I’m prone to bouts of anger, short tempered, the overly sensitive type. Writing is a way to make sense of it all. While art is a way in which I can escape the thoughts that haunt me shutting off conscious thought and allowing my hands to guide me.
Feeling guilty that everything is neither right nor wrong because someone is hurting and someone is happy and there is guilt that lives within me larger it gains with a thought a thought, thought by me a thought, thought by you a thought, thought by them a thought, thought by they it is a thought and I get ruffled slipping through the cracks that are opening trying to hold on to the edge as the guilt it grows heavily I am my fingers give up falling I am as the guilt of right and the guilt of wrong it lives it breathes it multiplies and I cannot breath my airway restricts and my brain struggles to the tune of my heart am I right am I wrong am I one of the many burrowing us deeper can I be better what is better is anything better or is better just a thought an opinion if I think it it’s right to me and yet wrong to you I cannot stop this feeling so deep as I fall and I fall I struggle to regain calm although I’ve never felt it so if I reached it would I know if I am?
Alright, sure I’ll give you that. But what about the bodies already here? You know the kids already living? The adults that once were a cluster of cells and now they’re a full blown person losing their sanity, you’re telling them to have more babies?
Abortion is murder, they’re all murderers!Prochoice are all the same.
Yes we are, and so are you every time you fight for an unborn life your fighting for one more soon to be full grown person flustered on Earth standing with a rifle outside of a school outside of a market. Rather why not fight here on the grounds right now right here and say every life alive today outside the womb needs to be helped their minds saved. Why not focus on what’s already here try and stop the bloodshed outside of wombs you know the ones that can survive on the outside. Why fight for more when we’re already failing?
I can’t think of anything as correct and there are no words that are worth pain that are worth my heart stopping or a mouth from speaking no words worth quitting there are no words worth hitting you can speak you can think and when I get flustered it’s my minds inability to filter your lead written words there is no terms that are definite we speak of facts and I utter opinion it’s fucking opinion it all is it all has been we’re buzzing around with our asses out feeling the sting of each other and it’s like look listen it doesn’t matter I’ll take a breath you take a breath if I quit over words that’s on me if you quit that’s on you.
If we serve ourselves first fill our ears with the sounds that allow the nerves to relax massage the tightness from our backs and bathe within our own thoughts we can awaken with our own self clarity and whomever is left struggling we together will be ready to help otherwise we will fail because we cannot provide calm we cannot provide mental clarity we cannot if we ourselves haven’t tended to the little thoughts fluttering about our heads they’ll provoke us if we stay unaware of their intentions.
I’ve been called selfish self centered stuck within myself countless times over the decades of my life It’s a humorous statement because as you gather your thoughts you must stay calm and rationalize those words because if someone speaks them you know and they know that they’re also selfish and you are to them simply just a body that exists to swarm them and whichever words you take it won’t change their thought because they’re not ready to evolve either.
The only definitive of life I can give is death to be termed alive would mean that death is possible as far as an inanimate object incapable of death.
Bacteria it isn’t animal like incapable of thought like you or I although a complexity of decisions is plausible because life knows to grow and it inherits the ability to grow stronger quicker stealthier it’s living because it can reach death which determines life which for us it triggers morality because we debate life although we know if it’s killing us it must die.
An unborn life in a womb is capable of death which in terms it is living rather we wrestle within the thought of which life shall stride on if it is unable to survive outside of its incubator then why do we struggle with the morality it is life it is alive only in the womb do we neglect the incubator as if it is only a box of warmth rather than flesh itself?
I can be within a thought that every moment is intense and each should be cherished then within the moment after I drift within the pointlessness the struggle of thought of the ability to think are thoughts more valuable then others?
Do other animals think or is the capability of thought regulated to humans does that mean we are the most intelligent or is thought itself what destroys us hyperventilating at the thought of morals hurting feelings hurting within myself hurting the animals scattered about do they feel the pain as my feet crush upon their bodies a simple blip to me I wonder do they have thoughts?
Are my thoughts that of intelligence are they weakness are they strength I feel rather weak as my heart hurts and my lungs struggle to take in air all the pressure all the struggles of life I think it I struggle to understand it I keep living because the idea of nothing is terrifying.
I think. Every second is a thought, every moment is many. I’m changing within each hour because these thoughts are bulky erupting within my mind. My views they start over every time another speaks. I must rethink, try again. Trying to be polite as I rarely understand rarely grasp what the many say. I listen I interrupt because I need to speak before I forget.
I know I live within complaint my mind cannot understand what others see what others hear what others respond to and it sends you within shut down you don’t want to hear it you’re not one to drown within a puddle of thoughts you’re not one to fill with the angst of another you’re stronger more secure I am guilt that’s all I’ve ever been all I’ve felt weak, sad filling of guilt for what I cannot control dripping of tears for what I cannot control their opinions are and mine remain the same often doused of theirs if I lit a match it’d go up in smoke and I’d be left wallowing there feeling the pain of burnt flesh you’d dust of your skin and grow again I am not strong I feel it all my brain absorbs it and I struggle because I cannot stop it all of it all of the societal problems created by humans by myself by all of us I cannot stop it and that in itself is what holds me down.
Will it ever be as I want it to be? Each word shitter than the last and I’m stuck new ideas never finished left partially executed slipping out of the brain the pages not empty although the words re-read come out pointless new is a longing in which keeps me deleting switching because different is a difficulty in which I’m trying and I’m feeling is impossible and I can’t settle for the same only twisted bits I’m looking for entirely new and I’m not sure if I can.
I’ve been trying to work on a story recently in which I’ve changed the main characters many times and switched concepts entirely many times as well. I have this need to make something new, something that hasn’t been done. I just feel like that’s the only accomplishment I’m looking for at this point. As far as writing goes. Being an accomplished successful writer in which my words reach vase audiences would be great although at this point it’s not what would make me feel complete. It’s a struggle I have in which I’m tired of reading the same words in books, and watching them play out as movies. I want a new thought to read and take in and give out. I wonder if anyone else feels that way as a writer? Or just an avid reader, in which they’re just looking for something new that feels impossible in this age of technology? In this world of many movies and many books. Its a struggle to find a new thought and it stops me from completing anything. Thanks for reading my rambles. -Temperamentally Tina