I fucking suck at life

Writing

I hang upon every toxic sentence that is spewed at me. I try to stand strong as a redwood tree in a thriving forest but all the words cut into my flesh and leave me feeling more insecure and unstable. Eventually I forget the wounds, they never heal. They don’t scab over. Time doesn’t magically evaporate their existence. They remain a part of me. I don’t blame the wounds on the ones who held knives for me. I blame myself for whatever pain comes my way. I’ve been damaged enough to think about little mistakes for the rest of my life, maybe I’m immature? Maybe I’ve made the wrong choices and grown the wrong way. No matter how I look at it I’m the only one spitting hateful slurs at myself, I’m the one creating toxicity within my own mind and heart.

Depression isn’t a simple thing to rid yourself of it lingers over your every action. It makes your tongue weigh tons and your brain work at sonic speeds. Your words are jumbled and thoughts are too cluttered to process and you question all of your actions and wonder if anything is worth it.

Bluntly put nothing is worth it, unless we believe it so.

Writing doesn’t create serenity nor does it make it any better.

It puts my depression right in front of  my restless eyes so I can measure just how far I’ve begun to fall this time around; or just how soon I’ll disappear and alienate my friendships and dodge the “are you okay?”S. In hopes that somehow the isolation will cure the things I feel. But depression runs deep. It flows through every thought. It clogs the stream of consciousness and leaves me with empty spaces where what ifs are all I can play out. It’s a torturous marathon of self directed movies filled with my demons and nightmares. I am in seat in the corner of my room with my eyes open and can’t turn away.

Soon it feels like I’m drowning my brain and I get lost. I get comfortable and forget where I really need to go. I forget what I should try.

I forget to live.

 

 

 

I hang upon every toxic sentence that is spewed at me. I try to stand strong as a redwood tree in a thriving forest but all the words cut into my flesh and leave me feeling more insecure and unstable. Eventually I forget the wounds, they never heal. They don’t scab over. Time doesn’t magically evaporate their existence. They remain a part of me. I don’t blame the wounds on the ones who held knives for me. I blame myself for whatever pain comes my way. I’ve been damaged enough to think about little mistakes for the rest of my life, maybe I’m immature? Maybe I’ve made the wrong choices and grown the wrong way. No matter how I look at it I’m the only one spitting hateful slurs at myself, I’m the one creating toxicity within my own mind and heart.

Depression isn’t a simple thing to rid yourself of it lingers over your every action. It makes your tongue weigh tons and your brain work at sonic speeds. Your words are jumbled and thoughts are too cluttered to process and you question all of your actions and wonder if anything is worth it.

Bluntly put nothing is worth it, unless we believe it so.

Writing doesn’t create serenity nor does it make it any better.

It puts my depression right in front of  my restless eyes so I can measure just how far I’ve begun to fall this time around; or just how soon I’ll disappear and alienate my friendships and dodge the “are you okay?”S. In hopes that somehow the isolation will cure the things I feel. But depression runs deep. It flows through every thought. It clogs the stream of consciousness and leaves me with empty spaces where what ifs are all I can play out. It’s a torturous marathon of self directed movies filled with my demons and nightmares. I am in seat in the corner of my room with my eyes open and can’t turn away.

Soon it feels like I’m drowning my brain and I get lost. I get comfortable and forget where I really need to go. I forget what I should try.

I forget to live.

 

 

 

 

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May 29, 2016

Writing

Dear Mommy,

They say that you can’t lose if you never play. You won’t lose if you don’t try. But what happens to someone who constantly plays a losing game? What happens to me when all I’ve ever done is lost even when I don’t play?  I keep finding myself missing you more and more in the summer time.

There was this one time that I will never forget. I was so upset with you for making me go to church. It was you, big brother, and I. He stayed with the teen youth group; I had to be with the kid church kids. All they made us do was color pages and it felt like another school class.

After the services were over, it was time to go. I couldn’t find you or big brother. The next thing I remember, a couple I don’t really remember is taking me to their car, and you were nowhere to be found. I cried, I didn’t realize how much I missed you and needed you until I was taken from you and didn’t want to be. I escaped eventually and got back to you and I hugged and held onto you for so long.

I didn’t know that, that feeling of missing you would come back into my life so frequently and so heavily.

