A Poets Requiem

Life sometimes changes for the worst or the better. It doesn't matter which. Other than the fact it changes. I've lived a whole life scared of the unknown. Unknown where my life would lead. Where I would go. Who I would still be friends with. Who I marry. A lot has happened and me, on the edge of 27, still have many unknowns about where my life would lead. 

I’ve seen relationships fall to pieces. The world is on fire and people just want a place in this world. People just want to belong. I want to belong. I never thought life would take me down the roads I have traveled. I have crossed snow capped mountains just to find meaning in this life and some days I feel I can almost grasp it. 

Relationships grow. The world is rebuilding and I’ve created a stable enough life in which I live in that would be enough for a child. I’ve always grown uneasy about this subject. The fear of the what if’s? The fear of how will it’s life lead. The fear of the unknown. 

For so long I’ve made excuses on this is not the type of world I wanted to bring a child in. The world is a cruel cruel place and people can be monsters to each other. I’ve feared that it would take after me and my bad habits. My illness. I’ve feared everything that I could have possibly thought about. Regardless. The days are getting shorter everyday. 

An uncertainty of whether or not if I wanted a child outweighed if I should have a child. There was a difference. I felt that this is not the type of world I would want my child growing up in. I grew negatively in emotion and did not realize that this child, itself, the sun and the moon. The Earth and the stars. Everything aligned. 

Yes there are many negative things in the world but there can be no good if there is no bad. There is no light, if there is no darkness. There is no Alpha without Omega. 

I’ve struggled with depression, anxiety, schizophrenia for a long time now. It keeps pulling me down this road of self loathing and fear. I’ve been in the darkness for a while now and I needed the light. For the longest time I feared that this world would change my soon to be child. I grow smarter everyday and so will he. 

My wife will be the water coursing through the valley. Digging through the soil. Reshaping everything around us. I will be the current. Pushing everything forward. Breaking through barriers that many struggle to get through. My son will bring the life. Leading others to this new home. To live and prosper. A new way to live the land. 

I still fear the unknown. I don’t think I will ever stop fearing what I cannot comprehend. As the days turn to weeks to months. He’s almost here. The light to my darkness. The natural remedy that will calm my ailing heart. The cure for the sickness.

Remember me 

A Poets Realization of Numbness

Life sometimes changes for the worst or the better. It doesn't matter which other than the fact it changes. I've lived a whole life scared of the unknown not knowing that the unknown itself was what I was scared of. Unknowing the unknown unwillingly. 

But this is what I do know. It’s been a while since I looked in the mirror and looked at myself and truly questioned myself. Why am I this way? So I did just that. I looked at myself and acknowledged my crooked smile and my fractured state of mind. I wish I was healthy both mentally and physically and I couldn’t help but think that does anyone? I doubt I am alone but maybe everyone has this realization. Maybe everyone is afraid to look at themselves in the mirror and no I am not talking about that look you give yourself as you wash your hands. To truly look through the skin and the hair and wonder what makes you, well you. 

I was drunk one night and this has been something I have been doing less and less as I get older. I looked at myself in the mirror and I didn't quite know what it was but something was off. I looked no less than I do currently—sober—yet something was uncomforting about my appearance. I looked closely to my face and I could visually see that I was numb though I looked exactly the same as I do everyday. I looked into my soul and I realized that this is in fact what I didn't want to be. I felt uncomfortable in my shoes on how I looked at myself and I felt ashamed at what I had done. I saw the true me. Trying to keep the demons at bay by self medicating through alcohol. I was alone when I looked at myself and I told myself that if I was to drink again, I would not do it to numb my senses to keep my overbearing thoughts away but to have fun and bond with my friends. 

Drinking alone ruins you. Drinking to feel less will destroy you. Drinking to run away from something will demolish you. Pick up a new habit but always acknowledge that when you replace a addiction, it gets replaced with another. Theres things we like and things we don't like. Do the things you like that wont destroy you or make you depressed when you look at yourself. 

When I started this blog I didn't like who I was. You could see it in my writing but I kept writing. It made me feel good. People read my thoughts and they liked them. They complimented my poetry or my writing and thats why I came back. I was lost chasing other things that didn't really matter to me. Writing poetry. Writing music. Drawing, taking pictures. Art. Thats how I express myself and I don't have to do it drunk or stoned or any other way that involves a unclear mind. When you see someones release, compliment it. Comment or like it or whatever you want to do to give acknowledgment to the creator. “This got me through a hard time and you made me see the light.” This is what I want to see. I would like my followers to vocalize their likes and dislikes more. Do it on my blog if you have to. My blog still has room to grow and if it involves people becoming the best human they can be, then do it.       

