Do they make healthcare for emotions?
Can we take sick days for emotional turmoil?
Will they send me a circus to make me smile?
I've got to get out of this place and with the flashing lights
and exempt license plates we could move so very fast, if I were in a red and white ambulance.
Not to mention the sleepless nights and the tears I've wasted.
Not to mention my failing social life and all the blood I've tasted.
Don't get me started on the mess I've made inside my mind and underneath the shade
of the biggest oak around. I'm digging to bury the memories that we've made.
I've never been inside a red and white ambulance,
but I'm sure with all that training they've seen people like me.
I'm tall and fed up with my apathy
My hair is curly and dark, always looks like it's dirty
my eyes are brown brown brown, and I've always got on a frown.
I've got to get out of this place and with the flashing lights
and exempt license plates we could move so very fast, if I were in a red and white ambulance.
27.4.12
24.4.12
Chapter 2
The next thing I knew, I was still just sitting there with no one around but a stray cat and the occasional car. I kept wondering, why the hell is no one looking for me? It's one in the morning, I'm 15 years old and my mom isn't wondering where the hell I am? The reality that I was being a selfish bastard struck me in the face and caused me to cry once more. I couldn't breathe and I scared my only friend, the cat, away. I stopped sobbing and straightened up. Slapped myself in the face and said big boys don't fucking cry, Fred. I knew that was a lie though, men that don't cry are just liars and hide their pain behind muscles, cars and sports.
I got up, dusted off my pants, put the pack away in my pocket and started walking home. Under the bridge I just got stares and a few offers as opposed to the scatter that took place beforehand. I preferred the scatter. Once out from under that hellhole I closed my eyes and breathed in the cool night air. It was really a beautiful night once I stopped letting my crappy emotions affect my own physical environment. The moisture on my face made it cool when the wind blew and my hair tickled my ears. The stars tickled my soul and the moon lit up the night more brightly than I had ever seen before. At least I knew God cared about me that night, but was that enough to stop the ensuing years of self torture? No.
I got home. The yelling had stopped, the T.V. was off and my mom was at the sink. She didn't say a word though I know that she heard me. I went to my room and found my brother at my desk. He asked me where I went, but he wasn't mad or interrogative, he was just wondering. I told him I just went for a walk and without another word he just got up and left. I sat on my bed dumbfounded, wondering why the hell my mom wasn't wondering where the hell I went, or why she wasn't out looking for me. Why hadn't my dad called asking me if I was ok, why wasn't my mom sitting beside me on my bed asking me if I was ok?
I feel like I'm being given half support here. Like only the left side of my life is being supported by my parents. They tell me not to do something, or they tell me to do something and then they don't tell me what to replace it with. They curse me for doing bad in school and can't find enough breath to tell me congratulations for anything. They tell me how to live my life and to make the tough decisions and then leave when the toughness of the choice surfaces in my life. I know God has not and will not forsaken me, but damn it, I'm lonely and I'm sad, and sitting in my room after having gone through what I went through alone. With no one that said they cared about me around. I couldn't help but feel betrayed. What the hell am I complaining about, though? I have my parents, I have everything that I need, although I would give it away to be able to control my own thoughts. I'm at Rock Bottom here. You have to understand that for me, it's a real place. I can feel it and I can smell it. It smells rotten and feels like the bottom of a worn out, rotting wooden boat. My soul sneezes uncontrollably when I'm in this place because it's allergic to the apathy that I have when I'm here. I hate being here. I'm looking for you, actively and when I find you, you'll see that I'm begging for you to come take me out.
As that night carried on my mom didn't speak a word to me. I don't suppose she knew that I was being torn apart over the matter. My mom would never let me go through that if she could control it. Too bad she didn't know that she could control it. As I laid there in my bed, alone with my thoughts, I tried oh so hard to forget that night and forget about the fucking pain I had been feeling for the past three hours. Your memories though aren't written in your mind like a pen or permanent marker, they are carved in with a knife. They never ever leave you, no matter what you do to make them go away.
I fell asleep thinking about Ashley and trying to cheer myself up thinking about band tomorrow when I would inevitably see her. I love band. Almost as much as I love Ashley.
I feel like I'm being given half support here. Like only the left side of my life is being supported by my parents. They tell me not to do something, or they tell me to do something and then they don't tell me what to replace it with. They curse me for doing bad in school and can't find enough breath to tell me congratulations for anything. They tell me how to live my life and to make the tough decisions and then leave when the toughness of the choice surfaces in my life. I know God has not and will not forsaken me, but damn it, I'm lonely and I'm sad, and sitting in my room after having gone through what I went through alone. With no one that said they cared about me around. I couldn't help but feel betrayed. What the hell am I complaining about, though? I have my parents, I have everything that I need, although I would give it away to be able to control my own thoughts. I'm at Rock Bottom here. You have to understand that for me, it's a real place. I can feel it and I can smell it. It smells rotten and feels like the bottom of a worn out, rotting wooden boat. My soul sneezes uncontrollably when I'm in this place because it's allergic to the apathy that I have when I'm here. I hate being here. I'm looking for you, actively and when I find you, you'll see that I'm begging for you to come take me out.