I wish I could join you, in whatever peaceful plane you exists in now. There are these points where I feel so alone. I’m understand how you felt with your depression, how my dad felt with his, I’m the bastard child of hereditary depression and it feels so heavy every year on your birthday. The summer lingers for too long and I find myself falling victim to the chilling thoughts of what life could be like if you were here. Maybe I’d accomplish more? Maybe you could teach me how to love someone properly and not be so over bearing, or maybe you could teach me all the lessons that I’ve failed to learn on my own? I feel like mostly you’d just look at me with disdain and disappointment. I’ve learned to love everyone so much. I’ve only learned to hate myself. Is this what you want for me?

I stopped praying once you left, maybe you’d tell me to pray, maybe you’d tell me to confide in someone, or to believe in myself.

 

That’s the thing that no one will ever understand unless they’ve lost their parents too.

You’re stuck with these questions and always looking for something because everything’s been taken from you.

I hope that if you were still here, you’d still love me as I love you. That’s all I need.

When I finally join you what will I have accomplished? Should I depart with something profound and heavy for the people I love to decipher?  I don’t know what to say majority of the time anymore. I don’t know what feelings I feel. If there’s one thing you taught me, It’s that I should always be careful.

I wish you could teach me more, I wish you could impart me with some of your wisdom, I wish I could’ve taken your place. But what would you want? What can I do for your birthday for these years to come? Have I let you down like I’ve let everyone else down?

I shouldn’t be so negative on a beautiful day, this day that is yours and forever will be.

I just miss you is all but mostly I just wanted to talk to you. Even though you can’t hear me

 

 

 

I wanted to say

 

 

 

Happy Birthday, Mommy

 

Love Always, Your son

Derwin Misean Allen

there isn’t a book, i’m not gonna write one. fuck this shit i super quit deleting this blog by the end of the year.

Writing

Avoiding sobriety at every chance I get, drinking whatever beer someone tells me is good, sipping whatever mixed concoction that gets me as far away from myself the fastest. All of these actions to alleviate the pain of the tremendous lack of balance and consistency in my life. Which are things I am responsible for; I don’t allow anyone else to take the blame for any pain they have caused me; I believe that I earn it all no matter what it is, or how it came to be.

Cracking jokes and creating moments that seem happy to avoid the questions and concerns from the people that seem to care for me.  I’ve been thinking a lot lately about flowers and gardens and how I compare people to them. I don’t write anymore, I don’t feel the urge or desire to create because I’ve never been a good writer. This is probably one of the last things I will ever write.

I am not tired, I am lying when I say am because I can’t even put into words the feelings that are surging through me every single second of the day. Every night I lay in bed for a hours and I close my eyes and I don’t sleep. I don’t really care, it doesn’t bother me. My lack of sleep or my lacks of interest in my own well being; but these things create varying amounts of worry for the people in my life.

I distance myself from them frequently so they don’t have to worry. I am the least of anyone’s problems.  One of my biggest fears is being a burden for someone else. I am aware of their constant battles and struggles and on goings so why should I weigh them down even more? Some will say that, that’s what being a friend is allowing themselves that room to worry for someone they love and care for. But I don’t want to worry anyone I don’t want to burden anyone. I don’t want to be another problem for them to fix.

I have this lingering insecurity about my love and how overwhelming it can be and how I want to love someone so much that they won’t ever have to ask me if I really love them, or feel the need to question my actions but that’s not the true problem I have. I am afraid of loving someone and then they realize that my love isn’t what they really wanted and I get abandoned once again. I think this stems from my problems with my mother and how I will always regret the last things I said to her and that I never got to say what I wanted or see her before she passed, or maybe it stems from the lack of guidance from an actual father figure. How does that even matter when I am a man myself now? Or I think I am or would like to call myself one.

This isn’t a story or some poem or anything this is just me writing and talking to myself and attempting to figure out what I really feel because I feel nothing anymore.

There are moments where I wonder where my depression comes from; could it have come from my father or mother’s bloodline? Or is it just a side effect of experiences and realizations that I have learned from.

 

It doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing matters to be quite honest.  People come and go, memories remain, feelings change, and people grow.    Somewhere along the way, things are supposed to make sense right?

Things will become as clear an untouched beach’s waters.

I’d like to say that these things pass or that these feelings of emptiness and being lost somehow make sense eventually.

They don’t, you’ll just find long term distractions to keep your mind busy.

But this is probably a lie, this isn’t true, this is just how I see my reality.

I’m not writing a book, I’m not consistent enough in any writing to even put my heart or emotions into any of it and it all looks forced and ugly and I hate everything I create, but I put it in a public light because there’s a part of me that wants to believe that maybe I’m an artist of some sort.

   I am not.

