Why Do You Suppose

Why do you suppose
even for each of those
from whom no goodness shows,
on and on life goes?
If none want to stay,
and all want them away,
then tell me why, I pray,
they remain today.

I keep praying for God to kill me, and he won't do it. He won't even give me the bravery to do it myself. He just keeps me here, unhappy, unfruitful, a miserable stain on my family, friends, and everything they could be. There are so many good people around me and he doesn't even care enough about them to take me out of their way.

Vanessa Carlton is in My Head Today

This song is more or less everything I'm feeling lately.

A Few Small Things

If a BETTER you
is NOT a you,
then what a tiresome thing to do,
to KILL a you
to MAKE a you
over and over before you are through.

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When others know the things I did,

praises from their lips will pour

out about those things I did.

They say, "People should do them more!"

Yes, many love the things I did.

Just not the one I did them for.

--------------------------------------------------------

But what relief is there to give,

what newfound cure to try

on they who lack a reason to live

yet lack the courage to die?

Don't Listen to Your Heart

It's hilarious to me that 'trust/listen/follow your heart' is still a thing.

People automatically assume it's sage advice, because....well, their hearts are telling them it's sage advice. They're taking the advice before they take the take the advice in order to take the advice. Whoa.

Let's put this advice through the Bullcrap Translator real quick, and see what comes out.

.....

.....

.....

...Ding!

"Do whatever the heck you want."

Yeah, listening to your heart is just doing whatever feels good. I ask you, how many people have *ever* lived fulfilling lives by just doing whatever they felt like at any given moment?

You may be thinking, "But your conscience! Your conscience is in the general area of the heart, right?! And you should listen to that!" Well yes, yes you should. Sometimes. Not all the time, actually. But sometimes, when we act like jerks, we feel bad about it. In those particular instances, we should act on those guilty feelings and try to fix whatever screwed up thing we just did.

But we only feel bad about doing bad things *because we know in our brains that those things are bad*. Imagine a universe where murder is perfectly acceptable. Killing people is as commonplace as killing houseflies (PETA would be very happy in this universe. Let's teleport them there). In this universe, would you feel bad about cutting down the guy who just cut in front of you in line? No, why should you? You didn't do anything wrong, as far as you know. You swatted a fly.

That's because guilt comes from the voice in our *heads* telling us that we just did a terrible thing. We *feel* guilt in our hearts because we *know* in our minds that we ought to feel guilty, even if we try to push that to the back of our minds.

The greatest mistakes of my life were made because I listened to my heart and did what I wanted. I'm not saying I have any brilliant new revolutionary info here. Others have said this kind of thing before. It just really, really bugs me that they're all continuously drowned out by things like, "follow your heart and you'll never get lost" and "the heart never lies" and other such innumerable falsehoods.

Your heart knows how to pump blood. That's it. Your brain is *specifically designed for the sole purpose of knowing stuff* and yet we still don't listen to it. We listen to the blood pumper, because hey, he looks like he really knows what he's talking about right?

College

I am going to College.

I am terrified because I unmotivated and also unintelligent.

*nobodyreadsthis

*thisisbasicallyajournalnow

*astericksaremyhashtags

*thesearethewaysirebel

The Lost Boy, Part 1

~The Lost Boy~

His eyes were blue as cloudless sky,
the handsome little fellow,
and like his kindred, one and all,
his blood was brightly yellow.
Though he had not yet aged ten years,
his hair reached down his back
in wavy locks that ended curled
and were an inky black.

He had been born amidst the smoke
of everlasting fire.
Though if you were to tell him that,
he’d surely call you liar,
for now he can remember not
a trace of life before
the flying boy took him away,
far from that world of war.

That flying boy took him between
his world and all the rest,
to where adulthood is a sin
and childishness is blessed.
He’d never seen a tree before,
he’d never learned of sand,
he’d never envisioned a realm
as pure as Neverland.

He joined the clan of boys who’d once
been just as lost as he.
“Three cheers for the new lad!” They roared,
“But what shall his name be?”

Then Peter thought a moment,
and gave the boy’s  head a look.
“Your hairs all curl to them,” He said,
“so I shall name you Hook!”

When came the cry, “Three cheers for Hook!”,
and Peter cheered the same,
Young Hook felt joy he’d never known.
Finally, his own name!
He swore he’d always live in fun,
and never be a man.
He came to call that island home…
and idolize The Pan.

Yes, Peter was Young Hook’s hero,
and Hook, Peter’s right hand.
The boys, their loyal followers.
Their great love, Neverland.
They flew with eagles, swam with mermaids,
joined the faeries’ song,
and both thought none of that would change.
I wish they’d not been wrong.

It was years later when Young Hook
was taken by the sea.
He’d been in flight with Peter when
the storm came suddenly.
They’d gone to fetch a new boy,
but a boy was lost instead.
When Pan returned alone, all mourned,
“Our brother, Hook, is dead.”

But Hook was very much alive,
although a world away,
and fate would have been kinder
if he had perished that day.
The Sea of a Thousand Doorways
had opened one for him.
Now Hook was in another sea.
But he still couldn’t swim.

When one’s life is spent in adventure,
foresight is a must,
so Hook’s pocket contained a bag
of extra faerie dust.
It worked its magic perfectly,
though soggy from seawater.
Hook thought of being named, and flew…
and found The Jolly Roger.

In all her majesty’s navy,
the Roger had no peer.
At but a glimpse of her,
the bravest pirate shook with fear.
Hook landed on her deck amidst
a gaping, silent crew.
The Captain was the first to speak.
“Good morning. Who are you?”

“I’m Hook,” He answered calmly,
“and I’m from another…place.”
It was all the Captain could do
to keep a tranquil face.
He introduced himself,
 “James Barrie. Welcome to my ship.”
His hand he kept upon the pistol
holstered at his hip.

But Hook spoke then of Neverland,
of faerie dust and flight,
and Captain Barrie saw an earnestness
he could not fight.
“I have to get back there,” Hook said,
“but I’ve run out of dust.”
“You’ll stay here, then.” Barrie replied,
for Hook now had his trust.

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If anyone's interested in seeing a second part to this, let me know. I figured this would be better as a few separate posts than as a single massive one.

I Don't Want to Be

I don't want to be a boy,
I don't want to be a man,
I don't want to be a girl,
a woman,
animal,
or important to the plan.
I don't need a special task,
or a purpose that's divine.
I don't need a higher calling,
reason,
truth,
or space in which to shine.

I don't want to have a friend,
for I know no one should be 'mine'.
Whether I would call you brother,
sister,
lover,
enemy,
whoever you are is fine.
I'll be yours if you so choose it,
but I will have to draw the line
at playing parts called 'husband',
'best',
'leader'
or anything that you'll regret, in time.

I don't want to make myself known
(I mean I used to, but I think I've grown).
I will help you with whatever problem you will let me see,
but only if you promise that you won't remember me.