As that night carried on my mom didn't speak a word to me. I don't suppose she knew that I was being torn apart over the matter. My mom would never let me go through that if she could control it. Too bad she didn't know that she could control it. As I laid there in my bed, alone with my thoughts, I tried oh so hard to forget that night and forget about the fucking pain I had been feeling for the past three hours. Your memories though aren't written in your mind like a pen or permanent marker, they are carved in with a knife. They never ever leave you, no matter what you do to make them go away.
I fell asleep thinking about Ashley and trying to cheer myself up thinking about band tomorrow when I would inevitably see her. I love band. Almost as much as I love Ashley.
21.4.12
Chapter 1
Dad is a mean fellow, I've been told I have to stay away from him.
I was paralyzed in fear as I heard the yelling. Paper thin walls made everything worse and my hands can only block out so many decibels. I don't know why the hell they were yelling - my mom and my brother. All I know is that I always remember my mom telling me to just stay away when my brother was mad, because he was bigger than me and would kill me if we got into a fight. Or so she warned me.
So this is me: tucked away in the fetal position in a corner of my bed, all blankets piled on top of me, hands pressed hard against my burning ears, tears flowing down my face and soaking my bed. I'm speechless, making no noise, only the pitter patter of tears on the floor every now and then. I couldn't take it any more and the time of night offered me an idea. Just leave, were the words she told me. Just leave. So I did.
I cracked open my door and dodged a bullet of words he was yelling and I saw it. I saw the door, it was dead ahead and would take me about ten steps to be out of it. I pondered the thought of trying to sneak away but this house is so small and the floorboards are so old, I knew that I would be heard or seen. Instead I just bolted and before I knew it the cool, humid Texas night surrounded me and beneath my bare feet I felt the decay of our old, poor neighborhood's roads. I crossed one road, just a house down from mine and looked back. I could still hear them. At that moment I thought and wondered where the hell my dad might be. I hadn't gone far enough, so I walked a whole other block to a very busy street and considered crossing it, but opted to go under the bridge to my right instead.
As I walked under the bridge I smelled the scent of pot and saw many people scatter. I suppose seeing a rather large teenager is a suspicious thing to see for a bunch of pot smoking homeless people and Jane always told me that suspicion leads to fear and fear, in this case, leads to people running off. I walked, still bare foot, mind you, to the pharmacy on the corner and sat down on the curb and sobbed with my head on my knees and my hands on my ears. For a long time I sat there crying out into the parking lot. Then I couldn't cry anymore and I decided to people watch.
Let me tell you about people watching in a shady neighborhood like mine at 1 in the morning; it's horribly sad. The first lady I really noticed looked to be about 60 and she was all by herself driving an old beaten up chevy truck. One that had potential but was very poorly taken care of. Now this lady was beyond her years in looks, she had this sad look about her face and she dropped her keys countless times before she was finally able to put them in her purse. I think she was drunk. Anyway, she went inside and came out with a carton of cigarettes, a bottle of whiskey and every home and garden magazine you could imagine. If that's not a loneliness package then I don't know what is. I felt so terrible for her, and as the door closed behind her, we locked eyes and she saw a tear and my eye and smiled at me this very soft smile, then I swear, I saw a tear in her eyes and without a word she got into her truck and drove away.
The second man I saw was probably about thirty and looked to have just gotten out of a very tough day at work. He rolled in on a chopper and parked on the sidewalk right by the door. He was already smoking a cigarette and so he just sat on his bike for about three minutes and was just staring at me. Of course, I was returning the gesture so it didn't really seem too odd to me. When he finished he limped inside and then came out a matter of seconds later with a dirty magazine or two and, you guessed it, a carton of cigarettes. After he had promptly stuffed them into his backpack, he got onto his bike and asked me where my mommy was. I told him I was very capable of living without her to which he simply laughed, threw me a pack of cigarettes and rode away.
I was paralyzed in fear as I heard the yelling. Paper thin walls made everything worse and my hands can only block out so many decibels. I don't know why the hell they were yelling - my mom and my brother. All I know is that I always remember my mom telling me to just stay away when my brother was mad, because he was bigger than me and would kill me if we got into a fight. Or so she warned me.
So this is me: tucked away in the fetal position in a corner of my bed, all blankets piled on top of me, hands pressed hard against my burning ears, tears flowing down my face and soaking my bed. I'm speechless, making no noise, only the pitter patter of tears on the floor every now and then. I couldn't take it any more and the time of night offered me an idea. Just leave, were the words she told me. Just leave. So I did.