I am not anything.

if we’re being honest i couldn’t even bring myself to finish this completely. i’m afraid of the honesty that I Want. 

 

I keep saying “i understand, i know” i really don’t understand, i really don’t know. 

I can barely comprehend the immense sorrow and agony I experience, yet i can process and be there for anyone who asks that much of me. 

Even though i may lie sometimes and say i understand, I will do my best to stand with you in whatever struggles you feel.

Isn’t that scary, to love and give majority of yourself to people who will soon forget you?

but it’s ok. As long as the people around me are happy. 

 

I gave up on myself months ago, i don’t expect any of you to stick around to finish this out with me.

I quit.

Ascension

Writing

There has and always be these dreams of ascension, maybe my fear of ascension.

The dreams start off in a very normal environment. Somewhere nostalgic for me: a place like my first elementary school, or high school. As the dream plays out, there will be a point where I venture outside and things begin to fall apart. Random violence happens around me, people who I hold dear begin to run and I tremble in place afraid. Until I jump and I don’t come back down. I keep going higher and higher until I can taste the raindrops as I pass through clouds. It feels like the earth rejected me and released me from its gravity. I can’t help but panic in these dreams and swing my legs and arms and kick and swing out of terror hoping to get back down.

Before I could realize it, there was no one around me. I was just listlessly floating in nothing.  I would awake with a bitter taste in my mouth and a cold air that filled my room.

It’s probably me pushing myself away from everything and running away because I’m so accustomed to self-destruction that I won’t allow happiness to exist.

It’s an effortless action to create emptiness and sorrow in my life.

Why would I not continue to create it?

It’s the easiest route for me to go.

But in all honesty I’m ready to grow past all of this maybe I should allow myself to ascend these things, but I don’t want to go alone. I want the ones I love to come with me. So we may grow together and create bonds of unimaginable depths.

Whenever there is a good thing in my life I tend to panic and fret and become self-conscious about all of my actions and if I’m making the correct choices.

 

I don’t know who I could be sometimes. Because I’m too quick to give up on me, I’m glad I’ve encountered people who don’t give up on me, even though it’s the easiest thing to do for them.

 

I’ve found my state of happiness for the first time in a very long time and it’s all thanks to the sunshine.

She is radiant enough for us both.

Even when her eyes are so focused on the ground and she isn’t looking ahead. I know at her core. She wants what’s best.

Worked my whole life on becoming a decent person who is capable of so many things, capable to love and care and provide for myself and others.

 

While progressing to these goals, I lost sight of why I wanted these things. To see the sunshine, to feel joy and avoid the dark corners that I constantly lingered in, but by always chasing after this decent man I could be. I pushed myself into a hole. I allowed things to happen. I allowed myself to misstep and fall into things that weren’t truly meant for me.

I avoided the sun and chased the moon. Thinking that the light that the moon provided was just as warm as the sun;

I think there’s random moments of necessary disconnect in all relationships with people.

Not just lovers, but friendships, family, and all of it happens because sometimes we are just afraid of the feelings and emotions that happen when we begin to really notice a genuine connection. These moments of disconnect are tests of the heart and create questions. Questions that will test the bond of many things it’s all about just seeing where it will all lead.

 

I’ve felt alone for a long time, the rekindling of the fires of love and intimacy. It’s terrifying.

With enough attention the fire can burn too hot, and all that are involved become afraid and run.

But maybe the goal is to, admire the fire, and watch it blaze with the passing time.

I haven’t really felt anything in a long time; it feels surreal to feel this way again.

 

Bare the fires of love, and the reward of happiness is so much more soothing.

 

 

Maybe, these dreams of floating away, maybe it’s just me running away as I always do.

Or maybe it’s me finally letting go of the things that have always held me down. All of the habits and tendencies that led me to the places where I never should’ve went.

 

There were times where I was told to let go, but I didn’t want to listen to those voices.

I didn’t want to hear it.

I wanted to put the strongest grip onto anything, anything that felt significantly real at those times.

That’s what you do when all you’ve been is trampled over by so many who claim to love you and care for you; but really it isn’t real your eye are covered with pretty words and you just chase after these unreal feelings trying to discover what they really are.

When you finally get the cover from your eyes taken away you get to see the scars on your hand from holding onto vapid bonds.

I learned this the hardest way possible.

I had my eyes uncovered, but I continued to hold this do-or-die grip onto bonds that were broken.

My hands were tired finally and I let go of all of these broken bonds. My hands were weak but, the sun still shined.

