What is a book?

Let's get back on track with the topic of books. A book is a sanctuary. A book is not a thing it is a destination. Every story has a bit of the author's voice in it. Let me hear your voices. Have you ever thought that maybe it's not somewhere that you're trying to escape to, but rather somewhere we want to go back to. Every book is full of history. When your head is full of the things that you want to say, this is when it is best to write. These types of writings aren't things that are meant to be critiqued or edited. These are the things that are real. These are the things that make a true story, and here's mine.



Maybe someday I'll see you
Maybe someday I'll leave you
Maybe someday I'll hate you
I was told that you were the secret to life
I have been told that you would lead me
I was told that you would leave me
I bang my head against a wall in hopes that I'll be able to see something
Something that will give me hope that I'm still here
Send me home
Sing me a song of something that will give me what I've lost
I want to cry I want to laugh I want to smile
I don't feel it
I don't hear it
I said scream
And all I hear is silence

beautiful

What is this thing?
"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder."


If beauty is something that you lack
I suggest you look behind your back.

Look behind you for a second. Imagine all of the people that love you. Imagine all of the people that you have fixed. This is what beauty is. The people that love you, are not here for you to overlook. Look at them and say the words, "I love you." If this statement is true. Then that is what is truly beautiful.

The things that have been overlooked

Some people in the past have told me to look up. To always make connections. I don't like listening, but by some of the odd rules of society I have been told to listen because they've lived longer. I wonder what it's for? Looking up. With this I have an image in my head:

In life you have faced many of hardships. We don't always show that we're bothered, but it still kind of sits there. Instead of showing how we feel, we like to absorb. We take it in. We keep all of the things inside of us. So I like to imagine it this way: I'm standing there looking towards the sky in hopes that none of the tears I've been holding spill out. Sometimes.... I forget. I let the tears fall. I look down, but don't misunderstand. I'm not sad anymore. I'm happy. It feels like a breath that I've been holding for years and years time. I don't want to do what people want anymore. I want to look down and see the things that have been overlooked. I want to throw a tantrum. I want to cry like a baby. Who said that this was wrong? That we shouldn't cry? Whoever it was, why? 

To all of the people struggling to cry. Do what you want. Cry and scream as loud as you can. These are the things that have been overlooked. These are the things that make life worth living. Then when you're done, wear that silly little grin of victory. This... is what true happiness feels like. 

i'm bored and I don't have enough of a life to be able to do something productive

... i just wrote this in my free time so......

In a bed full of white roses your love will forever stain them red. "I love you. Stay with me," she calls. Why aren't you there? Where are you? Your love is worth nothing. Save her. She's breaking. All because of you. Her corpse is so beautiful, but there's something missing. "Where is my heart, dear?" You used to see her with a smile on her face. Where did that smile go? She’s screaming. Tears of blood will fall down her face as she sees the face of the one she loved. She stands up as her weak hand grabs for your collar. “Why did you leave me? Why did you kill me? Why am I dead? Please stay here. Please say that you’ll love me forever. I promise that I’ll do everything right. I promise... so please stay.” Her face that was once full of beauty is now full of nothing but fear. You left her there. You left her corpse to decompose with all of the withering white roses. Even as you close the door you hear her screams resonating into the depths of your soul. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. What does this fix? In the end your love meant nothing. You’re apologies didn’t change anything. All you did was hurt her more than any wound to the heart. The only image running in your mind from there on out is a picture of her with blood running down from her eyes and her chest. You’re left with nothing but the chains of the woman you once loved. You close your eyes and lay down your head on your deathbed. “I’ll be with you soon, my love,” you say with a smile. A knife penetrates your heart and the last thing you see is an image of her before the roses. Your eyes are clouded with nothing but the broken image of what you called love. 

..... i have WAY too much free time 

Something a little different

Seeing as how no one's going to read this I can now express my honest opinion on things that don't particularly matter, yay!

Religious conflict.... I don't understand it. People have been arguing for years about where we go when we die and what brought us into the world, and honestly I just don't get it. What's the point? You don't accomplish anything. I think that you should just do what makes you happy. I don't understand why there is an everlasting conflict on where we go. If you believe in something what does it do to me? It doesn't effect me at all. If someone says the words, "I believe this....." It doesn't do anything. Can we just be chill? You would think that in the 21st century this would be over. Even if you somehow figured out what happens after death... so what? What does it do for me? I'm still going to die, aren't I? In the end we're all just acting like children, throwing a tantrum over things that don't really matter. Oh, I should probably finish with the words, "believe what you want, as long as you don't hurt others or yourself."



Racism....why is this still a thing? It shouldn't be a thing. Why are there still people out there who feel discriminating against someone for something they had absolutely no control over? For what purpose? Maybe, if you're racist, you feel a sense of superiority over others by discriminating against them, but still that kind of superiority doesn't last very long so why not use your life to do something actually productive? (I'm 100% aware that I am definitely not someone who should be saying do something productive. I'm a random person on the internet, what on earth am I doing?)