I Will As I Can
Where has the time gone? My life equates to a couple of dimes and three pennies. To me, your life is invaluable, stashed hope in plenty. I see many in my position, and I believe I have the words to help them. Yet, I can't see the way out of my prison, though I'm freer than many timid souls. Bold hearts and brave minds combine to be signs of fulfilling life when living isn't quite what it could be. I guess that definition could be used for me. Though I stay inside when it's stormy, the acid rain is too much to bear for my weak brain. I scare easy, touch me when I'm not thinking, my thoughts anxiety-inducing. I can't tell you, you wouldn't believe me. Believe me when I say I mistake direct confrontation for being courageous. I mean, speaking plainly to what I'm avoiding or what is causing me pain. So poetry must go, but so must clever writing, inside me is special only to be hurting, so I can honestly string together these words. It's not hard to be honest about happiness, or is it? When I write emotionally, I dream of putting these puzzle pieces together. When I do, I'll have a forever umbrella to guard me from the weather. But it's not so simple. In writing about hardships, it becomes the principle, the purpose of rhythmic cursive. It would be subversive to put these frowns in the context of achieving smiles. I'm so many miles from being proud of my piles of creation. It's easier to write about temptation or losing touch with reality's basis. It's a struggle to tether the bounds of society's underground rules. So I say that is what I must do. To say anything else would be a lapse in will, a lapse in logical thought. And maybe my writing wouldn't be interesting, and maybe it never was. And maybe I never will be, but maybe I can be truly kind and happy. Sappy rather than crappy, humor lost long ago, or never gained, my father maintained my failure. My mother too, maybe. But if you accept that you are crazy when you aren't, do you then become crazy? That's a question of definition, practically it doesn't matter unless I cause pain rather than laughter. Silly me, smiling thoughtlessly, though my intention is to smile to be with thee. I still feel like I'm seen right through, but you'd see a side of me that may be half-true. My hand shakes when it touches the truth. It reminds me of the fear it used to cause. And how I spiraled away from communication, and ended up in a cycle of recreation. Understand these words, to many it's not a big ask. To some, it may be. To me, in many days, I may see no value in what I'm currently typing. I'm losing it now. Rereading. Halting obsession. I'll save it for later. Maybe I shouldn't, but I just want to understand and be understood to be understandable in depth. Isn't that what we all want, to be admired and appreciated? I appreciate everyone and feel the pain when I can not. When I'm forced toward hatred and spite by their actions. I wish to have no enemies, but if life fulfilled it may benefit me to see many sides of humanity. I just hope I don't end up dying over it, unless for a cause. Cause me to intervene upon actions that follow narrow thinking. Only if I understand it properly. I presently wish to hydrate and find peace. Fear is not here, my mind imagining. A sad story, only those who love me will know it, truly. Does anybody, truly? Self-pity. Forgiving myself for my continued grievances. Knowing my actions are mine, though my thoughts are greedy, impeding upon my intention. I'll mention it again and again until it dissipates in my hand, and I can command myself. 'Til I have confidence in wealth. 'Til I hold high my mental health. Though I may not be this or that, I can always be kind, try. I will as I can.
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