The bonds that were really meant for me, the things I needed to hold onto. They weren’t broken or falling to pieces, they shined like the sun did. They warmed my heart and soul.

 

It was a feeling so warm that I could finally see that the sun loved me as much as I loved it; and things were going to be more than okay.

 

 

This is the furthest I’ve really ever gone to explaining my dreams, or at least trying to figure out what they mean.

I’m glad that I could process this all openly.

I have the hardest time trying to figure myself out.

I spend too much time over thinking, over exerting my brain and micro managing my every action.

I’ve been having this dream about things breaking apart and me jumping and never coming down.

I thought it was a sort of escapism.

It was really just me trying to tell myself to let go of all of these bonds that are broken and allow yourself to receive the love that is willingly given to you.

I’m glad I’ve figured this out.

I thought I had finished growing up. There is still so much to learn.

I just want to stay with the sunshine, because the sunshine is what I’ve been after.

Now that I’ve gotten it, I’m not afraid to feel or do things.

Now I’ve written too much and none of it makes sense, but I don’t care about any of that.

It’s been a long voyage finding the love I’ve wanted.

This is just a drawn out thank you letter to everyone who told me that the sunshine was always there, even when I was playing blind to it.

It was what I wanted all along.

 

 

Amour / Tristesse

Writing

My depression is like a natural disaster.

It comes at any given moment, shakes apart my foundation. Unleashes mighty waves of sadness and self-doubt.

It ruins my days and nights, weeks and months. It is a crippling sensation whenever I fall
To a new low.

Looking for new places to wallow in or a new heart to ruin. All the attempts to save me leave people with great hate for me. It seems like I absorb all their love and leave them empty. I am afraid that all I do is hurt people and that my love is too destructive. That I only cause misery and never any joy.

I have so much love to give, so much passion and understanding yet it seems i just give away the wrong things. I give all the love I can, but it gets lost in translation when getting to the other person, so it feels vague, and untrue. There are no games I desire to play. No mental abuse I wish to dole out. I just want to feel the warmth of love and get lost in its daze with someone.
Yet all that happens is, the love gets polluted, with my doubts and my insecurities.
I start to question things that I shouldn’t, and then I slowly see how I am destroying the love I want.

After it has weakens all I can do is ask, what happened to our tomorrow? What happened to unrelenting love and compassion? Did I ruin it all? Did I make a wrong turn somewhere and you went right and I was simply left?

Is my love too sour to enjoy the sweetness of your warmth?

Is no one willing to stand by my side and take my love and endure?

Is my love too weak? Is it too strong? Do I ask for too much? Do I want too little? Do I want enough?

Is my love enough? Is my heart not filled with the sweetest love?
Are these disastrous depressive moments overwhelming for every woman I ever love?

Is my pain too bothersome? Are the dark moments too scary?
Are the waves of sorrow crashing too hard against your chest?

Is there a way for me to safeguard you? So you won’t run, so you won’t be afraid of
Me? Is there a way to just exchange our love without you seeing all of this sadness?
Because my depression is equivalent to the damage left by hurricanes. Sometimes it’s just a few power lines, sometimes my entire state of mind is destroyed.

I get lost sometimes, but all I want is genuine love and someone to fight by my side.
What’s another lost love to a man who losses everything? It’s more than just a loss. It’s a disruptive force that shakes my entire world apart. It feels like everything is taken away and all that is left is a burning agony in the depths of my soul.

Another lost love is another unanswered question, another sad poem about how I want to still embrace you.

It’s not just a loss to me, it’s a disappointment. That maybe I’m not qualified enough for anyone. That my love is too overwhelming, that my touch is too tender, that my
Voice isn’t enough to satisfy.
Yet

Another reminder that I’m still not capable enough.
I lay in my bed and stare at the ceiling and ask myself how I’m feeling and not a single word leaves my mouth.
But whose to blame? The person you love or the sadness that resides inside?

Love should
Be always. Etched in stone.

Love is almost like writing in pen, you can’t correct the mistakes you can scratch at them but the love that was there will always remain.

Make mistakes, never give up on love though. Battle the hardest battles together and what will remain will be the greatest love possible.

 

 

But how can anyone feel secure in love? Am I the only one whose afraid that all the love will go away? Love leaves, all because of me and my uncertainty.

 

I deserve satisfaction in all forms, I deserve love that won’t leave or give out on me. Even when it’s the easiest option.