My name is Corey Rhodes and I want to change the world.

Remember me

A Poets Self-Sacrifice

After my first suicide attempt I realized something more than what I could have ever known without doing such a thing. I can tell you that I had a great revelation that made me change my life or some other bullshit but this isn’t a movie. I looked at myself as a sixteen year old, dazed and confused, in love with a girl. I looked at the things around me as the blood rushed down my body to my feet and I had such a strange feeling. A feeling that I am such an insignificant speck, a lump of skin and muscle tissue and I was just simply upset. I had no significance in the world and at that time and point I made no impact on anything but I looked at everything else around me.

Starving children all around the world, a world that is engulfed by war and an economic crisis of people not willing to set their own differences aside from everything else. I started to think in fractions and minimal numbers that could mean no difference on the surface but meant a hell of a lot everywhere else. I could have been born with physical ailments, I could have died within minutes, I could have drunken parents or even be a drunkard myself. I could be in jail right now or even getting high off drugs and women. I could be living in a cardboard box yet I could be living in a mansion.

Variables started rushing through my head of what could have been just to look at myself as I was. I could say that I was grateful for all my things I had but I wasn't, I still thought my life was shit and I still do but I was able to realize that if just one simple thing was different in the entire course of humanity in any way, the exact being as I am now would be entirely different and I was happy for that fact only. That I am. Simple as that. Everything, every simple step forward would determine my future and I just let it go. I don't worry about it and in all honesty I really don't think about it. I still get depressed and I still hate my life and feel numb all the time but it’s not in vain anymore in my mind.

It’s not in vain because even though I think I have this shitty life, it can still always be worse. Because of that very fact I unconsciously don't take advantage of that. I gain a great sympathy for others interpersonally and I can relate to those who feel the same way. It doesn't make me feel better, I feel like I have no soul or any form of conscious but I can understand. It’s not wrong to feel numb or unhappy because I feel that everyday but it helps me understand who I am and what I can do. I stopped searching for happiness that day and I started looking for a reason why I am and to be honest, I wont figure that out until the split second I close my eyes and think my last thought before I die.

Remember me

A Poets Depression

When you're little, you grow to love anything you set your sights on and those little pieces of plastic that were manufactured in China become your most prized possessions. You live to protect them because everything is simply a miracle when you are young. You don't understand how these things could be made and you treat them the exact same way that a rich person would keep a hold on their wallets—close to the heart and filling your soul. Then you grow older and because of your new maturity those things that you once loved turns to a mere few.

You become preoccupied with your life and you have no more time for your friends, all you can do is struggle to make a living. This is all inevitable because that’s apart of growing up; leaving your own happiness on the side of the road just so you can work for the rest of your life to achieve what? An old age and a wish for youth again. You could only wish to live another life so live those through joys again and hope for it to never leave your side.

What I want to do is compare that to a young individual when they receive clinical depression because that gap from being able to love everything to very little shortens very dramatically. You find that you didn't have the chance to enjoy the great things in life. The smell of roses no longer becomes appealing and those few things that everyone will soon have to go through will come like a knife in the back. You would find that there would be some things you would like but depression hides it from you. You strive to find the good colours in the world but you are now blind, living in darkness and that is depression. 

Its like you are trying to find what is nearly impossible to see; waving your foot around in the dark while descending down a long staircase, you don't know where the bottom is and when it comes to that you are, you still look for another step to stand on. Striving for hope in a land of chaos, we will wish to change it but we find that failure is what we live and deal with for the rest of our lives. We will remain to believe but till it happens, we cannot see the light at the end of the tunnel or even smell the clean bright air. This has become my life. This has become my tune. I will live with it and it will become my nighttime fellow. I will have to search and find my support. I know that there could be things that I would love for the rest of my life but I just need to find them first. 

Remember me

A Poets Psychopathy

I've been having a new set of dreams recently. They still contain this woman in black and blue that I see so often in my life but something is different now. No longer is she the same woman that I have seen for countless years. She molded how I saw things and yet it is only a delusion that my brain has created to deal with my loss and my anguish. If you mold yourself after a thing or even a person, what would happen when you witness that thing to change? Would it take you down with it? She has offered me hope to better and as she changes slowly into something more grotesque and define I can only follow in her footsteps.

