Alone with thoughts
I mean, I’m not weird. At least I don’t think I am. I don’t think so... And I have a lot of friends. But most of them are pseudo-friends. At least in my mind.
Most of the time I just want to be alone, I think. Alone with my thoughts and a piece of paper and a pen.
I think the world, for the most part, has become a frightening place. In this prison--think about it--in this prison, normal life is a joke. Come on, how can you survive when everyone around you is afraid to live? Nobody thinks, anymore. At least not for themselves.
Have you ever sat outside at the brink of sunset in perfect silence? You should try it sometime. It blows my mind, really, to realize that some people, a lot of people, can look around them and see nothing. Is it really possible to be here, breathing, alive, and not feel one bit of awe or speechlessness? Or, at least, think a thought.
Really, isn’t it completely arbitrary to belittle someone for being different? Give me one good reason why that’s necessary. Why can’t I just be without hearing giggles and whispers? Why can’t I just be?
Is it a crime to be an individual? To think. To read. To wonder about the self? Who is making the laws here? And what’s the punishment for breaking them? Aren’t we already behind bars?
I know you probably think I’m insane. But, really I’m just afraid. Most of the time, I wonder about the future. And I’m scared. There are so many things I want to do but I am scared I won’t accomplish them. Life is too short. Opportunity is not always there. People make mistakes. I make mistakes. What if I make the wrong decision? Walk down the wrong path? What’s going to happen? Am I going to wither away,
slowly, painfully... Will life be over? Will my life be over?
Do you ever stop and consider existence? What is our purpose? Why are we here? Is this all there is, are we at a perpetual stalemate in time and reality? Do you ever think about it? We need everybody to help....
But no one cares at all. Not at all. What is existence? This charade we take part in every day? This great big fictional actuality that we pretend to enjoy? It’s ironic, isn’t it? It’s ironic that what we pretend to be individualism for ourselves is just an imitation of what we believe to be good and right and normal. We all want to fit in, don’t we? We’ll do anything to fit in. Anything. Even stab somebody in the heart and twist the knife...it bleeds...while we laugh in our own little boxes we call life.
I just want people to understand. I want them to understand how important life is. And sometimes cry, too. Because tears are life. Raindrops, too. Why does everybody choose to ride this existential roller coaster with their eyes shut? Open your eyes. Just open your eyes.
Why do people try to shatter other people’s lives? Why is it stupid to be I without following the pseudo-dictators of society....Define stupid for me, please. Because I’m not sure I understand.
Is it wrong to dream? Because I think all of life is a dream. Look at the clouds...even the clouds are moving. They’re beautiful, aren’t they? And they are not all the same. What about the trees? Have you ever really looked at a tree. A willow. How amazingly constructed are these natural sculptures we take for granted.
What is beauty to you? How do you measure beauty? In weight, height? How, how, my friend, how? Have you ever considered, for one second, that maybe all that is just a mirage of “beauty”? Maybe attractiveness comes from the inside, really. Maybe it doesn’t make a damn difference what you look like on the outside. And the soul truly does measures this thing we call beauty. No? Of course not. Why would you think that? You’re too superficial to think.
I’m just so frustrated with the world. I don’t understand how so many people can be so close-minded when we have gotten so far already. And we think we have freedom. Not really, not really. Freedom would allow everyone to be who they are without animosity or human barriers trying to block them from excelling. I just want to be who I am. I just want other people to recognize who each person is individually. You don’t have to agree with it. But you don’t have to hate so much. Acceptance is quite different than agreement. When will we realize that? Sooner or later, if we continue full speed on this overall existential decline, we’re going to crash. And burn. And then what? Try to put our pieces back together and start all over again? Why not attempt to fix the problems now before they snowball into uncontrollable cyclones of shattered pseudo-realities?
Doesn’t it always seem to work out the way we wished it wouldn’t? Doesn’t it always seem that the things you love are the only things you can’t have? Pipedreams and lost friendships and quickly fleeting loves and squandered potential....I wish I could hold on to something more concrete...I wish I could feel more...I wish i could make you feel more.
