Woo Fiction Writing!

Do you really get it?

I did something different today, something that isn’t usually habit for me. I sat in a field, an ordinary field, late at night, in the cold air. I’m sick, it was cold, yet when I was lying down staring at the sky, suddenly I felt as if I wasn’t sick or numb. I felt pure nothing, as if I was captured by the night’s sky. My index finger is frozen as I’m writing this. Profound thoughts flew through my head as I watched the sky; they challenged my normal thoughts on life and brought up something new.

Do you realize what you’re doing to me?

Do you understand that I’m not just some object; I have feelings. I have thoughts, I have emotions. I can have an opinion. I can have my own ideas. Yet you could destroy them all within a minute. 

Do you realize what you’ve done to me?

You’ve made me into a monster I hate, something I loathe; a creature molded by the chisels of conformity. A block indistinguishable from the next, yet I dislike the other blocks. I like myself but hate my clones. Hypocrisy has become my middle name, and it is all because of you.

Do you know what you’ve done to me?

I’m sorry for things I didn’t do. Waking up is fickle; all I’ll do is feel the same feelings as yesterday. I want variation, I want something new, and I don’t want to feel guilty anymore, I don’t want to feel this weight on my shoulders that is un-liftable because there is nothing there. I’m carrying dead weight, and it’s all because of you.

I’m not the man I was, I’m someone else. And it’s all because of you. 

Liberation-Bound.

I had an emo week, and well, this is basically my final thoughts on it. 

Release.

Who do you think you are? You come into my life, and thrash it all, smash it to pieces, and then shrug it off like its nothing. Just hearing your name is enough to make my stomach churn. My intestines quiver at anything that looks remotely like you; why? Because you took everything I had and you defecated all over it. You vomited your feelings all over my life because you were upset. 

You say you’re sorry, yet you make the same mistake again. You announce you’re bowel movement on society- ignorantly if I might add- all because you are angry. Well what do you have to be angry about, did you get the short end of the shit stick? You had a six letter word said to you. Six letters, one two three four five motherfucking six, and I’m the bad guy. Six derogatory letters, and I’m Satan. 

You are the harbinger of sorrow and yet I’m the bad guy. Every time I see you, I feel as if my life is as shallow as a fucking kiddy pool. You hurt me in a way that can never be fixed, in a way that won’t repair itself for a long time. So don’t make it any harder, or I’ll make it easier. 

Trying Again.

Trying Again.

I often stay awake at night thinking to myself, thinking about all of the times I've failed in life; thinking about all of the times I couldn't win no matter how hard I tried. I think of the potential victories and the outcomes, I think of the brighter future it could have brought. I think of the inevitable losses I've harboured. I am a failure. 

When you fail, you can see what you had the potential to do.

The thing about failing is you can still see what happens to the successor even if you don't win. I've failed plenty of times before but through these failures I've seen one thing; the potential I have. Even if I fail at something, I had the potential to do it. I've had the potential to do many things in life, and I will have the potential in the future. I have the potential to win.

So even though I'm not as smart as the next guy, and even though I'm not that piece of eye candy everyone is looking for, maybe I am a failure and I do have the potential to succeed. 

Standing Tall,
QMav