I think its about that time.
Its safe to grab the pistol.
Im tired of growing, everyday its more stressful.
I hate money.
I hate school.
I think this day can be stamped official.
Im tired of feeling bitter and
Im tired of being stressed.
Im just tired of breathing, it takes all my energy.
Especially when im breathing for dozens of people, and most of them kin to me.
This poem is about me.
For once I just want to lay in the dark.
Stare at the ceiling music blasting till I’ve gone deaf.
I don’t want to hear the bullshit anymore.
All I hear is death.
I’ll reach under my bed.
Favorite teddy bear pressed against my chest.
And finally put these hands to use.
I’ll write my name in the liquid.
Shit I dont know how, but I’ll attempt to swim in it.
This is the day to embrace the first time I felt Free
Then everybody had to go an ruin it.
So I’ll leave it up to you to decided if the pistol is just a metaphor for my pen.
If I could picture perfect, I would. Id take that picture, develop that film, and frame that picture. Having it on display just for show. On the other hand, in reality my lens is kinda blurry, I haven’t yet figured out how to focus, I tend miss the bigger picture, and I’ve run out of film.
What I can do — I can hold onto that camera. Because through those lens, I can see the message, capture the beauty, and even if it doesn’t come out the way I saw it. This still life or action shot captures my artistry in its own energy and essence. It’s said a picture speaks a thousand words, and voice just so happens to amplify the message.
I tried to figure out the meaning of this random thought — that was suppose to be a Facebook status, but I couldn’t. I feel as though it was just art within itself; hopefully someone can take something positive from this excerpt. That no matter what, everyone is entitled to their own opinion. Your perfect is different than my perfect, however there is no such thing. We both hold the ability to capture the beauty in life, selfishly and in humility. With that being said, dust off your cameras, wipe down the lens, and find that person, place, or thing that makes you happy. Embrace yourself and hang it in your memories museum.
I honestly don’t know if any of this even made sense…I just let myself write without boundaries.
When the Artist becomes the Art.
Life Is Beautiful.
Find Freedom in Living.