Nobody understands me. Well...nobody understands that the reason I am so damn nice to everyone is so that maybe, maybe I can change them. Beauty is anti-ignorance, right? I wish that I could make at least one person turn beautiful. I wish that my presence, my unwavering kindness...my, i’m not sure, my vain attempts to make others realize what this is all about would help....and then there are the people that say I have affected them...I don’t buy it.
Is one enough?
I’m not sure.
I used to cry a lot. A lot of times people used to make me feel hopeless. But then I realized that I was letting other people control my life. And my life is too precious to hand over to someone else. I needed to cut the strings that were attached to my back that led me back to ignorance and hate and tears. And I needed to untangle the blanket of fears that had covered my eyes for so long. I needed to see and see for myself.
..I am still nervous. and scared. And frustrated. Sometimes, I think that, maybe, I intentionally separate myself from normalcy. Because I have an inner need of some sort to prove myself. But I’m not trying to prove anything, I don’t think. I just want to be me. And that is different from most people my age, I guess. But I’m not doing this on purpose. This is who I am. But, regardless, it’s better now. Because other people aren’t injecting thoughts into my mind. I can think for myself now. And that’s important, I think.
What kind of music do you listen to? A lot of times when I’m listening to a song my eyes will well up and I’ll cry. Because the music means something. There’s a message behind all those lyrics. And listening, I know that I’m not the only one. And that somewhere else in the world, at some point in time or another, some other fifteen year old sat with her journal and listened to that song and wept. And it’s ok because although I am alone, here, I know there are others out there like me.
Music is poetry.
Poetry is life.
Life is the dead and the living.
Therefore, music is also.
have you ever cried because you wanted something so much and were just afraid you would never be able to touch it for real? have you ever thought you were going to explode...or implode, i’m not sure of the difference...if you lost those few things that made you smile? have you ever wished you could freeze the day for one moment, look at it and say to yourself, “this is not my life”?
Most of the time I just want to be alone, I think. Alone with my thoughts and a piece of paper and a pen.
I think the world, for the most part, has become a frightening place. In this prison--think about it--in this prison, normal life is a joke. Come on, how can you survive when everyone around you is afraid to live? Nobody thinks, anymore. At least not for themselves.
Have you ever sat outside at the brink of sunset in perfect silence? You should try it sometime. It blows my mind, really, to realize that some people, a lot of people, can look around them and see nothing. Is it really possible to be here, breathing, alive, and not feel one bit of awe or speechlessness? Or, at least, think a thought.
Really, isn’t it completely arbitrary to belittle someone for being different? Give me one good reason why that’s necessary. Why can’t I just be without hearing giggles and whispers? Why can’t I just be?
Is it a crime to be an individual? To think. To read. To wonder about the self? Who is making the laws here? And what’s the punishment for breaking them? Aren’t we already behind bars?
I know you probably think I’m insane. But, really I’m just afraid. Most of the time, I wonder about the future. And I’m scared. There are so many things I want to do but I am scared I won’t accomplish them. Life is too short. Opportunity is not always there. People make mistakes. I make mistakes. What if I make the wrong decision? Walk down the wrong path? What’s going to happen? Am I going to wither away,
slowly, painfully... Will life be over? Will my life be over?
Do you ever stop and consider existence? What is our purpose? Why are we here? Is this all there is, are we at a perpetual stalemate in time and reality? Do you ever think about it? We need everybody to help....
But no one cares at all. Not at all. What is existence? This charade we take part in every day? This great big fictional actuality that we pretend to enjoy? It’s ironic, isn’t it? It’s ironic that what we pretend to be individualism for ourselves is just an imitation of what we believe to be good and right and normal. We all want to fit in, don’t we? We’ll do anything to fit in. Anything. Even stab somebody in the heart and twist the knife...it bleeds...while we laugh in our own little boxes we call life.
