Not that it matters all that much, but I finally fixed the layout when you do a search or view an archived page of this blog. So… there’s something.

Also, you may notice a new link up where the Twitter scroller is that links to an archive of every tweet I’ve ever made. It’s exactly the kind of thing I’ve been looking for since starting Twitter. I don’t know how often it updates itself, but I think it’s enough that it won’t inconvenience me or anyone else searching through my past tweets… which… will most likely only be me anyway.

I’ve been feeling so much lately. I should be writing. Man, I should really be writing this all down, getting it all out. At least being productive with my pain. Yes, of course it’s pain. What else affects me? Surely not happiness. That’s mostly the reason I am suffering now, in fact. I couldn’t embrace the happiness, let it go, and now am left with soul-crushing pain.

Coincidentally, while testing out my fix to make sure Search results displayed properly, I accidentally stumbled upon a little old poem I wrote one morning, while particularly tired (deliriously tired, you might say), when I was walking to my apartment and there was a particular scent in the air that reminded me of when I was a little boy. I remembered the innocence. I remembered what it felt like to be carefree and happy. And I think that’s what it feels like to be loved, when you allow it to. So this is what I wrote that day. It’s nothing I consider to be good, as far as poetry goes, but it feels apropos to repost it tonight.

This morning my mind is tired, exhausted beyond repair.
I see our world as a child, I can smell the innocent air.

Something I can’t hold on to, for it has all but died,
years ago, though I’m not old, before my grown up ride.

Crash into extinction, let the foreword decay,
suit yourself into your flesh, this is now your way.

One way road to living hell, no way back to life,
when you were white with healthy skin, before this awful trife.

This morning I was tired, though, and smelled that ancient air,
and saw the soil for what it was back when life was fair.

My mind still cares to remember whenever it’s grown weak
by the daily hush-hush of society, and the solice that we seek.

I wish to be tired all year round, to feel your love, my friend,
to come back to reality, to smile for real again.


Create until nothing is left to create.

Leave a Reply