The Music We Hear

You inspire me. I know it's not much, coming from me, someone who is no one, but I thought it imperative that I tell you anyway. So there you go; you inspire me. Thank you. Just keep what at what you're doing. It's making a difference in the world. Some people get annoyed, but don't let them get you down. You don't need to change the lives of the masses to prove that you're doing something worthwhile; you're changing the lives of individuals, and that is far more important. It may be in different ways, you might be helping them through different issues, but in the end, the fact remains that you, not anyone else, you, are helping them. You inspire people to have more confidence, to see that who they are is ok, whether they're outside the mainstream or not. You're teaching us all to come to terms with being ourselves and to love ourselves. Seeing you resolve issues is helping us resolve ours too. So thank you, really, thank you. I mean it from the depths of my heart. You mean something in the world.

At the Crossroads

I think I've been trying to go in the wrong direction. What I'm doing now should be a hobby, not a career. It doesn't make me as happy as other things, I should follow those things which make me happy, which give me confidence. Isn't that right? I wasn't born to slave away over things which bring me no pleasure. I was created for something different. I realise that now. I may not have all the skills for the right path, but skills can be learned. It's the euphoria you have to follow, no matter the cost. I can see myself there, years from now, still loving it, but not here where I am. The music seems to be my calling. But how do I respond? We're at the crossroads now. I can't make a decision which is going to haunt me for the rest of my life. No regret, that's the aim. I fear failure, but that shouldn't stop me, not this time. Life begins at the end of your comfort zone after all.

Mess

Can I remind you of something? The world's a messy place. It drips with poison, it crawls with bacteria, it overflows with grim and dirt, but that's what makes it so amazing. The best experiences aren't to be found in the refined places, with people pristinely dressed, they're found out there, beyond the door, beyond your comfort zone, beyond the city limits. Go out there and find those places. Explore different places, explore different people. And always remember what you learnt and what you saw. The world's a messy place, so go be messy with it.

The Stars Beneath The Sky

We fell out of the sky. Can't you feel it? We did, I swear it. And all the things we build, all the towers of metal and glass which try to touch the sky, they're just our way of trying to get back home. And we stole our voices from the angels, that's why we never hear from them, and why we raise our voice in song; we hope that someone will hear and that we'll be taken back into the home we left behind. And when we die, we try to return to that place; that's why we scatter our ashes to the wind. We try to make sense of the chaos, so everything's orderly, but if you look close enough, from the sky, the lights on the ground look like the stars.

Heaven and Beyond

Creeping, slowly, crawling up your back, the shiver you can't suppress. Sudden, tight clenching of all your body's muscles. You stiffen, not knowing what should come next. You know where you want to go, you know what you want to do, but you don't know how to get there, don't even know who to ask. You have to keep your voice from rising into a shout, though it claws its way up your throat and your tongue works to have it out. You want them to know your passion, you want them to know you're more than some automaton. You need to have it out; it's like breathing to you - go for too long without that expression and you die. Your emotions run off without you and you're left an empty corpse, listless and overlooked. So we can't let that happen. We have to get you a stage. We have to let you soar the way the cathedral's spire soar - to heaven.

Epiphanous

You know what? I've learnt what it's all about. This feeling which settles on me, this yearning for something else, for someone, it's not about one someone. It's about finding a group. It's about finding acceptance for who I am and being loved for it. It's about being a part of something bigger. We've all got something to die for, but how about something to live for? That's what it is - it's about finding something to live for, something to fight for. It's about a common thread which binds you to others, tied so tightly that absolutely nothing can break it; not force, not grief, not the worst of humanity. And you know why? It's because it will bring out the best of humanity in you. It will make you a better person. That's what this is all about. For so long I thought that empty space was meant to be filled with someone, that one person who was going to come along and make it all better. But that's wrong. There is no one person; collapsing into someone's arms is not going to make all the problems go away, it's probably just going to create new ones. The truth is, that empty space can only be filled by myself, but only when I've found the happiness through belonging to a group who are just like me; or not like me, but people that I'm inexplicably bound to, no matter what. I have to bring that happiness upon myself, but that's only going to happen when I can find myself, that true self of mine who will allow me to fill myself with that happiness. And it's out there, I can feel it, like I could stumble upon it around the next corner. I just have to be brave enough to take up the challenge, to step outside my bounds and really let myself grow into that happiness. Maybe it sounds stupid. Maybe I'm wrong. But I doubt it; some things you just know. I know that there is something I'm passionate about, and I know that somewhere there are people passionate about the same thing, and that we'll somehow be mystically drawn to one another, and we'll bond, and we'll create a force to be reckoned with. We'll probably be both fragile and invulnerable all at the same time, but we'll get through anything that life has to throw at us because we'll always have each other. I know it's not going to happen while I just sit around and wish -  I'm going to need to take action. But it's close now, I can feel it. There's finally a sense of optimism in the air.

