Alone is a word I fear.
Like one single isolated tear.
I am abandoned and alone.
Is that the way my life is sewn?
Doomed forever with myself,
and not a single someone else…
My life is made up by intricate patterns that are never ending. They twist and turn in all directions. Forming a smile here, a frown there, and bliss that’s somewhere. These patterns, they make a home, a family, friends, and memories. But wait! There’s more. The patterns, they make pictures that surmise my life, like a picture of me, a picture of them, a picture of him, and a picture of the little ones whom my world seems to revolve around. All this and more makes something you cannot see, hear, touch, taste, or smell. This something is not the body I walk in, that thing is just a shell. Since this thing is so undetectable I am afraid I’ll lose it along the way. If I lose it i’ll kiss those burning red flames all wish to avoid. We wish to avoid them so much that throughout history we have given our livelyhood to robed figures, who say they serve some great being that can save us. I think I’ll just hold onto this special thing myself. If one things for sure it’s that this thing that I can feel, this patterned, important thing, to me, it feels more important than life itself…
Crazy?
Is that what you call me?
Maybe I prefer the word visionary.
Maybe I just think different.
Who are you to give me this title, which you can only support with your biased observations of my life.
A life you have not lived.
My thoughts are my own, not yours.
Yet you judge them.
I do hope you’re careful when you do this, for my thoughts are part of an intricate pattern that makes me who I am.
They are my beliefs and my feelings, they make me my own individual.
Words are who we are, becareful of the words you choose.
How dare you call me crazy?
When I could just as easily say the same of you.
You who judge others,
you who titles others under false words,
you who has yet to find a direction in life that does not include the acceptance of people who are different.
Huff!
Crazy indeed!
Crazy, the way you say it, simply means you don’t understand me, and so you shy away from my unknown person.
How’s that for crazy?
Something inside me wishes to break free. Like a beast from hell it rips and tears with sharp claws. What is this unknown being of feeling? Is it a new conscious that I have found? Or is it the real me, tired of being bound by the rights and wrongs society places upon us? Bound by the limits placed on all the possibilities in life. I do not know what this thing in me is, but I do know that with every caress of its claws against the fiber of my being I write passion. Scribbles of black and blue ink strewn across a page that was blank. The scrape of a tool; just as deadly and piercing as a sword. My hand, my mind, and my heart know not the confounds of times when this phenomenon called writing happens. It simply becomes a need driven by a fire that has lit inside me. Finally the last words are scratched into the surface of this piece of paper and though these words sit on the surface they sink down to a deeper meaning where everything takes a more profound existence. Perhaps… Perhaps this feeling is simply the thing that every writer carries with them through life. The thing that drives us to breath, eat, and sleep so we can spend the rest of our days etching thoughts and feelings into the memory of the universe. No matter how trivial the matter, it is written even if only it’s purpose is to say, “I was here and I lived.”
Morgan’s Journal
February 23, 2007
The first thing I remember when I walked into the café with my friends earlier today is the feeling I had. It was a desolate feeling. I felt so detached and so lonely. We were sitting at a table in the corner chatting, well at least the others were, they asked me to go get some drinks so I went. I was waiting for my order to come up and that was when I saw him sitting in a dark corner across from ours. He was so beautiful to me, he was dark, sexy mysterious, all the things I will never be. He was leaning back in his chair coolly; I distinctly remember the contrast of his pale white skin against the rich dark reds and browns of the room. And it was that one moment in time when he glanced at me and did a slight double take. I had noticed and tried to look away but I looked at him again and he was staring at me and our eyes met. His eyes were such a rich blue, they held mine and I felt as if I was naked and everything about me was splayed out in front of him. I never thought I would find myself saying this but, I think I love him.
Christians Journal
February 23, 2007
Dear brother,
I have been writing to you for over a century. Though I’m afraid I now write to comfort myself instead of seeking penance for the heinous acts I committed against both you and God. Forgive me brother for I think I am in love, I do not deserve to indulge in this for you did not have the chance to love at my fault. I was sitting in the corner of a café letting my conscience devour me, and that was when I saw her. At first I had just glanced but when I saw her time froze and my gaze fixed onto her she saw that I was looking and she turned away. Then she looked back at me and our eyes locked. She has the most beautiful eyes they are simply enough the color amber; however, it looked as though she had gold flecks it those sad eyes. I think I love her.