I cracked open my door and dodged a bullet of words he was yelling and I saw it. I saw the door, it was dead ahead and would take me about ten steps to be out of it. I pondered the thought of trying to sneak away but this house is so small and the floorboards are so old, I knew that I would be heard or seen. Instead I just bolted and before I knew it the cool, humid Texas night surrounded me and beneath my bare feet I felt the decay of our old, poor neighborhood's roads. I crossed one road, just a house down from mine and looked back. I could still hear them. At that moment I thought and wondered where the hell my dad might be. I hadn't gone far enough, so I walked a whole other block to a very busy street and considered crossing it, but opted to go under the bridge to my right instead.
As I walked under the bridge I smelled the scent of pot and saw many people scatter. I suppose seeing a rather large teenager is a suspicious thing to see for a bunch of pot smoking homeless people and Jane always told me that suspicion leads to fear and fear, in this case, leads to people running off. I walked, still bare foot, mind you, to the pharmacy on the corner and sat down on the curb and sobbed with my head on my knees and my hands on my ears. For a long time I sat there crying out into the parking lot. Then I couldn't cry anymore and I decided to people watch.
Let me tell you about people watching in a shady neighborhood like mine at 1 in the morning; it's horribly sad. The first lady I really noticed looked to be about 60 and she was all by herself driving an old beaten up chevy truck. One that had potential but was very poorly taken care of. Now this lady was beyond her years in looks, she had this sad look about her face and she dropped her keys countless times before she was finally able to put them in her purse. I think she was drunk. Anyway, she went inside and came out with a carton of cigarettes, a bottle of whiskey and every home and garden magazine you could imagine. If that's not a loneliness package then I don't know what is. I felt so terrible for her, and as the door closed behind her, we locked eyes and she saw a tear and my eye and smiled at me this very soft smile, then I swear, I saw a tear in her eyes and without a word she got into her truck and drove away.
The second man I saw was probably about thirty and looked to have just gotten out of a very tough day at work. He rolled in on a chopper and parked on the sidewalk right by the door. He was already smoking a cigarette and so he just sat on his bike for about three minutes and was just staring at me. Of course, I was returning the gesture so it didn't really seem too odd to me. When he finished he limped inside and then came out a matter of seconds later with a dirty magazine or two and, you guessed it, a carton of cigarettes. After he had promptly stuffed them into his backpack, he got onto his bike and asked me where my mommy was. I told him I was very capable of living without her to which he simply laughed, threw me a pack of cigarettes and rode away.
17.4.12
Ripe
I can't tell you why I'm not happy right now. Nor can I tell you why I am happy.
I can't tell you what color her eyes are, Nor can I tell you what color her hair is.
I can't tell you why I love this song so much nor can I tell you why it makes me feel so terrible.
I can't tell you why I think the way that I do,
I can only tell you that I think that I wish I knew.
I can tell you that I've never felt such a need to cry before now.
I can tell you that my throat is dry, lips are cracked and there's a slight burn in my eye.
I can tell you how frustrating time is when it can't decide if it's fast or if it's slow, and
I can tell you all these things that are simple, nothing more than facts that I know.
They don't change anything about my life or yours, though, they don't mean anything special and in the small moments where we feel like more words equals more meaning, what have we really gained from them?
I'm brittle and I tremble as the wind of your judgmental gaze comes towards me.
I am ripe with words to say, but they just rot and fall away. I have no real retort and I feel at a loss when you just talk and talk and talk. I guess that's better though because then I don't have to say anything back to you. I can just let you babble about useless things that have no positive meaning, or no power whatsoever to either of our lives.
16.4.12
Without you
My thoughts are scattered about like an MC making it rain
My mind is lost; I guess that's why they call it scatterbrain
too little too late, too much for such a loss
I thought I had me figured out then I met you
You talked a lot about the future and where you wanted to go
I nodded my head so politely trying to not make this scene a whole show
I have a cardboard box at my feet and it keeps me up at night
It was filled up in no time and is nowhere near light
It's full of what we were and it reminds me of you
Too bad what we were makes me insane and I just can't
Fight it anymore I've lost everything but my music
And I guess I'll digress but not until you digest
that I've been searching in my mind and heart to find out how I'm supposed to live.
without you.
I thought I had me figured out then I met you
You talked a lot about the future and where you wanted to go
I nodded my head so politely trying to not make this scene a whole show
I have a cardboard box at my feet and it keeps me up at night
It was filled up in no time and is nowhere near light
It's full of what we were and it reminds me of you
Too bad what we were makes me insane and I just can't
Fight it anymore I've lost everything but my music
And I guess I'll digress but not until you digest
that I've been searching in my mind and heart to find out how I'm supposed to live.
without you.
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