncertain, though I feel as if I cannot contain anymore frustrated bursts.  It's just... too much to hold.  My scraped knuckles hurt.  I keep calling Your name and I keep reaching out, but my application hasn't ceased.  I sick of the gloom, but it's what I've come to know.  Enveloping my character and reasoning, I slowly slip in the dense and dull haze.  I cannot see clearly.  Everything and anything horrifying and terrible that could be held in my fate seep as if un-permeated smoke through my orifices and rot at the worm eaten mental stability that survived.  It gets dark early and light late.  With all this confusion, nothing can settles or even wishes to, having no prospect of letting me rest.  As the fog creeps back, I am reminded of the dank past, and ominous future.  Cry for me ravens.  Weep for me a joined, deep cackle of sorrow.

Slipping

Sometimes I wonder,
Do I carry too much?
Or is it too little?
All of it keeps slipping out of my hands.
Indifference is so hard to keep away in this.
Without responsibility or true caring,
it...
just...
vanishes.
Should be a shame really.
Maybe it just phases.
I guess that's how life works.
Come and go.
Not much lasts.

Add It To The Pile

It's just one more.
It's just one more.
That's what I keep trying to tell myself.
My my senses disagree with my ears alone.
But my selfishness is too strong, and I take up the aspirations of a weakling.
Curled up, I lay in defeat.
In defeat from myself.
I am too blind to lift up my calls to Him, I am too set down in my sin that my intelligence left.
I clothe myself in such foolishness, the fever reaches my body in anxiety.
This shouldn't matter, but it does.
I'm tired of the let down, rarely it seems I get a pick-up. but who am I to complain?
It's sometimes my only route, cause running is my best defense.
I'm sick of it. I'm worn and pissed off now.
It's pretty disgusting how self-centered I am about acceptance.
The ever full glass spills over with oozing and heavy foam, stress flows.
But my "oh so tragic" plight is hollow, and yet i fell struck with mighty bipolar waves they emanate.
What's the point? If everyone will let me down, I'm almost ready to give up trying.
It's never fully directed at me, but I fall the farthest.
Why?
What is in my make-up that causes such a volatile reaction.
I just want to get through my time not in bitterness or anger, nor with any spite.
Yet still it's never enough. 
I am foolish.
I am restless.
I am a coward.
Add it to the pile.

Lament Over Compassion Set Ablaze

 
Why?
It's not fair.
I know you care.
Set her free, let her go.
Her body throbs and aches, I know you know the feeling
She cant concentrate, her brain starts to quake, her mind is reeling.
What are you preparing her for?
Why must must she go through this mess, that somehow you've blessed, show her an answer.
Relieve all the weight,
Dull pain, words of hate, stress heavy like boulders.
Refrain from this toil and remove it 'fore it settles upon her shoulders.
She can't take much more.
Something's gonna give.
Something's gonna give.
Something's gonna give.
Already given her all, her body is sprawled, broken she yearns for your touch.
Battered and worn, stressed till she's torn, when it's gonna stop, how much is too much?
Set.
Her.
Free.
We beg of you, our hearts go out, full of the tugging of compassion, enough is enough.
Fill her up. You have all she needs, so why isn't her peace coming now?
Answer her calls, her voice echoes, hollow sound.
Cast down a ray of peace.
Shout "Lament no more!" in triumph over evil holds.
The shattered frame held up by you is strongest.
Praise be as you heal the broken!

Misunderstood

Shifty eyes, misplaced sarcasm.
Sneer behind your fake smiles
Turn my harmless folly is an act to gain something
False thoughts, I am always to be looked down upon.
Hey, thanks; you make me feel wanted here.
Where is the acceptance you claim to holster for many, if not all?
Why is it always me?
Misunderstood,
Battered and
Wriggling;
The ropes of social strain choke me
Squeezing at my creativity, humor, and social standing.
Suffocation only to those who aren't suited for normality.
Screw normality, I'm trying for any hopes of acceptance.
Any acceptance. 
Mean things when you say them.
Two-faced, you really have an art for
bringing
me
down.
I know you'll never comprehend the puzzle I have made.
I.
Don't.
Care.
Just show me you who scoff also welcome.
Prove it all wrong, prove my terrible genes wrong, prove my life wrong, prove me wrong;
In thinking that you'll never understand me.

It Echoes Here: Contemplating the Different and Lonely Occurance.