 Its nothing that is hardly noticed like a slight change in facial structure in fact, it is the very opposite. I look at this woman and everything that has changed is now what I see in her. I've lived so long to finally be with this woman in black and blue but if my dreams keep treating this like some little puppet, I guess it would be impossible. So many times I have looked towards her for understanding and even with this great shadow that has fallen upon my heart she still seems to amaze me.

Imagine, will you, a person—torn in body and mind, having clothes just enough to cover the skin to a minimum and a look of someone who has been starving for months and has only had the chance to eat a few pill bugs—curled up into a corner shaking, screaming, thrashing at their own skin and what do you feel? An average person—or better to say a "human being"—would say that they would feel sorry for them. Wishing that they could help but I can only feel good about this thought, like it is normal, like it is apart of my everyday life. I feel like I sold my soul to the devil, I feel nothing through the others pain. I find myself to keep staring and examining what was happening rather then trying to help those in need. I would watch to see if they would tear themselves apart and when they are on the side of their deathbed I would continue to wait, just to see if they would follow through.

Call me disturbing but I find this very thing greatly interesting. People examine others to see if they would return lost items or help someone out but I have never seen any studies that involve highly negative consequences. Events that could determine someone’s very existence, playing god as it seems fit to mere mortals, why is this? Because if you partake in this sadistic practice then you are inhumane. Am I inhumane? I don't know anymore. I seem to find myself conforming with everyday life more as the days pass just so I can seem 'normal' but am I doing this intentionally or is it just a reflex? I catch myself from time to time staring at someone’s aguish but as soon as I snap back into reality I act but I can only wonder if I never snapped out of this psychosis that I deal with. It’s interesting to watch those who inflict pain on themselves. Watching to see if they are doing it so they can gain others attention or they just don't care about themselves and those are the ones I look for. They act as if they are a time bomb decaying and when it degrades enough it would finally force itself to explode. Everything can have an opportunity to act like this, especially human beings. 

It’s interesting to watch a person’s life fall down around them. They get desperate and they do whatever they can but same as the ones who inflict pain on themselves, they don't do anything about it. They don't fear the maker or anything that could interfere with their lives and I find that those people can become the most successful in life. They make those jumps because they have nothing to loose and every so often someone finally rises to the top and how do people treat him you may ask?

People say that he was poor at one time and he pushed all he could to see himself making a better life but I don't see this to be so. Everybody is looking for self gain and not even you the reader can deny that. You look at something or someone asks something of you and all you can think is 'what will I get out of this?' Maybe its the people who have already accepted this become the great ones. The ones who are willing to get their hands dirty for the morals that they seem to forget about in the back of their head. 

This woman that I see now has changed into a new kind of breed. Something that I never really thought that could exist. A kind that looks at their own misfortunes and they take advantage of other peoples mortality. She carved out her eyes; every last piece that could be left inside of her was torn out to leave two bloody holes within her face. She was now blind but she remained to live and indulged in her sacrifice. Blood trickled down her rosy cheeks and onto the floor but whenever I looked at her she stood there, smiling, enjoying what it was. Her simple, dainty, dark blue dress is all that she had on her shoulders, bright red lipstick on her lips, small black high heels, long dark hair that surpasses her shoulders and hands that are crossed along her waist. 

I fall in love with her misfortunes. I look at the blood on her cheeks and I feel good. Eyes have always been a key feature that I look for in a woman but even with a woman who has none to her name I still see beauty within her. She walks in and out of my dreams, waving her finger at me for me to take her home. That view of a simple tortured soul makes my heart beat. Scars tell stories, disfiguration tells more. It makes you who you are and I find that beautiful, self-inflicted or not. It tells me that you have emotion, that you are human yourself, you feel pain and you still look for love and what is so inhumane about that? It’s the people who pull through that will become amazing, the ones who destroyed their lives just to see what would happen. The ones who kill themselves. They understand life as it is, no matter how depressing it is and that makes me feel good.  

Remember me

A Poets Mind

I really dont know how to speak my mind right now so I guess I'll tell you random facts about myself; 


I have a big sense of paranoia. Just half of the stuff I know aren’t true so I can ignore them easily which makes it appear that I don’t have it. I seriously think im being watched, I think people are out to kill me and someone tries to break in my house every night, these are the easy ones to ignore. A lot of times I think people are against me because of something I did no matter how little it may have been. 


