Admiration (Part I)

I admire your ignorance.
I admire your ability to create a world that is not real
to go to a place that is not there, that you cannot truly feel.
I admire your innocence.

I admire your indifference.
I admire your ability to care about no other but yourself
to see nothing in another’s welts.
I admire your distance.

And although these things can seem so wrong
there’s so much more than connotation of a word
there’s so much more then what is heard.
For these are things that can make you strong.

Because if we look at you, then look at me
we can see who is genuinely happy.


**disclaimer: Running through life, there are many difficulties people face. Everyday there are things that people go through, that they push through, and there are some people out there who feel that they’re ready to break. They’re ready to write a letter, just like the one below. They’re prepared to break hearts that they don’t even know about, and I’d like for those people to know how many tears will fall. How many hearts will be broken. How words and actions effect not just yourself, but those around you. Please, to those prepared to write a letter, stop. Just wait, just talk, just give yourself another day. Look at the good that has come to you and imagine all that will come to you again. Pain may hurt, it may feel like a knife, but it doesn’t last as long as love and happiness does. And to those who say things that they regret, whose words they feel have hurt others, don’t let them. Stop yourself, apologize, don’t put someone down. It’s not worth it.**

I know that you don’t want to see this, and I know that you don’t want to read this. And I do not know you, whoever you are out there that dares to slip into my thoughts, but I shall let you in this once. This last once, because the rest of my thoughts from all of the past will now, forever, be locked away. A lock without a key, a curious thing to be. You with your knife, with your scalpel that cuts between my bones and through my flesh, cannot cut away these fragments of me to find a reason. You cannot see, you cannot pull my thoughts from deep within me. So I will give you what you seek, desire to read or not, it will be.

I love life. I love what is outside, what caresses my skin as I walk. I love the presence of the things that cannot be noticed by many until they’re gone. Uncontrolled, moving, growing, living, bleeding as they wish. Doing as they do and not what we tell them to. I love the things that I am not involved in. I love how the wind decides to move, how there is no thing to behoove by the standards that we make of it. There are no standards of ours that apply upon it. I love life because I’m not there to fuck it up. To screw things over. It will do as it will, an inhuman rover.

And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the mess I’ve made, for the things that you must clean from the carpets from where I laid. I’m sorry for leaving someone else to pick up after me, if I could I would have done it full heartedly. I don’t normally do things this way, but I guess this isn’t any other day. I would have done it in the shower to make it easier for you. But we can’t always pick and choose.

I guess that you’d like to know why. What event, what person, what words caused me, provoked me, made me wish to die. But its no one’s fault but my own for getting too attached to humanity. To those who bide me and blind me, keep me and cheat me. I found love in cold hearts who left nothing there for me. I simply went too hungry.

My arms became the canvas to all those paints I could not see, to all those feelings inside of me. There wasn’t much for you to do, not a friend or foe or anyone else who knew. It was a decision that was of my own, for years thought over and not simply thrown.

So…I’m sorry for the mess of made, but there should be no tears shed for me. This is what I’ve wanted, and always wished to be.


are the illness that ails me
and I do not speak.
Because I do not wish to lose my words,
you see,
they sit on my tongue
and once they’ve been spoken
they’re gone.
And I wish for not a thing like that
where words can hurt and offend
a person like that
and without memory for me to apologize
to here and being an end.

And so I keep these words
inside my head
where I can hold onto them,
keep them, see them, remember them
I wish not to lose them,
And I do not speak.
For I am the illness of words
and the things that I keep.