It echoes of  loneliness here.
Wrenching thoughts and skittish mental behavior accompany my foolish restlessness.  Inner strife dances from organ to organ, slowly, but quickly confusing my will. Lonesome I yearn for company.
Just a simple companion.
Even a sibling.
A whole year full of echoe
It get boring, feels wasted. And it really only effects me; I mean, I'm free to make plans.
I just fail to.
It's not a big deal really; it's just vacant here, y'see.
Too empty, too quiet.
Turn on the tele', or the phonograph, or the picture-box. Still with them around it all feels too large. Even this place. Ceilings too tall without enough canvas or paper to hang up. Walls become too open and lacking. To bare to captivate my span.
Blank
Does it matter? It shouldn't but sometimes having things to look at, or another here makes it all seem filled up. Maybe it just bothers me only, but solitude wastes time. Get a bit anxious for plans, and come to the realization that no one is around at 2 in the morn. Not to go and carouse around the town. No more cemetery runs at night. Alas these melted with the remaining and muddy winter.
It sure limits the summer a bit. My own mental image of entertainment rivals many others'.
Then again, why am I complaining? I have free time. I have work to do, some of it even enjoyable.
But still.
Still I long for a deep conversation, something to provide a background or foreground to my tasks. I never want to remain this solitary in droning time slots.
It all tugs at me.
Gently, but in annoyance, so it's softness is lost and replaced my stressful yanks.
Always asking, always inching me, keeping me awake from dreaming of something better.
Wherer are you going?
What are you doing?
Why are you so restless?
Instead of Contentment's embrace I shrivel in the cold of solitude. Glaring quietly, I wish to run forward, as if springed. Just to jump and act upon something.
Anything.
I shouldn't be this desperate, but after so long, this is my conclusion.
Since I was little.
School
Home
Camp
Church
Festivals

School
Home
Repeating dread, cycling locations.
Always half-way been the loner. Never really fit into the picture perfect group.
Sometimes I'd have one, y'know close pals, but those change.
Never solid, always evolving, I blame myself.
And why shoudln't I?
Don't I usually cause the strife or discomfort?
Yeah, sure I'm a crucial limb or needed apparatus.
Fat Chance.
None, or very few of them in the collective groups seem to wish me welcome or desire my presence.
Hah.
Let alone understand me.
I'm... just... so. Different.
Different.
It's not wrong, it's just... different.
Cept it doesn't connect with those who aren't.
or are.
To the different, I guess.
Where do you end off when you are so multi-faceted and strange, people don't know what to make of you?
Damn lonely.
I could complain to no end.
wow, I am productive.
Still gotta vent though.
Just wish the "normal" would appreciate something I did for more than a minute.
Something, anything.
I haven't the slightest why I care about their opinion. I mean if they are so different, and I know none of us really "have it all together", why should I care what they think? Maybe it's because the world, society, adults, teachers, anyone in authority looks to them first. the ones they have common interests with.
All those stupid, stupid sports.
Life is such a game, and I'm tired of playing.
I made my own rules, and played by them, and it didn't work.
Not to win the world.
Why the hell am I playing with that as the goal?
To the mirror I proclaim, you infidel!
Grow up and let go of wordly desires.
Stop being a toddler in your faith.
You've got plans, you got talents,
He wants You.
You.
I just can't be satisfied with being good enough for the Creator of the universe, can I?
I'm such a loser.
But, hey, let's blame it on the genes. The Carpenter always struggles with this right? I only barely slip by having obtained my mother's charisma, thinking skills, and optimism.
What a champ.
And the roots of my abilities to survive constantly strangle those closest geographically to me.
Build a new house,
a clean house,
and a stable house.
But just the same;
This house is empty.
This home echoes the same as the old.

Oh boy...here we go.

Expectant, but patience abounds.
Longing, but I stay patient.
Waiting at the rain forest.
This takes forever.
Oh anxious me.
Arrival.
I always forgot how I'm stunned.
All time spent well,
Man; I couldn't ask for anything better.
Ideal has become Reality.
Quick Disbelief, thankfulness immediately follows.
A Finished Puzzle.
Simple but fitting.
Solitary on the roof, waiting.
Loneliness dissipated so quickly.
The roof is still, concrete.
The wind rushes and tussles my knotty mat of hair around.
My ears fill with it's hollow and pushing sound.
The hair on my arms is pushed against the grain with it's short blasts.
The breeze tunes out the rest of my body, as it internally erupts in elation.
Full Grin stole Grimace and locked him away, tossing the key, or forgetting the combination.
Whichever works well.
I'm not too concerned with differentiating, that's the least important of my cares.
I'm not even sure if Joy left any straining cares left residing in me.
I still soar at full speed.
Soaring together.
June 13, 2010.
Fantastic day.