 

Teach me to love the right way, Teach me that love isn’t always about who walks away and then comes back. Teach me that love means so much more than having multiple daggers in ones back. What if love doesn’t hurt? What if love is easy and we all just keep falling into the wrong hearts?

What if all this is for nothing and I’m still scrambling for answers.

I should enjoy the love I get.

When it Rains, It fucking pours

Writing

I have no idea what home feels like.

I’ve prostrated myself to love. Finding myself descending deeper and deeper in a darker place trying to find clarity. I feel as though I’ve out grown home. I just find myself wanting to just be wasted and distracted.

Escaping myself and who I am. I don’t really treat myself with kindness or respect I abuse my mind and my body.

I don’t sleep. I hardly eat. It gets to a point where I just feel like divine intervention is inevitable and i will perish. I simply black out though.

There’s these little moments when you look into someone’s eyes and you can see how every single person you meet is freaking out. Their facial expressions mean so little when everything you ever need to know about someone is right in front of you. You can feel the air of loneliness around them, the panic that hisses through their pores.

The greatest things I’ve ever created just put themselves together. If I have to force it or try too hard it just falls apart.

These words. Sometimes they just come together.

By default, I’m not this dark of a person. By default I am just a introvert who enjoys a good book at my best. There’s this middle ground though of where I feel the most alone. Where books and music and alcohol just don’t help anymore. I get lost and caught up and it
Feels like hell. In the best possible way. Not torturous or painful. It just feels like the absolute worst place to be.

And I can never escape that.

I can’t escape my desire for love and attention. I just feel like a king when a woman loves me back and just wants me. Only me.

But that’s all so hard, to have someone want me, with all of
These insecurities and scars that aren’t visible but you can see the scars with every “I love you”
I speak. It doesn’t make the phrase any more powerful or weak. It shows that I mean those words. That no matter how deep your cuts are on me I will always love. I will always mean it.

I create the best poems and stories when the wounds are fresh. When my
Mind starts panicking and I keep trying to figure out what to do. That’s when, at exactly
Those moments the words just come together.

It’s more about the moment for me, not the words but the moment that it all falls together

What has love done for me? It’s taught me about pain. Love doesn’t just abruptly end. No, no it lingers. The pain settles in the back of your throat and makes your stomach contort. The pain of love is so insurmountable. You can’t compare it to physical pain. Its so much more

Moments matter so much more to me than anything else.

All the components of any moment are what make it special, the people, the place, the scents in the room that lingered, the level of intoxication that I was on.

Moments prove to me that maybe my existence is much more than what I believe. Moments are loves currency every memory that passes through leaves brief moments of
Joy in my heart.

I ask too many questions because I’ve been raised in doubt, doubts that anyone comes back. Doubts that anyone will love me enough to stay. Doubts that I do any good.

Maybe Ive been emulating the only relationships I have had.

Emulating the distant relationship with my grandfather who only
Cared about himself. Emulating the overly zealous care of my grandmother.

I dissolved the relationships I’ve seemed to build with my family. I don’t Speak to my “cousins” or “aunts and uncles” they’ve always caused more. Confusion than anything else.

At my mothers funeral, the day her children buried her. My
Cousin Jay E, goes to my grandmother and with all of the power in his drug soaked bones he tell her. ” I think I’m Misean’s father”

I never found out my grandmothers reaction. I was too busy trying to figure out if my mother was gonna break free from her casket and give me one last hug. I didn’t even find out this conversation happens until I was fifteen years old.

The ride in the limo back to one of my aunt’s North Carolina country side
Homes was probably the most painful experience.

That’s beside the point.

I don’t really believe in the iconic phrase “family
Over everything”. For me family has represented an always strained bond that is constantly
Being stretched beyond repair. There have been no successful reunions or bonds created within my family. The only ones that truly matter. My brother and sister and grandmother.

I have no idea what home feels like, because I’ve never felt like I really had a
Family to make anywhere feel like home. Home should feel like I belong. Home shouldn’t feel empty and alone. I thought it was supposed to be warm and inviting, like the embrace of a mother. The entire structure of my family was broken before I even came to exist.

Yet home feels that way. Maybe it is who I am. Maybe it is me. Maybe I’m not worthy of home or feeling like I deserve a family.

After a while I began to realize that all of the tragedies are synonymous with the person I am becoming. There is no one to blame for it. There is just myself and those moments. The moments seem to be all that remain. How much of me is left over after the moments pass?

There isn’t a remedy for regaining lost pieces of yourself. All you can hope for is to rebuild yourself and repress it all.