Lost and Found

Maybe we think we know where we're going, but we don't. Maybe it's all just an illusion. Maybe we think we're crossing seas when really we're crossing deserts. I don't really know. What do you think? What if all you think you knew was wrong? What if it was a lie? What if it was just a fantasy? Where does that leave us?

Maybe the problem is that we aren't lost enough. After all, you have to be lost to be found.

Polar Opposites

The calm of the sea, the fury of a storm, the tremor of a leaf, the warmth of sunlight. So many opposite things intertwining, though they do not occur simultaneously. They are opposing forces, they tug at one another, they push at one another, they fight, they grate, they bleed, they scar, they weep, and yet, they coexist within the one form. How could something or someone be pulled in two polar directions at the same time? How do they survive it?

I don't know if I can tell you, but I can tell you that I live with that everyday. One force bursts out, taking over, then looping back in on itself, and then either explodes again, or implodes so that another force may take its place. It's almost bipolar, and once people see another side of you they've not seen before, they wonder if you're ok or whether something's wrong. But the truth is, you're just being you, the way you always have, and this is just another one of those facets of your personality, another force which rings through your body.

A Sinking Ship

Things never quite turn out the way you think they will.

The Haze

There is not enough time in the day. It's been established so that morning flies by faster than you can blink, and afternoon arrives soon after, with sunset snapping at its heels. The night hours seem to last the longest, the darkness stretching on into infinity, but disappearing, seemingly, in seconds, for time melts away when you are unconscious. And all that time you spend sleeping could be used to do something else, but when tiredness weighs down your lids and nestles into your brain, it creates a barrier between your thoughts, between your synapses, and everything becomes covered in a haze too thick to see through. So you slip away into a place where thoughts don't follow and awake to regret that you don't have all done that needed to be done.

Follow Your Bliss

Sometimes we've all got to believe in something. What exists is better than what isn't there. And what makes you happy is the best thing to believe in of them all. It's all just a matter of finding what makes you happy.

Home

I feel that I was meant for something else. Something better, maybe. Something bigger, definitely. But I'm stuck here, and I don't know how to reach that place I'm supposed to be.

How can I explain that no place feels like home? We all feel we have a home, a safe niche in the world where we can relax, unload our problems, and be who we truly are without fear of judgement or hate. But the house I've lived in almost all my life does not feel like home. It's a house which is just a house, and yes, there are memories there, but none happy. I don't laugh here. I get irritated, angry, caged, none of which is healthy.

Out in the world, I feel safer, freer, and yet, that is not home either. There is always a forcefulness and an awkwardness which makes me try to be someone other than who I am. I'd like to say that it makes me want to be better, but it doesn't, and I am not. I feel that I blend into the walls and I try harder to be amusing to compensate for that feeling. Somehow, I think that it makes me look like a fool, not someone who could be admired or liked. Maybe it's because I don't know who I am. Maybe that's because I've never had the security to just be myself, thus having had no opportunity to find out. But I can say one thing: there isn't anybody in the world who would put themselves on the line for me; no one would defend me if I needed defending, and no one would fight for me if I was too tired to lift my head. I feel sometimes that I am dead centre on the stage, but there is no light, no sound, and the only person in the audience is looking somewhere else, totally unaware of my existence. But I know I'm there, and I want to be known, and I want so bad to raise my voice, get the spotlight turned on and then trained on me while I stand there and make a difference to the space, to my life, to that one audience member's life.

So I can't be with people, that much I'll admit. I'm always trying to fill some other skin for them to be able to accept me. But though I'm more comfortable by myself sometimes, I cannot live my life completely on the fringes either. And I know it's an idealistic fantasy to think that I will meet one person who will change all that, yet I cannot help but believe, somewhere in my heart, beneath layers and layers of logic and cynicism that this will happen. This is the point where I've realised yet again that trying to fill some other person's expectations of me isn't enough, and at the same time, being myself when I'm alone isn't enough either. But I can't trust that they won't hurt me, nor that they will accept me for everything I am, nor can I expect to be happy when I sit alone between four walls, starting at a computer screen, or lost in the pages of a book, where everyone has a happy ending, or at least, moments of pure joy.

I've set so much store by the one person I seem to be waiting for, that I actually feel sorry for them for when they do come into my life. I'm going to offload all my problems to them and hope that they can make it better, and I know that's not the right thing to do. They are, in my head, the magical solution to cure my loneliness, my awkwardness, and will help me find myself and my place in the world. And if things happen for a reason, maybe that's the reason this person hasn't happened yet. Maybe I have to learn to be on my own first, and truly appreciate what it is to hold my own without the help of others, and only then will I find the person I've been looking for, because only then will I not take them for granted and tell them all my problems. To be a realist here, things don't happen the way you want them to. Life sucks and the only things we're able to do is make it better or worse for ourselves. I want this unknown person to make it all better, but I know that it's not up to them; it's up to me. But it would be nice to know that someone would be there and love me unconditionally while I go through the transit to find myself, even if they're not there at the end of it. Does such a person even exist? Maybe they'll be that one person in the audience when I finally find my voice, the one person who hears me when I sing. And maybe, after that, after all the struggle, I'll actually be able to find home. That's all I ever wanted anyway.