Poor George, hear me out.

whoa.
slow down.
I didn't mean to.
My motives are honest.
This wasn't supposed to blow up in my face or yours.
How can this beauty cause so much tension?
Broken Bridges.
Try and fix it, try and fix it.
I don't have enough planks or ropes.
I need yours too.
If you haven't any to spare, ok.
But that seems to be a reoccurring theme.
I know that now I'm just a reoccurring theme in hindsight.
I didn't want to be just a bad memory or taste left on the cerebral palette.
I thought we were better than that rubbish.
I don't know if I thought wrong.
I know it stings, I know it bites, I know it gashes.
This wasn't my intent. I've got grazed bruises on my vessel.
My wounds fester and rot, I'm not apathetic.
Honesty shouldn't lose.
and it doesn't.
Last week wasn't a proclamation, just truth.
If you can't take my honesty as what it is, and not as hope,
Why were you still around?
My insensitivity is matched with my honesty.
Lies do not slide off my tongue
My lips do not speak falsehoods with the intent of toying.
But as if I have acted untruthfully, accusations and insults dig at me.
With foolish intent to fight fire with fire.
Except, There was no fire.
Still I remain bombarded.
Didn't this happen before?
Wasn't it not as severe as it seemed?
Why must now this trash our bond?
It shouldn't be like this.
I don't give up, I can't tell if you do.
So that's it then.
I don't expect you to understand my motives or process of thought.
But my actions are just a mirror of what's been revealed to me.
I remain open, free and willing, I just follow what I'm told to do.
I'm not sorry it this way.
It's his plan.
I am sorry it's this way.
It shouldn't have to drain you.
I don't want to lose us.
I'll respect you and leave you be,
But I'm still here.
I'm still thankful for what we have, had, have.
Goodbye George.

Honesty Wins

Mutual admiration.
It
Just
Flows
Honest, and free of worry, I am open.
I am vulnerable, but in my vulnerability comfort finds me.
Consoling words  from another, understanding.
True understanding.
Nothing is forced or self-willed
Only will is how his hands guide us, only how we follow the path.
It's blind, it's full of trial, but it's planned, no matter the outcome.
no matter the outcome.
Intent.
No self-want, all the opposite of self-gain.
Content
With it all.
Give & Take.
I breath heavy, skip a beat.
I soar fast, skip a beat.
Swim in the joy, skip a beat.
Elation blooms, skip a beat.
This blissful delirium buds, and grows.
Care-free encounters of house colors
Blessings arise to surprise.
Catch me off guard.
Catch us off guard.
Spy a brilliant sea of contentment.
The coast swells;
High Tide.
Dive In.
Flood the earth, my chamber of four is drenched.
Abundance is shown so quickly, but with such gentle power.
Honesty Wins.

Waiting

Waiting.
Waiting for my dreads to tighten up.
Waiting for her response.
Waiting for her thoughts about me.
Waiting for another who understands me.
Waiting for life at home to simmer.
Waiting for life at home this summer.
Waiting for 3 light bulbs.
Waiting for tonight.
Waiting for a job.
Waiting on Mrs. Reese.
Waiting on school.
Waiting on myself.
Waiting on God.
Waiting for a plan.
Waiting till I make myself stop waiting.
Anxiously check the clock.
Waiting.

Is This Lost?

I sit.
Lonely, humid.
The sweat drips.
Sticky droplets roll down my dreaded neck.
I itch.
Tight and loose, I have a headache.
Too many thoughts.
Too many thoughts.
Collect them, scramble to make it all fit together.
Unsettled the puzzle yells to be congruent.
Fix it please, my fingers are sliced and grazed.
My band-aid strips make sloppy work.
The work monocle is bent and cracked.
Blind, the eyes force information in.
Too many thoughts.
Want to scream, want to shout, I'm such a child.
I feel greedy and full of sloth, why I am so anti-kingdom?
I aim for a handful but i receive a pinch.
Yet that pinch is so fruitful.
and somehow I crave more, never satisfied.
I lose, but only because I let myself lose.
Apathy and I just can't get over each other, can we?
She just pulls me in, I can't help but embrace the lack of caring.
Her and Jealousy,  I stupidly picked them up on the street corner.
I am prostituting myself to the mundane.
Let It Go.
try to rest.
try to breathe.
5 days left.
5 till freedom.
5 till fear lunges at me.
5 till it gets quiet and peaceful.
5 till it gets quiet and lonesome.
5 till I can breathe again.
5 till I can breathe again.

Just... Breathe.

Morn.
Heat.

Amble onto the bus, flick my I.D, it's muggy in here.
Waiting for the bell, sweat drips down the lockers.
Sneakers squeak, linoleum, I like my friends.
Thinking quite a bit today, rush through ceramics, bored in english, caught with phone.
good chats in geometry, not gonna do well on the final, the bell rings.
Bus ride back, it's muggy here too.
Home.
Worn.
Rest.
Heat.
Stress.
It's too quiet in this hollow cave.
My thoughts scream at me.
Directions and accusations.
They bash my mind and scramble me.
Like imps they taunt my actions and motives
I lack the will to complete useless tasks.
This takes me further down from achievement.
Why? Should my motivation be spurred by final grades?
I have no need for this.
No distractions, focus attempt, fall short, 11 days.
11 till I grasp sanity again.
11 to finish work.
11 to iron out my schedule.
11 to volunteer.
11 till I start breathing again.