The ones who could never blend in with the herd, even if they wanted to. Peace, Love, Tolerance and Tranquility, as my homie Scriv Says.
I have come to accept certain things in life. I have accepted that I will, most likely, die at a young age. I have accepted that I will, more than likely, die alone. I have accepted that, in all actuality, my emotions are of little consequence to most.
It is not self pity or self deprivation that makes me accept these things things. It is what I have seen and what I have experienced. I once stated that “everyone lies” in an earlier post. This I still believe. I fall under that categorization of “everyone”. But what I lie about is, I hope people will come to see, in their best interests. If they can sleep a little bit easier where they are, then perhaps my existence has not been fruitless. Not to say that I am a martyr or anything to that degree. But perhaps, in a sense, a pariah. If all of the people that I care for could unanimously focus their maliciousness and discontent towards me, then perhaps they could spend more time loving one another. To be hated and shunned and alone. I will embrace that life if it helps those that I love come together and be truly and sincerely happy..
All I’ve been able to do is stare at my ceiling. For the past four days. There is no drive in me to see anything through. I keep staring. I trace the lines in the cracked, chipped paint with my eyes, almost wondering if the answer to life is stuck underneath the dirty exterior. I’ve been here before. This is nothing new. The chasm that seems to grow day by day. There’s an absence in my life that I can’t seem to fulfill. I feel selfish and petty. My life is not bad in comparison to millions of others. But I am not in comparison to millions of others. This is my life. And I am unhappy. And I do not know what to do about it.
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Damn you look good, babe
Wearin nothin but my sheets
Yea I know it’s late,
And we should prolly b asleep
But tomorrow’s never promised
In fact, we prolly shouldn’t be
In the position we’re in
Wit u grindin’ on me
But we’re alone and we both grown
We ain’t no strangers to sticks or stones
We both got our scars from one another
Some we inflicted on our own
So tell me, what’s on yo mind?
What do you need?
What makes you happy?
What helps you breathe?
Is it the inexplicable “us”?
Or just the thought of what could be?
If we stay friends then, real talk, I’ll be happy, I’ll be straight
But lemme kno what’s really crackin, you gonn leave or u gonn stay?
“I can’t seem to stay away from you for forever” is what she told me. This wasn’t the first time we’d had this talk… It wouldn’t be the last. Things would be fine for a week or so and then we’d fall back into the same routine. One of us would cop attitude. The other’s pride wouldn’t allow them to concede the point. We’d end up saying a lot of shit that neither of us meant. We’d stop talking for a couple months, and then the cycle would resume. This seemed to be our norm. This love/hate thing. But it wore on me. How much longer was I willing to do this? I’d always been raised on that belief that all a man has in this life are his balls and his word. And he should never break either for any one. I remember, years ago it seems, I told her I’d loved her. And that a piece of me always would. She’d been the third woman I’d said that too. And I meant it. I still loved her. Even when we were at each others throats, metaphorically clawing and biting and ripping at one another like we were rabid. Like all we wants to do was leave but the OTHER was holding us back. That was never the case. We did this shit to ourselves. Who can say why? Perhaps we derived some perverse pleasure, having someone in our lives that we knew we could abuse and scar, knowing they’d always be there. It’s an ugly beautiful thing we have. And it lives and breathes till this day… We love the fact that we hate to love
I’m tempted to erase you now and never hear from you again
For two years, we’ve been struggling, attempting to be friends
But things don’t stay simple for long, something intervenes
We both feel a lingering emotion, but can’t decipher what it means
Or perhaps it’s just my imagination and you’re just fucking with my head
It’s easier living life when you walk around half dead
Know I’m prolly ridiculously late, but Angel Haze got off on dat cypher
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