What’s the point of rebuilding when the foundation is broken?

I didn’t inherit self destruction. I learned it along the way. Learning that my father would rather end his own life than to allow anyone else to break his heart or hurt him again was one of the moments. Probably the only moment that mattered.

No one can hurt you more than you can hurt yourself. We just allow the people we care about to hurt us.

I never really liked being in solitude and isolated but after a while the dark corners of the room felt like sunshine and the loneliness didn’t feel so harsh. I just got used to these things. Never meant that I truly wanted them.

Truthfully, in all complete honesty. I feel like the search for love or a new home, is just another hunt for a new place to drown out all the noise and grasp my focus.

I don’t know if my mental health is deteriorating or maybe I’ve already lost everything.

Where did I go?

It’s hard to feel okay, alright, fine, when everything gets taken away and you have no control over what stays or goes. Even when you know everything fades.

If there’s a way to burn everything down.

I’d destroy it all.

This started out about me finding home. Now it’s become a illustration of the current nihilistic torture I’ve fallen into. Again.

And again.

I’d like to blame this all on the child in me that committed suicide when the dirt hit my mothers casket, I’d like to blame this all on the teenager in me who died of heart break one too many times.

This is all my fault though. All blames fall on me. Isn’t it?

I can’t help but feel evil because my selfish searches.

Thoughts rise with the moon and settle when dawn breaks.

Take my hand and never let go, let’s venture through our woes and come out with new eyes for love and life.

Sift through the gray clouds with me help me find the sunshine.

Another Portrait

Writing, Writing

I treat the words as a painter and his brushes. What could my world be? I’m just a product of these things.

A ghost hidden among sincerity and anguish.
Sometimes the words paint me standing tall with light surrounding me.

But majority of the time the words paint me as a child trapped in a dark well where the top seems further and further away.

Sometimes it feels like I’m holding myself back. Like there is so much more to show, but there is nothing more to show.

Failed self portraits that show my insecurity, pride, joy, pain, confusion, and they all are showcased in places anyone can see. These self portraits created in isolation and darkness. The words bouncing off the walls until they hit the canvas. I spent so much time trying to scream at the walls that i put up, but they won’t talk back. The self-portrait
All of these portraits wrapped in a gold striped frame on black canvas, words that seem to melt together and create blurred images of my childhood, my wonder, my passion. Things I’m unsure of yet still impact me.

Some days the words paint me in blue and create wondrous waves that seem to flood parts of me. Some times the words paint me in a burning red and where my heart is full of desire and love to share.

I know the paintings are of me, but the faces all seem to melt away and all that is left is an empty vessel. A template for who I could be. If only I could just combine all these pieces of art, into a mural.
A dedication to myself for staying in this dream for this long.

But I’m afraid, no, more so ashamed to see this complete self-portrait.
I can’t face myself, looking in the mirror is hard.

I don’t want to tear apart the only art I’ve been apart of.

Some days I feel overwhelmed, incomplete. So I find distractions. Things that keep the words from creating more portraits.
I want to give up on this craft and never see another part of myself anywhere.

It’s an ongoing battle with depression, it all builds up.

I haven’t given up, even if I did.
So what?

Either way, I’m doomed to damnation.

I know my grandmother watching over my soul every day as I try to find myself through various ineffective actions.

I don’t think it’ll save me.

I’ve been trying to illustrate the origin of all this sadness and all I can come up with is landscapes filled with bright stars that dangle over a burning sky. Shadows of my family are walking through a frozen forest. Piles of ash lay scattered through the forest floor. The remains of the portraits from my childhood I’ve begun to burn. There I am at the end of the forest In the snow covered pine. Paint brush in hand canvas smeared.

All the ghosts I’ve been escaping and all the love I want it all to reach me and to let me know that I’ll be ok. That the darkness is temporary and that even the coldest places can be beautiful.

Because I want to share these paintings with everyone, I know they see in me the things in me that I ignore.

Even if they are poorly illustrated.
I want to frame all the sorrow and frame it in gold and hang it in my gallery.

Even the ugliest paintings have value.

I just hope I have value, even though everything I touch seems to freeze and break apart.

I’ve been so afraid to paint lately, I’m always afraid to lose,
To succeed.

I’ve lost so much already, I always feel like I gain so little. Like my actions don’t matter.

Like these words are pointless, and no matter how hard I try. I can never express myself the way I want to.
sometimes all the paintings feel like a reminder.

Of everything. I’m an overwhelming force.

Can’t stand myself.