I just want people to understand. I want them to understand how important life is. And sometimes cry, too. Because tears are life. Raindrops, too. Why does everybody choose to ride this existential roller coaster with their eyes shut? Open your eyes. Just open your eyes.
Why do people try to shatter other people’s lives? Why is it stupid to be I without following the pseudo-dictators of society....Define stupid for me, please. Because I’m not sure I understand.
Is it wrong to dream? Because I think all of life is a dream. Look at the clouds...even the clouds are moving. They’re beautiful, aren’t they? And they are not all the same. What about the trees? Have you ever really looked at a tree. A willow. How amazingly constructed are these natural sculptures we take for granted.
What is beauty to you? How do you measure beauty? In weight, height? How, how, my friend, how? Have you ever considered, for one second, that maybe all that is just a mirage of “beauty”? Maybe attractiveness comes from the inside, really. Maybe it doesn’t make a damn difference what you look like on the outside. And the soul truly does measures this thing we call beauty. No? Of course not. Why would you think that? You’re too superficial to think.
I’m just so frustrated with the world. I don’t understand how so many people can be so close-minded when we have gotten so far already. And we think we have freedom. Not really, not really. Freedom would allow everyone to be who they are without animosity or human barriers trying to block them from excelling. I just want to be who I am. I just want other people to recognize who each person is individually. You don’t have to agree with it. But you don’t have to hate so much. Acceptance is quite different than agreement. When will we realize that? Sooner or later, if we continue full speed on this overall existential decline, we’re going to crash. And burn. And then what? Try to put our pieces back together and start all over again? Why not attempt to fix the problems now before they snowball into uncontrollable cyclones of shattered pseudo-realities?
Doesn’t it always seem to work out the way we wished it wouldn’t? Doesn’t it always seem that the things you love are the only things you can’t have? Pipedreams and lost friendships and quickly fleeting loves and squandered potential....I wish I could hold on to something more concrete...I wish I could feel more...I wish i could make you feel more.
Nobody understands me. Well...nobody understands that the reason I am so damn nice to everyone is so that maybe, maybe I can change them. Beauty is anti-ignorance, right? I wish that I could make at least one person turn beautiful. I wish that my presence, my unwavering kindness...my, i’m not sure, my vain attempts to make others realize what this is all about would help....and then there are the people that say I have affected them...I don’t buy it.
Is one enough?
I’m not sure.
I used to cry a lot. A lot of times people used to make me feel hopeless. But then I realized that I was letting other people control my life. And my life is too precious to hand over to someone else. I needed to cut the strings that were attached to my back that led me back to ignorance and hate and tears. And I needed to untangle the blanket of fears that had covered my eyes for so long. I needed to see and see for myself.
..I am still nervous. and scared. And frustrated. Sometimes, I think that, maybe, I intentionally separate myself from normalcy. Because I have an inner need of some sort to prove myself. But I’m not trying to prove anything, I don’t think. I just want to be me. And that is different from most people my age, I guess. But I’m not doing this on purpose. This is who I am. But, regardless, it’s better now. Because other people aren’t injecting thoughts into my mind. I can think for myself now. And that’s important, I think.
What kind of music do you listen to? A lot of times when I’m listening to a song my eyes will well up and I’ll cry. Because the music means something. There’s a message behind all those lyrics. And listening, I know that I’m not the only one. And that somewhere else in the world, at some point in time or another, some other fifteen year old sat with her journal and listened to that song and wept. And it’s ok because although I am alone, here, I know there are others out there like me.
Music is poetry.
Poetry is life.
Life is the dead and the living.
Therefore, music is also.
have you ever cried because you wanted something so much and were just afraid you would never be able to touch it for real? have you ever thought you were going to explode...or implode, i’m not sure of the difference...if you lost those few things that made you smile? have you ever wished you could freeze the day for one moment, look at it and say to yourself, “this is not my life”?