The Proud Artist

For the first time in a while I've been able to look back at something which came from my own hands and be content. Proud, even. This is the closest thing I have to a talent. I may as well play on my strengths. I can only hope that others appreciate it as much as I do, for all they see is the final product, with no regard to all the hours of work which went into its making. But even if not, I am still proud of my work.

Waves

And then there's the downside. The wave crests over you, but you're in the wrong place and the weight of the water crashes down, tossing you around like you're nothing more than a rag doll, caught in its current. If you survive the beating, you arrive on the shore, broken like never before, and knowing that you'll have to face those waves once again. You know that you'll be lucky if you don't make it back next time. You'll know perfection is when the ocean cries "checkmate!" and smites you down.

Slippery

Today I watched you leave. You simply turned your back and walked away, without a single care in the world. I was hoping you'd turn around and come back, but I knew you wouldn't. I've accepted that your presence is not going to be a constant one, though it should be if education is important to you. It's a shame, but each to their own. We're all adults now and we all know the choices we make. But I do hope you know what you're doing; your way ahead is slippery.

A Natural Barrier

I miss waking up at noon and sitting in the afternoon sun, without a single care about what I looked like or what I was wearing, merely content to be there in the light. I miss being able to take a novel out with me and read until the sun went down, or paint until the mosquitoes came out. I feel that there is a barrier now between me and what is natural for me. It's strange, but I suppose that one day I'll wake up and realise that it's become normal and that what I miss now is long gone, melted into a distant past. But perhaps I'll find that I do like this new lifestyle more than the old, and perhaps I'll find that it is in fact what is natural for me to do. But one day I'll return to not caring what I looked like and focusing instead on how I feel.

Wish

If I wished for you, would you listen?

Both Worlds

Sometimes I feel like I was meant for a life of summers and beauty, but was thrown into this place of eternal winters and loneliness. But then, I like the winter. I love the cold sky, a clearer blue than it is in summer, I love the warmth of fire, and the way your breath still comes out as mist. But there is not riding around on bicycles, there is always something missing, or not quite right. The beauty of winter is not the beauty of summer, it is not full of life, not full of singing birds and blooming flowers, of beautiful girls and dancing under the stars. And some of those things are the things which make life worthwhile. This is why the year was split in half. We can get the best of both worlds. So we'd better make the most of it.

The Taciturn

Oh hey, no, you can't do that. You can't just make off with my heart. You can't just sit there playing with your hair and glancing around with your blue, blue eyes, and make me want you. It's not fair that it works that way. You can't just be there so beautiful and quaint and make me feel rough and unrefined, too boisterous, while you're there so taciturn. You can't make me feel so out of your league, and have me want you at the same time. There's something wrong with that.

You carry this enigma around with you, and you never seem to speak to anyone. Maybe you're just shy and reserved, maybe we're not the type of people you tend to get along with, but whatever the case, it's incredibly attractive. And I want to speak to you, I do;  don't think that I am aloof and ignoring you because I don't want to know you - it's because I do want to know you, but have no idea where to start. I'll probably try too hard and come across sounding stupid and over the top, and you'll laugh internally and think "what an idiot," before giving a slight smile and turning your eyes away politely. I'll sit there and silently curse at myself from that time forward, until I make another attempt at humour and the same thing happens.

And you have these big blue eyes which glance around and see everything. And this long hair you're constantly twirling around your fingers. And this beautiful face; I can just imagine running my fingertips along the contour of your jaw line, and pressing my lips to the ones you're so often touching with your pen or brushing your fingers over. And you have hands I can imagine holding, my fingers tracing yours, weaving in and out, in and out, over the lines on your palm and the knobs of your knuckles. And I can almost imagine the way your body would be warm against mine, so thin and tall; the way my arms would go around you. When the dreaming goes too far, I can imagine you coming up and grabbing my hand, flashing me a brilliant, beautiful grin and resting your chin on my shoulder.

I imagine sometimes you look at me the way I look at you, but I doubt it. We don't live in that kind of world. And as often as my eyes are magnetically drawn to you, as often as I try to stop them doing so, is as often as I know that it's an illusion and that I am going to walk away alone again. So while you're here and the rest of the world is out of focus, I have to keep in mind that one day you'll melt into the city lights.