There are these times where I feel affected by the simplest phrases. If you line them up just right they can tell the deepest truths.

There was a week where I stayed awake, for days. Staring at a blank canvas waiting for the words to come to me. I waited, I just waited. Hopeful that sometime would come. That my mind would rattle and shake loose some idea.

Instead I just felt empty. I felt powerless and alone.
I don’t know why I couldn’t just give in and sleep, or why I felt the desire to cry.

Maybe it’s because I have abandonment issues, or maybe because I feel like I’ve lost enough and I don’t want to lose the words. Maybe it’s because I’ve never felt like I’ve never had a home. Or maybe it’s because I’m tired of always losing everything I care about just to find myself at the end of my rope again.

Feeling this empty. It feels like I could die at any second and I wouldn’t feel a thing.

Random Untitled piece of trash. I quit writing. I suck and this is all just repetitive nonsense

Writing

This Is just me being depressed again, cause it’s what I usually feel. Cause happiness is fleeting it seems. Oh well whatever.

Swallowing the whole bottle just to feel alive. Fall into a sedation where I can see it all.
I can see the past burn as I linger in the present and the future is a great distance away.

Not afraid to die, you see more when your eyes are shut.
Death is just another journey.
I don’t want to sleep, I don’t want to dream. I don’t want to remain alone and sad.

Put me in a casket, bury me deep so the dark find me.

There’s no prescription for this pain, no cure, no conversation for this.

In my end is my beginning. The blue pulls away from the sky, the oceans leave the world dry and I alone sit atop a castle made of all the sand that remains.

Is anything ever enough? Is the pursuit of: goals, love, family, money, are any of these things ever enough?

It never feels like it’s enough, enough to calm the restless screaming of agony and doubt.

I can craft tales about how the tiredness is just another curable part of who I am.

I can only lie to everyone else, but i know that only works for so long.

I keep trying to justify any conclusion I come to. That I don’t enjoy happiness or satisfaction.
That I’m just alive to be alive.
I can’t justify, these dark times or the way I recklessly throw myself into things.
Maybe I’m just trying find a reason to destroy myself.

Keep getting my hopes up, even when it feels like a waste of time.

Living out my dreams is what im afraid of because once those are gone I’ll be stranded with nothing new

Even so

While I’m on a break from writing here’s some unfinished pieces about love, and my family and more love stuff and flowers and sadness.

Writing

This has something to do with me growing up

Somewhere between age 7 and 21 I lost sight of who I was, who i wanted to be, as a kid I wanted nothing more than to just fly a plane and look out at the endless sky. As I grew more and more, I lost track of that dream. Not a single soul noticed or paid attention to my heart and soul pulling away and getting lost in the darkness.

I’ve been trying to find the courage to ask myself, why aren’t you ashamed of yourself? Why are you so afraid?

As soon as I ask myself I know I’ll crumble and my words will slur and my thoughts will stampede. My nerve system will shut down and my body will enter a state of crisis.

I just want to go back to the kid who smiled for no reason every morning, the kid who kissed his mother on the cheek and greeted the world with an innocent Optimism. Who I am now, I’ve outrun rest. Trying to run from my shadow is the only mission I’ve always failed. Trying to escape from the things inside me that I’ve kept close.
The descent of closing time, the ticking away of time as I await the reaper to greet me with his Mischievous smirk.

This  is what I wrote after going through a break up in 2013/ a part two to sunflower that I forgot about since it came later on

To my dearest sunflower, I never knew how to write about this, or these feelings.
So forgive me for all of the misconstrued statements I may commit here. Sometimes I have a hard time trying to find the right way to show you or tell you I love you, and that you mean the world to me.
You ran through my world with a whirlwind of emotions and I was so taken back by your presence. You told me a few days ago that you just wanted someone to share your misery
With.

We were perfect for each other, fresh wounds and hearts full of love and misery.
You were everything I could ever want.

I think we fell in love with each other when we weren’t ready for that type of love.
For us our love was based on how hurt we were.

I want to come back to you, later, after we have grown some, after we have made decision in our lives and have conquered our demons a bit more.

Because I’ve never had such a beautiful love and experience with anyone in my life.

I wouldn’t mind sharing moments like that with you for the remainder of my short life.
There are so many things about you that I love,
So many things I desire. So many I want to learn.

You make me feel things I never thought I’d feel.

That nauseous feeling In my gut, that trembling of my lips when I say your name, that nervous stutter of my heart whenever I see you pass on my timeline because I know you’re not mine anymore.
I know one day, I will be all yours and you will be all mine.