I personally think that people think im a child and they wouldn’t care if I was dead, which I believe in this alot no matter how much evidence proves otherwise. 


If you have ever seen me alone that’s when you would think im this crazy person. Whenever im home alone I always have a sharp object by my side because I think that someone is in the house with me, and is going to get me. Call me crazy but that’s how I feel.

I feel highly threatened when people do things to me or around me, but that is kind of obvious why.


I've done my own laundry and cooked my own food since I was very little, since the beginning I was grown to be independent.

I always imagine a lot of my days just sitting outside on my porch looking down the street looking at the world as it is. When im older I want a roofed porch with a couch on it, and I will spend most of my nights there.

I am my own worse critic and I don’t think anything that I do is good, compliments are nice but im a person that doesn’t even like compliments themselves, but I feel worse off when I don’t get any so please give compliments even though I just normally just brush them off, I really do care.

I like to talk to people when they talk to me not when I talk to them, remember that.

I have a really good gift for understanding and listening and giving good advise, if you don’t take my advise the first time or at least take consideration of, I don’t like to give you advise further on. But I still like to listen to people complain no matter what.

I write a lot, but I hate English….does that make sense?

I have virtually lost interest in almost everything that I once did. If I had the choice I would sit alone in a corner, but people tell me to do otherwise because it isn’t healthy for me to do what I want, because a lot of things that I want are never whats best for me.

I have been given the gift of individuality, said by many people. and I know you can vouch for me, I have it. Everyday I do what I want and I stick out from plenty of things in this world. I hold it close to my heart and its something that everyone needs to get better in this world. Music is in my blood. I dont know I would do without it. I bet I got that habit, of having lots of music of my dad, one of the things that I actually appreciate of him. Raising me under a music filled life he has inspired me.

Every day I am told that I am more and more like my Uncle Sean. My moms brother, I was about one when he died, and he was shot. Im told that I have his poetic talents and had great expression of the arts. I never met him, he died when I was very very young, but I would give so much just to meet him, see if I am as close to Sean as everyone says. My family says I look just like him and act just like him, as if I am him.

I guess I have weird plans for life, I really am now undecided on what I want to be when I choose a profession. But I know I want it to show my individuality, but thats not the point im trying to make. I have plans to be alone for the rest of my life living on the coast, though someone to care for also wouldn't be that bad either.

There is a thing called love out there and might I say that its worth the heart ache for those who have not had it. Though this man is not reading his own words, I believe in it but it doesnt mean I choose to live it. I told myself that Im done looking for it, and I will say again Im not going to look for it. If it is going to be worth it, it will find me, whenever it may be.

I AM NUMB, I will say that as much as I want, I really dont feel big impulses to do anything, I do as I please and the way I want to do it.

I like the hard way, it challenges if I really want to do something or not.

I read transcendentalism alot, and if you dont know that word then look it up. Start on Ralph Waldo Emerson, he is my favorite.

I have been told that I am a visionary in poetry, writing, and everything else in the arts. I know how to get my feelings out and thats what makes it so powerful.

My mind goes several miles a hour, I normally cant think about one lone thing for more than a second, I jump around so fast it almost feels like I am thinking nothing. You can never get my full attention, always remember that.

Call me crazy, please, you dont need to be ignorant, I know what I am.

I dont like superheroes, I like to think life as it is and I dont want to put my self to fake hopes.

I like movies about life, no action or trying to make you laugh but just life.

I need to find out who is important in my life, the voices in my head are telling me everyone is against me.

More and more as the days go by I realize Im highly schizophrenic, I hear voices all the time and I see a lot of weird things. A good portion of the hallucinations I have are put in my stories.

With all that said, Im not going to leave you high and dry. Here is a short poem;

There is a tale that everyone seems to know.
When you live that great day, you never want it to end.
Its when you feel like you have never been so alive,
then it ends.
You wish you could have lived that moment longer,
done so many things differently.
Everyone has lived it.
Everyone has a different tale.
You look around you and you think,
no one know how you feel.
But there is a broken heart in every soul.
A regret that drives every human soul to push forward.
Everyone lives that tale,
if only there was a tune you can sing it to.

Remember me

A Poets Dream

I've always thought that you could never feel happiness until you know what sadness feels like.


