I never used to be scared of it. I actually never used to think much on it, I’d just do it. Then all of a sudden it became scary. Now I’m stuck sitting here writing and reading and erasing and worrying how others will read what I’ve written.
There are so many wordsthoughtsideas why write down that one?
My story? Can I sum it up? Write everyday. Pick up a pen, go. A story? Where would I begin.
There’s the obvious choice. I died in this car accident back in 2008.
But there’s a bigger story.
Like how our world is dying, or how all of our morals are dying.
I go from one thing to the next
Searching, always searching.
I can’t find it
What was it I was looking for again?
I used to be able to write about anything
Now I just, idk, maybe I don’t feel anything anymore.
TBI ruined everything, …maybe not everything…
Oh who am I kidding; it ruined a lot of stuff, but not everything.
I lost
You’ve won
Let me go now!
Away from your judging stare.
I can’t write the same
Nothing seems to flow anymore
Second guessing everything
I go from one thing to the next searching
I’m in search of something that is always out of reach
But what is it?
That thing
What is it!
Where is it!?
It’s not fair that I can’t think the way you do
It’s not fair that I don’t think at all
This is infuriating!
I am thinking of course!
I’m scared
I’m so awake. . . ,
I’m awake in the sense that it has all become so clear to me just now, and
I’m awake, like, I’m up.
You don’t want me to think it, just to know it. To feel it, oh I feel it.
I stood still
I realized it’s not just me
I’m not imagining that
It’s so simple.
So easy,
So new.
You make me so happy.
Why can’t I make you better?
Why can’t I take the pain away?
They poke and prod you trying to figure out where the infection is coming from.
I feel so helpless.
Hopeless…
It’s so hopeless, and yet we are hopeful.
I want togo back to school.
