After you're dead

You are ten years dead, but it's only a story. I was told that writing was an art. To mimic life. Art imitates life, so why do artists refuse t be alive. An artist can not live because they are too focused on what they must create. But everything has been created. It's like a story book and it's all laid out the grass and leaves and pathways are being colored in just as you take a step and the speech bubbles are being filled as you have your first conversation and art is not made because it already exists. An existence is everything.

You have been dead for a millennium now and you still haven't noticed that everyone you once knew was dead and everything your hands' once touched has been destroyed and the places you had come to love (and hate) no longer exist and you no longer exist, but you linger. You hang around this place wondering when you will be done creating the life you set out to create, but things have gone on without you. Life has gone on without you and that's okay because it is the life you set out to create and you're still going a full force. Nothing will stop you, nothing can hold you back. You've been held and held down, but that was not for you, so you hold yourself and hold your head extremely high. But for who?

Everyone's gone. You are all alone.

My Own Worst Enemy

I have become
My own worst enemy.
I feel my heart begin to race
And I know
I'm about to lose control

But it's all so situational.

Looking at the big picture
Doesn't help but it tricks me
To believing that things are allright.

I have a man with no heart whose baby I carry
And another who's in search of a mother.

Neither is any good for me
I will probably love both for awhile.

I wish i could forget,
Have it out of my head for an hour.

It's more than I can take.

I traveled thousands of miles
It still consumes me

Wishing for more nights
In bed with strangers.

I'm good to sleep next to because of this
Getting used to not really existing.

At the moment I'm alone
And I'm my own worst enemy
Making life harder than it has to be
Fighting when there's nothing left

To fight about

It's all over.

It came in like a hurricane and left the same way
Destroying everything in its path

But I'm like a pitbull
Beat me, shoot me, leave me for dead
But I'll forgive you
And be, oh so, eager to please you.

Sexual Predator

And I remember that night in your car.
We listened to CocoRosie for hours and you were shocked I knew who they were.

We got lost. Driving.
We referenced a map. After living in Chicago for a minute I understand why you rely so heavily on maps. Massachusetts people just don't need them. They know they will get lost and rely on friends, family, cell phone, pay phone and cops.

Did we want to get unlost? unstuck? unstruck?

And I remember all the times you call me for sex.
And you have a live-in girlfriend.
Your car could feel so good, but I can't get the idea that you are a monster out of my head.

Life gets hard

Sometimes life gets hard and you're lonely because you are physically alone. Will anyone affect me?

Oh please, I'm afflicted, Baby!

A real fucking mess
And life get hard.

Humboldt Park at Night Alone Part 1

Everything has an expiration date, but typically no one knows that date until it happens. As far as boy/girl relationships go, there is never supposed to be a set expiration date. Usually it comes when one gets with another or it just feels right or in a screaming match that ends with broken faces, broken windows and broken CD cases. Nevertheless the time is never planned because then the relationship is doomed from the beginning.

Sometimes love is not enough. Being far to young to even know what unconditional love really is makes it difficult to understand why some people do the things they do. But actions do speak louder than words, so if you love someone and then decide to never get a job and let that person support you and then run out on them, how is that love?

Another person to screw up my head and make it more difficult to understand how love is supposed to feel. Not one sided. Currently, I am devastated so in a few moments things might be different or things might fall apart. I'll leave that up to fate, but what I do know is that a person I love is leaving me to sit in my ghetto apartment in a fucking hell hole of a section of this Midwest city known as Chicago so that he can grow as a person. This translate to...so he can go somewhere warming fuck a bunch of girls, go back to Boston fuck a bunch of girls, go to Maine and live in the woods and bring a bunch of white trash girls into the woods to fuck.

I'm glad that's all been sorted out. I feel better just realizing how completely ridiculous, fucking selfish and bizarre he is and while I know deep down I love him, I hate him more right now.

Melting down

It's not about survival because that's easy. But where do I belong? Where can I survive? I'm not meant for happiness and not meant for love. No one is searching across a country for me. Anyone who has met me would rather just leave me or let me leave them. I was used to this, but then things get a little fucked up. But as always I'm not good enough. Not fun enough, not adventurous enough, not giving enough and too insane to deal with.

It will never happen. No one can love me the way I need that love and no one wants to try. I don't blame them. I'm a train wreck. Maybe someday someone will want to stick around to be with me. I'm not counting on it.

Affected and Effected

We have passed a half of a decade we are now entering the sixth year since my history changed. It was an attack against the country I hold a passport to, but how did it change me? Sixteen years old, I was naive even with the knowledge of abusers and bastards no experience could make me able to make this seem likea normal series of events. There was nothing normal about it.

A friend becoming more than a friend. Were we all looking for someone to turn to? Was it more security and less love I was after? The security I found in you and now that security is gone. Americans all looked to security. Marriages happened and realtionships blossomed and then six years later. What is the same? What security have you found?

My security has been in the death of a friend to the bullets shot from a sniper in his face and throat in Afghanistan. The loss of a boyfriend, best friend and number one person to comprehend my insanity. A best friend leaving the country and seeing her maybe twice a year. Boyfriends and girlfriends and relations that are more fuck and run than anything else. Friends in different places and lovers spread across the country. Art in my mind and on paper. Writing, writings, writing. Cars parked in driveways, haunted houses and missing people who don't want anything to do with me. Love. My security is in humanity and strength and the strength I search for in myself.

Positive people. Positive lovers. A certain positive lover. A certain positive partner. I remain affected and I hope to affect. I plan to be both the cause and effect to many different people's happiness and given the right inspiration and right amount of encouragement be the effect that can make a real change in this world that is now six years old to me.