(no subject)
I cannot talk to you. And I cannot ask you for help. I cannot meditate on the perils of the world with you. I cannot discuss the downfall of the system with you. I cannot expect your support. I cannot communicate with you. I cannot be understood by you. I cannot sit idle with you. I cannot hide for you. I speak of my loneliness, my need to belong, my uneasiness, my insecurities. My desires to be apart of that world which predicts my demise, it leaves an ill taste of everlong failure. I do not play well with the settler, in the settler town or not, settler tendencies or not. By sheer fact of settler success, I am again reminded of my own inability to compete. I am crushed within the only arenas that seem to matter. I never lied about these failures that structure my character. A fight throughout every decision in every event in every day is the constant of my life. A philosophy comprised around this one movement taken as fact; and that is my being. Seemingly small differences are truly of utmost importance when dealing with the subconcsious. The differences between accept and support, between socialized acts and unsocialized acts, between polite and respect, these are the questions to be asking. Not of those acts which clearly fall within specified categories of good and bad. A question of how one deciphers good from bad, when the tears start rolling and do not stop until the end. A question of when to stop one pain in hopes of acquiring some lesser one. A question of what it means to be good enough, when I myself have never been good enough. Yes. We have it. In the beginning I said 'I cannot...' It is not because of your downfalls, but because of my failures to succeed at being.