Make Your Move...

kulangotsapisngi:

I will write about the following, leave one in my ask box.

Dear person I hate,
Dear person I like,
Dear ex boyfriend,
Dear ex girlfriend,
Dear ex bestfriend,
Dear bestfriend,
Dear *anyone*,
Dear Santa,
Dear mom,
Dear dad,
Dear future me,
Dear past me,
Dear person I’m jealous of,
Dear person I had a crush on,
Dear girlfriend,
Dear boyfriend,
Dear [insert URL here],

Maybe if I was someone else the feelings would be mutual. If I was a singer maybe I’d be able to put all of these emotions into A’s and B’s and intertwine them into melodies. But I’m not. I’d say that I was a dancer but I’m barely that anymore. I have no idea who I am or what I stand for. Or whether or not I stand for anything. You tell me to speak up, but then cut down my insecurities and opinions with a sharp swipe of your tongue. All that is me is shunned and repressed just so that I wouldn’t have to be yet another problem in your life. But somehow you’re still the one that’s depressed. I have no idea how to pull you out of this hole that you’ve dug yourself into. I can’t even imagine a way to claw my way out of the Hell that I’m stuck in. But I’ll dig my way to the never ending abyss that you seem to be lost in just so you wouldn’t have to be there alone. The past leads to the present, but the present is what defines the future. And you’ve taught me how important a “future” is. You’re so blinded by the past that your future is dedicated to preventing the past from reoccurring but you don’t see that you’re just filling our present with the pain and sorrow. I understand that it’s all my fault, and there’s nothing I can do to fix it. I live with it everyday. And you have no idea what’s going on in my head. What war is being waged; what the symptoms are of my psychosis. And that’s my fault, too. I don’t want you to know. Mostly, because I myself don’t know. And that’s what kills me inside. Not knowing how to answer your questions. Not knowing how to make you happy or what to say to remind you that everything will be ok, Not knowing how to deal with all these demons that call this “temple” their home. And they roam freely above my temples and their reign of terror is far from over.

Death is the only escape from all the negativity. But suicide is a sin. I guess that’s why religion named Jesus as our “savior”. So that God can watch us live grueling lives struggling to hold on, when the rope is going to be cut regardless. And then when we finally die and we reach the pearly gates; God’ll still tell us we didn’t make the guest list. And it’s right back down to Hell, because we’ve been living there all along.

I would rather pick at all of my friends’ flaws, turning them into enemies than argue with you over who holds a higher place in my heart. And I don’t see why you find it necessary. Why can’t you understand that there is no comparison?

A relationship in it’s truest form is the epitome of the definition of bittersweet. What constitutes such a bond between two people is the individual pursuit of happiness. Let’s be real; it feels damn good to call someone your own. That’s when the other person’s happiness needs to become your main priority. To genuinely love someone with all your heart and be willing to do everything and anything to make them smile. To be able to put everyone aside anytime and every time they need you to. Even deliberately losing the very aspects in which they fell in love with you to be everything else that they’ve wanted to have in someone.  ‘Cause let’s be honest… No one really loves anyone for who they REALLY are. They may accept each others flaws, but it’s not like people are saying “You know… I love you SO much for never seeing any of the good I do for you.”

Another thing we should recognize is that love is not about the happiness you experience with your significant other. Love is the title of the album that has been compiled from the most heart crushing songs you’ve endured to stay with them. From deceitful lies, disregarding your deepest fears and a loneliness that single people can never even imagine. &It sucks when nothing you do is good enough for them, ‘cause all they’re waiting for is the next time they see something they don’t like in you. Seems like that’s all they really focus on, doesn’t it? But needless to say, leaving them is never an option, because those cold waves emitting from your heart rushing through your veins are what makes you love them that much more.

I fucking hate myself just for being me. Who ever told me to be myself is an asshole who gave me shit advice.

What’s worse is I brought this upon myself.

Every fight is a trip down memory lane, but memory lane’s lookin’ like the freeway. Ridin’ the far right lane but I’m always in the wrong; running outta time to skip the exit. I’m drinkin’ and drivin’ and the pain has always hurt more than the hangover.

People always ask him how it is that he feel so low about himself when he’s whippin’ around a flashy tip with big ass rims that his dad bought him. But no one can see the interstate under construction in the landscape he calls “being sane”. Even to think this deep about one’s membrane can be called insane.

Thirty over the posted speed limit, high off speed, steadily timid about when he’s reached his limit. He slams into a wall with no safety constraints and flies out the window pane straight into the pavement face first. No one can recognize him when they see him, and the only thing they can say is “Damn, he really fucking did it. That nigga bit it”.

The last time someone told me, “Just be you.” I laughed in their face and said, “What does that even mean anymore?”.

When I walk into my home I’m not greeted by tranquility and peace. Rather I suffer from constant withdrawals from Hennessy and if you ever looked into the windows to my soul, you’d see that it’d been shattered to pieces. My body is an empty shotgun shell being filled with gunpowder and wadding and pellets. And once the trigger is pulled, anger surges through my arteries; my eyes see red and I explode. I leave nothing behind but holes in the wall and blood strewn across the floor. I constantly beg myself “No more… no more anger and no more dark thoughts!” but my mind is engulfed in a dreadful cloud that is dominated by a dark minion that seems to have made me his dominion. His claws deep in my cerebrum; he controls my actions when my brain is not strong enough to decipher this cypher when there is no one in my cypher. I feel as if I’m nothing, a cipher to you. I am nothing but a blurred persona in your dream.