doesn't make sense

I'm thinking about you and it doesn't make sense. You don't make sense. I'm watching the Olympics all day, every day, and they don't make sense. The most confusing part is the gymnast mens' shoulders. Around and around...Are they elastic? Are they human? I'm watching the news, I'm watching the death. Death in Syria and war over things that don't make sense. Death doesn't make sense. It doesn't make sense but it still happens. A soldier who goes to war for a noble cause, only to die, that doesn't make sense. When bad things happen to good people, that doesn't make sense. Which is why you can't trust karma. Because the results aren't accurate, they aren't reliable, they aren't solid. Karma doesn't make sense. Men who kill people, they go to jail. Jail, where they can be alone, where they are fed three meals a day without earning money. They can write, they work out. And they've killed someone, and there is someone out there who has lived a perfectly good life and is digging through dumpsters for food. That doesn't make sense. The world, it doesn't make sense. They tell us what is enjoyable, what is valuable. Sex=good. Food=Bad. Diamonds=$. Souls=okay to waste. That doesn't make sense. What makes diamonds valuable? The people that buy them? The price they sell for? That they are hard to find? Are they any more beautiful than flowers, dragonflies. That doesn't make sense. Is a good man valuable? Maybe to me, not to the world. Is a good man honest? Maybe to me, not to the world. That doesn't make sense. To value riches over morals, that doesn't make sense. Low self-esteem, doesn't make sense. Comparing yourself to others when we were all created different, doesn't make sense. If God created us all different, isn't it almost an insult to him to try and all be the same? The world wasn't made to be monochromatic. That makes sense. Color, that makes sense. Feelings, they don't always make sense, but having them, that makes sense. Evolution, that doesn't make sense. The dinosaurs, they don't make sense. Did God just put the bones on the earth for human discovery? For the imagination. That makes sense. My thoughts, usually don't make sense. My dreams, never make sense. My writing, will always make the least sense.

confession time

I have a confession to make.

The only thing I've eaten all day is celery and peanut butter.

I have a confession to make.

I spend too much time on the internet.

I have a confession to make.

I wish it was Christmas.

I have a confession to make.

I want to move away to a foreign place and never see any of these people again.

I have a confession to make.

When I fall in love, I never get over them.

I have a confession to make.

I love the rain.

I have a confession to make.

I give up too easily. 

I have a confession to make.

I write on this blog way too much, considering how little attention it gets from everyone else.

A simple Metamorphosis

Standing in the doorway, I am more alone than ever. The peculiarity of my solitude doesn't phase me; the rush of the crowd brushes against my cheek. I see past the stares and the complexity of conversations whispering in my ear. I hear the breeze and I feel footsteps on the floor. My heart pounds faintly in my chest, drawing my eyes to my thoughts. I strain for the simplicity and satisfaction that tears can bring, only to find my efforts are without amends. My aperture is low, and my focus is single. Then the shutter is released; the lens is cracked. Vibrations wake me and the world comes alive. Colors appear, and the faces come clear at once. A vibrant blur, I search for familiarity in the chaos. Noise tramples my thoughts and kills my mind-wanders. The discordant sounds of voices echo in and out of my ears, a constant stream of long verbs and sharp consonants. My feet force themselves out of paralysis; I trip over my toes and shove myself against the mass. Slowly, steadily, I make progress. Nobody can tell whether it is progress or a fall; but I see improvement and only improvement. The reason? Only my instincts can tell. Perhaps I will find him, perhaps I will stumble upon my old friend. Above the crowd, he towers above the rest and calls me to his unknown, yet faintly familiar embrace. He is confidence and he is comfort. My fight against them has been fought and my struggle with my own conflicts has been realized. I allow my rigid, determined figure to relax and become limp in his arms. I welcome him, and he accepts the invitation without a particle of reluctance. My shattered everything tumbles into order and perfection, and I forget previous disarray. The images of materialism dissolve and I find beauty in myself and in others without envy. He takes me carefully by the hand and leads me along, nudging me back into a river of senses. I remember, and my productivity increases. The change I have discovered is inside of me, and my course cannot be stopped.

well this is awkward.

Coincidence.
This is what I like to call a coincidence.
I guess we could call it karma.
But whatever you would like to call it, it is
what it is.
A 25% chance can become a reality.
Or an awkward situation.
The only thing that
irritates me about you
Is everything about You.
I confuse myself
over a passerby smile.
My face lights up
at the glance of an unsuspected text.
And my eyes shine with anger
when I am unmistakably
ignored.
Honestly,
I'm over you.
But if we are still being honest,
I'm completely in love with you.
The difference between you
and me
is that we are
the same
in almost every way.
And yet,
I can't see
the way you do.
Lets pretend we are friends,
again.
You know me,
I know you,
I tell you my secrets,
and you catch me when I'm lying.
You tell me things I used to
believe were the honest truth.
Now I'm not so sure.
I'm not going to write some long sappy
poem about this,
because I tell it like it is.
And if you ever get the chance to
read this,
You'll know.