     Today I woke up in thought of a dream I had that very same night. I had a hard time sleeping last night because I have had a lot on my mind concerning where my life will end up--seems like I think about this more and more each day. I had a dream of a woman. Not the same woman that I typically dream about but a new character in my internal visions of what could be.

     This woman was a single mother with a daughter approaching the age of six, upon looking at the mother I realized that she was not even past due on her own youth and she could of even be in her early twenties. They talked to each other as if they were sisters, but the young daughter was the effect of a rape and in all reality the father was never known to the daughter or even the compassionate mother.

     The entire dream contained the child's life, of what she wanted, of what she saw of the world and of what she saw in her mother. I saw the perfect relationship, an utopia to some--maybe a hell to others--They never argued, the child never did anything wrong, as if she had a concrete desire to be perfect. She only wanted to be the vision of what she saw in her mother and that was a angel, as if the mother to Christianity herself, could have even been our own mother earth. I looked at both mother and child with the most utter respect and I could only wonder what makes a person look so perfect.

     Upon watching their lives together I noticed that the relationship was the appearance of what we see as dysfunctionality. Maybe what isn't perfect is the exact appearance of becoming perfect. Maybe everything that is wrong in this world is the exact thing that makes everything right. I've always thought that you could never feel happiness until you know what sadness feels like. Recently I have heard of this group that focusses on "abolitionism". Looking up the word and everything I found that through bioethics and doing things that alter the body, their goal is to eliminate all sources of pain and suffering to do every thing to maximize happiness. I couldn't help but think of some of the ancient pagan civilizations who focus on solely pleasure and will do nothing that can cause anguish. Im not against this present movement because I feel I don't know all the facts and I'm sure I distorted something but living in a culture that only has happiness seems very disturbing to me.

     A society that is doing everything to make it perfect is called a "utopia". I don't mean to make this a language lesson but I just want you to know what Im talking about. Anyway, back to the ancient civilizations and even to more recent times, people have struggled to make a perfect society. Stories like "The Scarlet Letter" or "Anthem" focus on societies who appear as a utopia but I read it and I think the story is a horror novel. I can admit, I live mostly in sadness and misery but it feels like home. I like the choice to choose everything that we do, that is what makes life worth living right? If everything was laid out in front of you and you never had a choice in any matter like what you were going to eat, who you were going to marry, how you will talk. We do have "social norms" that keep things in check and keeps everything more organized, but we still have the choice. Its our choice to follow and if I wanted to wear mascara all day and try to be a woman, I could if I really wanted to.

     So going back to the woman and the child, I could only feel sorrow for them but through that I could only feel that the relationship for them was perfect. The daughter accepted everything that she was even though she was a product of disgusting actions, the fact is that she was alive. Life is very peculiar and through all the odds of having a habitual planet, living thousands of generations and eventually having a chance to actually be chosen of the thousands and become perfectly healthy within nine months and be born and actually be able to read what Im saying and living a full life, the odds are extremely slim, yet it still happens. Like winning the lottery or getting in a car wreck, though the odds are slim, it still happens. 

     So the young daughter realized this, at a very young age mind you, and I can only say that she was the brightest person I have ever laid eyes on. To accept that and realize what you are is just a little less of knowing on what is on the edge of the blackness that we know as "space". Can it really go forever never ending? How could that be possible? Yet here we are, showing the same odds, nearly an impossible thing to have yet here we are. This is an odd world that we live in, with so many different possibilities and so many variables, you could never live the same life as you did previously twice even if you are reincarnated and try your hardest to do the exact same things. Make sure this one you have is what you wanted it to be, sad or happy. Keep everything that you want, throw out the bad, remember old friends, forget the bad ones. If do all that you can and try to do everything that pushes you forward, I can guarantee that when that moment comes for you to die, you will die peacefully because you know you lived a perfect life.

Remember me

A Poets Councilor

     Today I was talking with a friend about therapy, upon watching a television show about serial killers she made the comment "So if you go to therapy then you are crazy?" and I wanted to base this post to that same question. 

     Immediately I had to explain to her that this is far from a correct assumption and that everyone takes therapy of some sort. I then proceeded to say, "I have went to therapy, am I crazy". To be honest I expected her to say yes, because I feel that I am far from normal but then I can only help to ask is there anyone out there who is truly "normal"? I would like to answer that and tell you no, there are so many variations and expectations to each person and with a world so big as our own not every person can look at you and say you are normal. Then again I wouldnt like to hear that someone thinks I am crazy because even though I believe that myself, it would take a great toll on my self esteem, maybe im just shallow. 

