The accuracy of my memories, whether things happened th way my personality remembered doesn't really matter. If my memory, were to be combined with that of others, provides some coherent past, then that is far better than th blankness I have suffered. Whatever delusions may occur since we rely on our own shape of reality, &I may seem a fool when rendered, but that past &those emotions that I felt was all mine. They could've interpret it differently, but they could take nothing from me. All that matters is that I'm alive, &any "emotional truth" or colored intensity may leave me rough around th edges, but I walk around aimlessly hoping I harm no one but myself. Somehow this recurrent disorder of wanting to be in pain and not be in any dragged me along a land of mistrust, somewhere between heaven &hell. Th cutter I saw on th train this evening, had scars on her wrists &a story to tell. Those irregular dodges of skin were beautiful &intriguing. As sh smiled to th granny sh gave up her seat for, her eyes reflect anger- not directed towards dependent elderlies, but to th world. &This form of sadness is a drug by itself, just like a stray cat. Anger &sadness are towed actually, similar to feeding a stray cat one time; they'll return, needy, longing &hard enough to push away. Happiness is just th same. So I am here to actually announce that I've been great, really- though I still can't feed an old need, I am clearly laughing my piss off, &I feel th blush in my cheeks again. Its great, you should've seen me.

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I FEEL GOOD
Real good.

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Nobody knew not even me, on how I could stand on a still for more than ten minutes &stare at one single spot for hours. But I knew if they leave me in comforting silence for far too long, if they touch me, if they looked at me too closely, that I want all th fun laughters to stop, I'd find myself in more danger than ever before. I do not want people to come too near, to want too much from me. Truth is, I just want to know I underestimated humanity. I want to.

denying ▲▲

We close our eyes & we withdraw. Sometimes trying wasn't an option. Like an abyss with no bottom, it has no imminent outcome. Seeking beauty in haunted grounds, you retire from an honest retrieval of th nothingness &shrink in to th sounds of traffic. Just a week ago you'd thought you had found an angel glimpsing in your direction, determined &amused. Your dying eyes sell it away, your skin glowed red w a dark shade of grey- ought to hint danger &failure. This state of mind seeking respite, to find home at th end of th day, ends up famished w bittered passion. There is nothing close to saving you. Then you dream of Socrates th other day saying that no man could afford to be kindled by one other than himself. It has to come from within. Like sadness.

bridging friends. ▲▲

When you meet new people, you contain all their physical beauty &let yourself disclose into mysteries of assumptions considering th little that you know. You know you aren't suppose to do that, but you do it anyway. Then you meet th ones that have smeared faces, spectacle frame, non-compelling features, flat nose, unkempt hair. &When you yearn to fall in love, you search for people by screening his face &smile, his chest &his height. Then you're grateful enough to come across ones who dared to cross your line, but you stared at his complexion &his build, th no-jockey life, &get disappointed. But you soon realized your age &maturity unraveled into wisdom of th heart, little of how photogenic he/sh is.

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You'd think you're in th right direction, but you're not. You think sh's th right girl, but sh's not. There's no other better revelation than a mistake. Because face it, sometimes we don't have th guts to tell ourselves we're undeserving but get all high up in our pants because we feel too good about something. A mistake gives you a slap when you need it, when others dont have th guts to tell you in words.

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please do not cry on th train again, &please do not make me feel so small.

Keep calm &carry on. ▲▲

I have grown to love secrecy. It seems to be th one thing that makes modern life mysterious or marvelous to us. The commonest things could only be delightful if one hides it. But out of all th things I've learnt to bury, I couldn't embrace these fears without telling anyone about it. How can you help yourself for being so incompetent because a friend gets so depressed about being incompetent? How can you contain all th emotions of being so afraid when this perplex genius comes around &amuses himself with you? How can you tell yourself to shove away th things you want most because it attracts this certain curse that you'll never get it? How can you not be afraid?

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Stay with me?

resistance. ▲▲

We come forth til this very day by our own personal will to live. Being blessed are they who expect nothing much for they will not be disappointed. That's great, but that's not it. We can go town, get drunk &come back home, a little less conscious but it's still not it. We can surrender ourselves to a relationship we do not believe &pat our backs for trying; but every morning, you still have to ask yourself, "what am i doing?". Long after my gay whistle &my joyful strut faded into th phantom of music &then into silence far up in my head, the people who were there that had witnessed your generosity of gloriousness, have also far long gone. They wanted to know your stories so much with names insured, that you start not feeling important again. These impurity of thoughts find a straight edge to a cliff you've never know existed. It haunts you til you won't be able to sleep &it deprived you of being saved. But as long as you believe , you won't die.

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We all go through tractor blades now &then. We all get bruised &we all get cut. Sometimes th blades cut deep. Th lucky ones sail through with a few scratches, some blood, &resurfaced wounds, but even that is not th most important thing. People say th most important thing is someone there to scoop you up, tell you everything is going to be ok. But I wont be that someone, &I will tell you that you should not be okay. So if ok is what you're looking for, get your shit out of my face. Stop demanding things from me cause I am not willing to play by your little black book. You can say whatever you want- that my dignity knows no sense &that my virtue's a detestable defect, but fuck you, I'm a nihilist, so just fucking live with it.

Its only life. ▲▲

Letting go isn't a one time thing. It is something you have to do everyday, over &over again. To compensate without a pat on your back, is dreams. Dreams you dream everyday, that stayed with you more than a child stayed with a mother. They go through you like wine through water; they change your life &alter th colours of your mind into something less gray. They do not scamper on your fears &tell you you're impossible to be around with- any signs of rejection would be from its master who do not have any more guts to steer th wheel. But you gotta have alot of faith, like fuel being used up, we all need to re-energize our strengths. &Mine would only be through my dreams. Whats yours?

Gravity ▲▲

I do not know why I got inspired in this hour, but I seem to have at th back of my brains, a genius which (not who!!) is removable from a devotee (me) &a couch potato that has settled in th deepest of my ass &decided to develop into th very roots of my already inefficient system which I find immobile!!! If you were just confused by what I just said, basically these two tgth aren't really a meteor for success, nor for enlightenment, which is bolded in my "strive for happiness list", &even if it already upsets me enough that I'm a nobody shiksha in th crater of dependency on this sterilized town of gadgets & short-lived dreams, it pisses me off how I am so determined to not fight for my rights to reach my shining stars!

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I'm no more exclusive, &I exaggerate sometimes.