Loneliness gives birth to strength. Away from others, I’m able to focus on what I need in order to become something above and beyond. It’s not that I don’t care, or that my heart’s without love, it’s just how things must be. There’s a story that needs telling, and It’s been neglected for so long. Others have tried convincing me not to go for it. People, friends, lovers, they’ve all tried dissuading me from trying to achieve my dreams. They’ve never believed in me, that’s easy to see, but the more I think about it, the more it seems that they’ve never believed in themselves. So terrified they are of doing anything different, god help them if someone they know is willing to put their neck on the line in order to become something meaningful in a world of trash. The idea that someone they know is ready to sacrifice so much for what gives them a sense of purpose, well it must make them giddy with illness indeed. Failure haunts me every day, it mocks my every step, yet still I keep on going. Maybe it’s blind stupidity. Maybe it’s an excuse for not wanting to settle down. Whatever it is, I know what I want, and I don’t care how long it takes. I don’t care how many friends and lovers I lose either. The ones that stick with my shit will have my heart, the ones that don’t, well they can disappear along with all those forgotten yesterdays. This isn’t a bitter excuse, it’s a man determined to make true his beliefs. The nights are where I grow. Where I make my visions true.
So many people I’ve known, and so many I’ve let go, and it’s always been personal. If I don’t make the effort with you, then know it’s because I just don’t care much for your lack of magic. You never gave my dreams a chance, so now you’re gone, just empty vessels beneath a hating sun. If you were pretty, then there’s a chance I’ll think about you at night. Your body an object, reduced to a mess of flesh and pouting mouths. Fluid for the sake of fluid, I never said I was good, just that I was honest and free. Dreams mean more than sex, and ideas will live longer than images. The soul is okay, yet the spirit means more. Take my hand if you want, I’ll be more than willing, just don’t expect worship. Only gods are worshipped, not you. You either live your life and do what you want, or you crash and burn. The planets and suns of endless skies will never know your name, this one wont either if you dedicate yourself to such pointless acts. Don’t be banal, be beautiful instead. Yearn for different. Strive for unique. Not for money, and not for appearance, but for integrity, for something that can’t be obtained through anything less than heartache and sheer grit. Born again with every loss. Stronger with every rejection. I am what I am, and what I am is fine by me.
Categories: On Writing