     Now Even though I expected her to say yes--which would defeat the whole point I was trying to make to her--I knew she was going to say no. She then proceeded to ask why I was in counciling. I dont know her well so I just said it just happened then the subject was dropped because I didnt want to talk about it but now that im thinking about it I think my thoughts should be at least known. No one has ever knew my thoughts on that time in my life and what a greater audience I could say this to, than to the few readers who I also don't know who they are. I dont want any judgment, whats done is done, and all should be laid to rest when I am done. 

     At my imperfect age of fifteen--or even fourteen--I was just finding about a illness that was just beginning to present itself. Having my hormones raging and then a even larger chemical imbalance in my system was becoming unbearable. You could easily say "oh then he just saw a therapist" and my answer would be yes, but currently I was only a ticking bomb hidden away, no one knew of my problems. The day started just like any other normal day of a teen in highschool. I got up, went to school. I felt worse then normal and a event pushed my on edge. This said event will not be disclosed by me, but it was something that had the potential to push me over the edge.

     Upon hearing said discomforting news I left home. People knew how unstable I have been for the past weeks and when I left, friends started talking. I tried to kill myself but at the exact moment I was going to complete the act,  my father called. Seconds after that a police officer and the school councilor knocked at the front door and negated everything I had planned. I know who gave the tip and I know she wanted me to live, I still haven't thanked her to this day but sadly enough Im not even sure if I ever will. 

     So yes I went to therapy afterwards for a luxurious month or two and then I had to stop because no improvement occurred. I was then placed on medications and they are still heightening the doses to this day. Im going to tell you the truth, I still think of suicide--a lot. I don't really even know what is stopping me, maybe its the anticipation for something great to happen in my life. Maybe I want to grow up. Maybe I just want to die of old age and see my life taken from me, in a more peaceful manner. One thing is for sure Im not scared of death. If I died right now, I would have no regrets. Maybe thats what it takes to live life to the fullest. Maybe Im am really happy and everyone else is just depressed. This has been apart of me for so long, its the closest thing to home for me. 

The question is am I crazy? Maybe you are and I just know how to live by wanting to die.

Remember me

A Poets Name

     As I sit here trying to figure out to write as a "whats on my mind" other than a story I can only close my eyes breathe in and listen to my collection of 50's blues I can only think that I have no inspiration, but I can assure you I have plenty of inspiration. I have always looked at something that anybody looks at and from time to time I can say that I have viewed it at a different perspective and I guess thats what makes me, me.


     I learned to play guitar not just so I could pick up chicks--mind you that is one of the last things on my mind--but I did so I could ignore the silence that I have in my life and to have such a appreciation towards music, its only appropriate to learn the very thing that you enjoy. I blog not to tell people about my life or to give an inspiration to anyone but I do it just so I can learn to start reaching out. I don't talk about myself and if you ever asked my parents about me....I would have no idea what they would say, because we hardly exchange thoughts between one another. I once had a councilor for a few months and I could tell you that of all the sessions we had, I maybe talked a little in a few of those sessions.


     I guess Im not a people person and I struggle with contact with other people maybe because of anxiety or just a indifference of what they thought themselves. I wouldn't call me selfish because when a situation arrises when one wants to talk to me about their lives I always listen and I always understand but I would just call me peculiar. I honestly wouldn't know what word would be the best but at the moment this word seems appropriate so lets stick with this. I don't crave to talk to someone, I don't crave to listen to someone or even to see that someone. If I had to live my life all alone for the rest of my life. It would have its highs and lows, I can certainly say that I would miss people from time to time but I am who I am and I could almost tell you I would live that almost no differently then I do now.


     I cant say that Im happy like this because I would be lying if I did but I am not happy, can I change that? Maybe. But the point still stands I don't like to reach out, I stick to the same pain that Im used to and you would be stupid to say you don't do that yourself. I like what Im familiar with and that is loneliness and maybe it will be like that for the rest of my life or maybe it would change when a girl finally steps into my life that doesn't want to destroy my will to live. I don't know. Im not god or some worshipped idol and I would rather it to be the exact opposite, I wouldn't care if I was the most famous person on Earth so then why be that? I let the attention whores and all the scum of the Earth to earn those titles but then I can only wonder is this why the planet is like it is?