I’ll reclaim my heart back from the undeserving and share with you the things I should
Have: my world.

Im just afraid to make the same mistakes again and repeat the things that ruined us.

I want there to be a you in us.
With Love Always,
D.M.A

More unfinished love letters essentially.

I know my mother would like you that’s why I’m willing to start things over more than twice with you, I’m a mess and you’re the only one willing to clean me up. You’re my favorite drug, I can’t get enough of you. I wish I could say that I’m less than addicted to you and that smile but the truth is. I’d walk a thousand miles in tattered shoes across a road of nails for you.

——————————————————————————————————————————-

It took Van Gogh his entire life to draw like a child, and they are all masterpieces. Will it take me my entire life to find that child like instinct to simply my art and create a masterpiece?

Rewriting the lines that seem to constantly repeat in my head trying to get them down until I agree with myself. Lately there has been this dream that reoccurs a lot. It’s a dream that my lie
Isn’t truly happening that I’ve been asleep in the 3rd grade in Ms.Pails classroom. I’ve had this dream for a decade now. I wake up with my head swollen from running into a metal pole on the playground. I’d been unconscious for a long time. But I finally woke up and the clock read 4:00. School was already over, I don’t remember how I got to my desk, or even how I managed to get in the classroom. My mother was looking down at me.

This all felt so real.

I fell really hard into this place. This dark box. I want to take my fists and break through this box and find a valley. Where the sunshines just as it does at dawn, where the breeze is crisp and cool, I want there to be a sunflower waiting for me under a lonesome tree.

I wanted to fall into the warm embrace of the sunflowers scent. To nuzzle myself in the bosom of this flower and feel free of the things I once felt so Trapped by.

Thirteen petals all that hold different scars. Thirteen petals that I will find eternally beautiful.

I wanted to wrap my arms around the stem and kiss each petal.

Douceur / Douleur

Writing

You can burn away your mind and still be afraid to die. Everything seems to burn away when people see through closed eyes.

Running through the midnight air to escape the demons I see behind me out of blatant paranoia.
Am I tired of running? I think I’ve just grown tired of blaming myself. A furious heart and a mind full of maliciousness I haven’t grown out of those. I’ve made improvements. I leave some people behind, I save time for myself and those who are really important.

Cracking jokes trying to fight all the depression so the smile overlaps the deep seeded bitter pain In my chest.

Fighting battles against armies of myself.
Always putting my thoughts in a blender and breaking it all down over thinking it
All.

Voices in my head play the same recorded messages. I’ve seen the bad and terrified by the good.

Sometimes I dream and I see the earths end. I hope it come soon. It seems that the human race only learns from tragedy and anguish.

The only species to get the desire to advance from tragedy and not just to better themselves.
Injecting ourselves with whatever seems to feel good for just those few seconds. Afterwards we scramble for another distraction addicted to media and the glamour of fame.
Someone once asked me why I want to die so badly sometimes, I never really found a reason to answer because I just no longer wanted to look at the massive black hole we are slowly getting dragged into.

If you would ask me that question now, I’d say,” How can I stand to live in a world, a society, where every day it feels like you have to suck love through a straw when it is always openly available? Why pay for straws when you don’t need one? Sure love can be too much at times but we learn from it? What kind of demented soul would I be to want to tolerate such harsh conditions? This is a place where people are killed and abused and it’s overlooked because we as human beings are afraid to face facts. I’d much rather lose the insignificant life I have than to stumble through this world trying to question everything anymore. I’ve outgrown over analyzing and trying to figure out what if situations. I no longer blame my past or use those things as excuses. I’ve been contemplating live now and die later. I can die whenever my life has been everything I’ve hoped for. Can you blame me for hoping to die when there’s tragedy around every corner I look past? I wouldn’t hold it against anyone. ”
In my search for answers to that I found ugly truths, I learned to hate myself so much more than I already did. Blaming myself for everyone’s failures and misfortunes, because I was ashamed of my lack of worth. I felt undeserving of love, useless in all aspects inferior to all that exist.

When despair is all you know, it’s so much harder to enjoy the love around you. You ignore it, run from it, because pain is what we grow accustomed to. When a pleasant sensation comes. It’s almost terrifying.

I’m growing.

I am getting past these ideas and answers. I’ve lingered long enough on these questions.
I’ve been pursing answers, but I don’t need to.

It’s okay to enjoy the moments and not worry about if it all comes crashing down.

I hope.