I died for seven minutes. They said I should have been left a vegetable from an accident like the one I went through. But I was fine. Some people asked me if i saw the light at the end of the tunnel. I said no, and I definatly didn’t tell them what I did see. I will never forget what I saw in those seven minutes. It is now my duty not to forget; when I woke up from being dead I wasn’t Carlie Hope, a go with the flow teenager, anymore. I was an angel ,sort of, sent to protct the earth from evil scum.This is why I had to get away from the house, and away from my mom, who completly freaks out about every other second, thinking that i am going to die again.
“Mom! Please don’t do this right now.” I pleaded no wanting to hear her argue that it’s to dangerous to walk to the bowling alley three blocks away.
“Do what? Worry about my daughter! Who, may I add, died only three months ago!” she screeched. Whoah, i have never seen anyone’s face turn purple until now.
“You can worry all you want but I can’t die two times in a time span of three months, I mean really now,” I argued trying to get her face color to go back to normal.
“But you can! And it scares me that you take it so lightly!” She said weakly with tears springing to her eyes.
I walked up to my mom, hugged her tightly and said, “Mom I love you but if I die again soon, I would much rather have lived a life to lose. Sounds reasonable right?”
“I guess so. But… Oh alright! Just be careful please and be home before ten ok?” she said reluctantly.
“Yes mam! I Carlie Hope thy daughter will be very, very careful.”
“Oh ok get out of here.” She said exasperatedly, while pushing me out the door.
When the door closed I lost my false smile and started a fast paced walk down the street. Turning on Chester road and turning my non negotiable future around in my mind. That was the last time I would ever get to talk to my mom. It would also be my last night as a living person in society, in only a few hours my death would be staged.
While thinking this through I climbed up the stairs of the church, tugging open the heavy oak doors to reveal stained glass windows picturing the saints welcoming me, as though I was one of them. I crossed myself with holy water and kneeled down at one of the worn pews. I couldn’t tell how long I’d been there in the same position until I finally heard someone else in the room.
“Are you the one who works in his holy light to absolve the world of evil?” I said heavily, the words I was told to ask when this time came.
“I am, though in my quest to destroy evil I have tainted myself with the blood of others as you will also most likely do.”
I turned to find the man who said the signal words, and I saw what I had expected. He was an old feeble looking man in his church robes with small beady judgmental eyes. The priest shuffled over to me and sat next to me. There was no feeling of comfort; in fact I had the strangest thought that he was evil. I tried to shake it off but then the foul smell of sulfur assaulted my nose as it wafted away from him.
I dove out of my seat and began to run down the isle only to find it blocked by a disheveled bloodthirsty man. Once again I dove away, this time jumping from pew to pew and turning into a dark hallway leading to the priests’ rooms. As I turned another corner I was knocked into the stone wall by a devastating force. A hot, scaly hand wrapped around my throat dragging me further up the wall. I struggled to free my self from this grip and opened my eyes to see a monster in front of me with charred red skin, small horns protruding from his skull, black eyes, and a grim sharp smile. This was the type of creature I saw when I died, and now he was there again as I slipped into death once more, slowly losing consciousness, being killed by a demon.
Life is what you make it. Do you make it bitter, sweet, or both.
Example: Jane is born. Her parents have problems and abuse her. She has no friends because her parents tell her no one will ever love her. She has no dreams beacause her parents break them. So she has no life because she choses not to, and so she is forever scarred and never lives before she dies.
Example:Jane is born. Her parents have problems and abuse her. Her parents tell her no one will ever love her, but she does have friends and they make her feel better because they love her. She has dreams beacause she doesn’t let anyone break them. So she lives a life because she choses to and continues to live though she is dead, simply because she lived.
Tonight I dreamed a dream,
it was short and sweet as dreams should often be.
Now dreams I dream are very dreamy
because they are dreams I’ve dreamed.
They tell me what dreams I truly dream
and dreams that dream of me.
One day I am become a dream
if someone dreams of me and forever thereafter
a dream is what i’ll always be.