     Its like when most intelligent people desire little to no children while the stereotypical "trailer trash" has twelve kids and one on the way. Is it the same for everything else that "trailer trash" can accomplish? How is it that more and more each day the famous and the popular are cut-throat, close minded git's while those who are nice and try to do good are shunned and exiled and I hate to say crucified? Its those who have a heart and care and do all they can are the same ones who are trampled on and they are never able to reach the finish line other than a select few? What happened to chivalry or even kindness to a fellow man? Then again I can only ponder this and it almost feels like it was only a myth, a tall tale as you will like King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table.


     Humans don't change, I don't change and as people focus on themselves and their addictions and everything that gets them through life I guess I sit here thinking about MY loneliness and MY problems and all I can do to fix it. Im not different then the scum of the Earth, so then I can only wonder if there is any point in talking about trying to change it? You answer that yourself but before you complain that I talk about myself to much and Im just some whiney three year old I can only tell you that you are reading my blog, which is still just a way for me to find more about myself by talking about myself and I just happen to let people join me for the ride and maybe just maybe through following me through my life you may just find more about yourself....but Im not making any promises. As always...




























Remember me

A Poets Stress

So....the disease has finally resurfaced itself and I have embraced it with a warm loving home.


     I can only stress about self control so much. Some of us have some but none of us have complete control in any way whatsoever. Some people cant control their addictions, others cant control their emotions, lastly others cant control their mind. For something that is all our own it almost feels like is is everything but ours. I feel like there is a unseen force within our mind controlling what we think about, what we in-vision in our our hopes and dreams for everything we want to desire and though if we act through out what we want and get all our desires, what triggers the thought of what we want?


     We learn our native tongue--mine being English--and we have all of our physical languages. You can go everywhere in the world and everyone expresses the same language mostly the same way so that isnt a concern to what im getting at but we learn a specific language, we learn our social norms, we live in a certain environment and through those who raise us, we become what people make us. Alot of people have the control to know what they want, some people do not. But what causes the thought of us knowing what we want and desire? My thoughts are scattered, I really have a trouble thinking right now so the answer may be obvious to you but I dont know what creates "The Thought". Its abstract and concrete, Its easily created and destroyed but other than being made by all things that have a higher intellect I really dont know what specifically it is. Like emotions or mental illnesses or even the simple thing like wind or gravity. It exists we can see the things it effects but it does not have a image of itself. Im ranting again, I wanted to talk about self control...if you want to hear more about my thoughts on the "Invisible" let me know.


     As I was talking about self control mentally I wanted to state that I have none to little. I take medications for depressions and anxiety and others but am I only taking it because I lack the desire to change it myself? I dont talk to my councilors so I have none, I dont complain to my parents or to close friends and the closest thing I have to talking right now is to this document that I am currently writing in Ever-note then it will be transported to my blog within seconds upon finishing and posted for millions to see--if they desire--and though people may like my writing and read certain entries several times--currently you are unknown to me but I appreciate it--and I regret to say that I do not read my writings a second time due to me being so self conscious and critical and anxious about my life and feelings and what I do to my appearance and my work and my family and friends and everything about me. Ive received no praise--or dont listen to it when I receive it-- and even though I like none and I am stubborn about it and I appear to not care maybe that is what keeps me doing this and when I say this I mean to live.....Im ranting again, same as above.


     I let my mind control my life, sadly enough my anxiety prevents me from doing alot of things that I want to do. I look back at my life and I notice that I have written hundreds of songs but I never finished them and recorded them, so they were forgotten. I have written several short stories, most of which were just tucked away because I feared what others will think. Im writing a few books, all of which are not complete because I have lacked the motivation to finish them because I doubt anyone would read them. I have several ideas for movies, screenplays, other blogs ect. and I just have always felt no one was ever interested in hearing them, so they were never completed or even shared. Im known as the boy who has the potential to be everything he could ever want to be, the true visionary, but I lack that same vision for myself, so nothing is ever completed.


     This blog has been something I have been wanting to do since I was little and I guess I can say that I have started it, will it continue? I guess that is my choice but the point is I still have the same exact problem to stick to something I love to do and I head back to the pain that im used to. Then again. We are only human and we all have the same problems. Im sure you can relate. I would like to be something known, something that others can dream to be just like me but at this moment, I dont even know who I am.

Remember me