Long Winding and Unravelling

It shouldn't be this hard to find someone to spend time with, to love. I'm getting sick of the loneliness, of waking up without looking forward to seeing someone in particular, of not having someone willing to talk to me at any waking minute. I miss physical contact, I miss hugs, I miss the presence of another human body so close that I can feel the warmth radiating off them. I even miss the feeling of uncertainty because it lead the feeling of possibility. At least it gave me something to dream about. Now my dreams are filled with faceless people who flit in and out like shadows, melting into nothing like ghosts. I need that solid person to be there, among all the shadows, the colour amongst the grey.

Don't tell me I have to be patient, because I'm tired of hearing it. Don't tell me that it'll just happen - if that's the case, then why hasn't it happened? Don't tell me it's because I'm not truly ready, because goddamn it, I am. If you must say something, then tell me how to find someone. Tell me where to look, tell me who is actually interested; and if no one is, then shoot me and save me the disappointment and the complete shattering of my self esteem. That's probably going to be the most likely case anyway, so why even bother I guess? After all these years of life, and nothing to show for it but scars, and memories; but no one who stayed. No one wanted to stay. No one wanted to take up a permanent position in my life, so the spot is still vacant, waiting for someone; right now, anyone is good enough. They don't have to be perfect. I'm sure that one day I'll find the person who is perfect, for whom that position was specifically carved, the way jigsaw pieces are made to fall together flawlessly. Until then, it's just a matter of filling the gap with anyone who's a close enough fit. I'm beyond caring; I just need someone.

But who would want me? This is the true problem. Who would look at a girl who always wears jeans and a t-shirt? Who stays in the background among groups, and is in the foreground with friends, only to say stupid, over the top things. Who embarrasses herself continually, who tries to be more extroverted to hide low self worth. Who never bothers with her hair, who never touches cosmetics, who never bothers to change her appearance in any way from what is comfortable for her, and yet, is so uncomfortable. Who never feels confident, but feigns it all the time, who isn't really funny, but tries to be all the same. Who isn't entirely kind hearted, but tries to kid herself that she is. Who tries to pretend she doesn't care, but cares more than she dares to admit to anyone, even herself. Who is more lost, more confused and more lonely than a person in a foreign country without a map, with no understanding of the language. Who looks with a diminishing hope to each coming day, thinking"maybe this'll be it". Who cannot express the emotions she feels, who is too afraid to show emotion, who is too afraid to be vulnerable. Who is the most vulnerable person in existence, but tries to pretend that she is strong. Who is the biggest coward who ever lived, but will never admit it. Who wants to be strong, confident, without a care about what other people think, but is too caged within herself to actually be those things. Who is attracted to everything she cannot be, should not be and is caught in a world which borders more on fantasy than reality. Who falls for people without having ever spoken to them, and then tries to be aloof, just to keep the dream alive, whilst killing any chance of it in reality. Who wants to see beauty in everything, but no matter how hard she tries, simply can't. Who wants to be interesting, unusual and unique, but falls into a pattern of just being strange, without any kind of allure, or even worse, average, without even "the girl next door" air about her. Who is lazy, who complains, who has no particular talent. Who has terrible posture, and cannot look people in the eye when speaking, even when not guilty of anything. Who prefers staying inside, brooding, than outside being happy. Who wants to do things on her own because she's too embarrassed to do them with other people. Who wants adventure, but is too afraid to seek it. Who wants chaos and order simultaneously. Who wants to be free and daring and get in trouble with the law. Who gets angry to the point of tears over the smallest things, and who suppresses it all, even if in a murderous rage. Who is awkward and feels like she doesn't even fill our her own skin properly. Who wishes she could be a little more in the spotlight, just so people don't forget she exists. Who is often overlooked and forgotten. Who prefers sitting in the corner than anywhere else in a room. Who gets frustrated in a million ways, but never lets it out. Who loves beautiful and fragile things, but is unable to make them or keep them. Who loves darkness and insanity and wishes she could use them as an excuse for crazy actions, but knows it will never be plausible. Who is morbid. Who wonders who would turn up should she end up in hospital, or who would cry if she died. Who wishes she could go after what she wanted, but is always too afraid. Who more often than not just wants to break down and dissolve. Who is tired of the way life is going for her. Who sees a bleak future on the worst of days, and doesn't try to see the future on the best of them. Who wants to be artistic and creative, but honestly lacks the sensibility to be so, while also lacking the reason to be good at the logical and the people skills to be humanitarian. Who lacks focus and determination and motivation, who hardly ever completes everything. Who is seriously one of the most messed up people alive. Really, who would want that? Would you?.......yeah, didn't think so. Explains why I'm still here. Alone.  Like I probably always will be, even though it kills me more and more everyday. I'm just more inclined to sadness than happiness, like that's my allotted lot in life. It's better I recognise that now and learn to deal with it. Maybe the disappointment won't be as bad then later in life.