different point of view

"the only thing we have to fear is fear itself" -Franklin Roosevelt


Fear of failure
Fear of abandonment
Fear of challenge
Fear of jealousy
Fear of hurting another
Fear of pain
Fear of the unknown
Fear of regret


   Fearing the leap. Fear of the bad that could rise from potential good. Fear one day she wouldnt take him back. or worse: that he would even if she'd hurt him.
   Fear one day she'll be defenceless against his charm. That one day she'll care more about him, than he, her.
   Perhaps its fear of comfortability, of letting their guards down completely.

Vindictive

You pompus overbearing narcissistic clod.
Dragging everyone into your vortex of hate, dishonesty and illegitimate wrath.


inexcusable.

Failure To Maintain

Morals:   purity,   compassion,   honesty,   justness,   integrity,   honor,   faith,   ect.

We are all immoral.


Sit . . . lie. Swear you'll change. Make promises to yourself. You won't even think about it. Swear that's the last time. Your better than that. You wont. . .


Whatever 'it' was, youll do it again. Just once (you'll think). Could be you'll pick another 'it'. You'll think your making progress. But the 'it's' will haunt you. They don't go away. Each one only multiplies to taunt you; tease your senses, bait your weakness'.


Is staying away worth the constant thought, the longing, the emptiness? Could 'it' compel these emotional circumstances? Yet even more pressing: does one actually make gain from a perfect morality?

Non-Conformity

Bohemian

2. (usually lowercase) a person, as an artist or writer, who lives and acts free of regard for conventional rules and practices

  

  Punk era, where did you go?

  What happened to the rebelious youth everyone was tired of but secretly inspired by? The kids in tight jeans, studded belts, & various leather pieces? Their piercings were offensive. Language: crude. Tension: high. Yet passion raced through their vains..

  Authority was more than watchful; parents prayed that their sons and daughters wouldn't fall into the 'trend'. The visual aggression each punk kid radiated put people on edge. Perhaps that was their fuel.

  They, began the friend-family. They showed us that friends wernt to be casually used and dumped. Friends were of a higher significance. You stood by them no matter what. Support&Acceptance. You faught for friends, cried with them, protected them, died by their side for them if nessicary. Battles wernt avoided because there was no threat, the alliance you'd built would stand by you; save you and pick up any misplaced pieces for you. 

  Punk wasnt just a style. It wasn't about the liberty spikes, ultra-urban music or the 'start something' persona. Punk was about pushing limits, youths testing themselves, & the fight for independence on your own terms. Punk was about recognizing the unappreciated and creating an intense appretiation for it. This included art ,friendships, music and relationships alike.

  Was it a coincidence that as soon as kids desired diversity in their appearance parents started fearing what they might become? Rebellious. Angry. Stubborn. Maybe negative responses were caused by parental restritions. Perhaps the reaction of authority caused the distance & rebellion. Punk became a target of negativity.

  What was the peer reaction like? I wish id been present and had the ability to tell you. But, honestly, kids dont change. Sure, over decades they've become slighty more accepting. But mostly youth is a bunch of judgmental pukes each on a high horse of their own. A few old souls tossed in along with those arresting the maturity level of a jumping bean....and now, now you've got a solid mix.

  I would tend to think kids either loved the idea and began to live the life style for themselves or hated it and began talking about how much they loathed it, disassociating themselves from punk individuals & eventually causing conflict. Not to say the end result punk persona didn't welcome the agression but they didn't fight it either. 
  'punk' became a massive support network. Setting trends, pushing limits, fighting for true freedom. Theoretically they were invincible.

a forward text..

Why? Why do you make me like this? Libidinous, lascivious, licentious. Ravenous.
Just your name and you've sent me spiraling. I sit lost in thoughts of you.
Your body. Your sweet soft skin on my own. Your breathe. Your clothes, on the floor. It's a craving for you. You. You. You.

envision: desire bold in your eyes, the way your lips meet mine. Embrace me. Take me. Have your way. Let me rip your clothes off. I can't help but devour you. I want to reach your most sensitive spots, create tremors within you. explore you. I grasp your hips, behind your neck. Rough then gentle. Bite my lip, wisper my name.

You make me breathless.

Route Change.

Dear Perfect Life,
You go something like this:
Childhood. High school. College. Meet significant other. Begin career. Get engaged. Continue working. Get married. Buy suburban house. Continue working. Build up savings. Have kids. Continue working. Raise kids. Retire. Hope your kids do the same.


As easy as you would be . . . I don't want you anymore.

The Home Body

comfort: to be completely at ease. 

   Its a box. A box in a bigger box, full of other boxes. 

   Its your room, your way, just how you like it. 

   Out of all the ones you've had there's one you like best. For no specific reason it's just right; your beds angle, old trincuts in the window, the space where you toss your dirty clothes, the way that picture set the whole room and made you smile when you walked in, the shadow cast by your dream catcher, or how you could see every letter sitting in that box in your closet when you forgot to shut the doors. The room wasnt a room, it was home. 

   You log uncountable hours there. Sitting, standing, pacing. It isnt your friend. Its a piece of you. The things that change you happen there. Its where you think. Not the thinking about that vocab test, or your shoes. The thinking that forms ideas. Those moments, in that room, form the thoughts that become and change your generations effect on the world. They do more than dream, they reationalize and prioritize. Those moments decide how you live. 

   You lay there before you sleep, or after shcool, on break, whenever, and you question everything: all you've been told, all you've seen, and how its going to change your progression as a person. You grow more in this room than anyone will ever realise because to them its just a room. Its not a creative outlet, a  mixing pot, a safe haven or the place you'll never forget. Its four walls. Here, where the comfort seeps outward, you grow. At a ripe sixteen, when all you know is in the past and all you want is in your hands, the tolerance for error is miniscule. Its the growth in your room, your home, that has lead you to this conclusion. All your thinking has shown you that the 'leaders', the people that our elders regret they didnt become, (mostly)dont just fall into their fortune. They sat alone in their dorms planning, thinking, meditating toward their goals. The goals they mapped long before in that hearth of a room. The blue print of their lives that only insensative unwavering hard work would produce. They knew it would take that much, they had gained wisdom from the hours of reflection in that room. They knew that each step dictated more than what was presented. 

   They would hope the most would be made of our teenage safety cushion and the most would be gained from poor and grand judgement alike. In honor of them, I solomely swear to do the best, learn the most, and gain as much wisdom as I can in the time I have left before adulthood.

Heres to continuous growth.