vapor

a sociology class later and i see the deep, dingy, dark holes.

there scattered through my life like swiss cheese.

i see what I've done to not fill them. i see all the things iv never talked about that have made them deeper.

i see straight fucking through them. i can see the blood oozing in through the bottom.

is it possible the abnormalities i've felt my whole life aren't so abnormal. I live with these secrets, these pink elephants are coffee tables in my living room. they double as sofas for my guest's to sit on. and never till now, has it been so fucking clear. my problems, my anxiety. My longing and needing for everything thats not there.

my addictions, my infatuations, my desperation's.

but why now must they surface? why at this time in my life, when everything should sail by smoothly and effortlessly, after all this hard work, all i've fought, sweat, and bled for.

All i've endured, all i've fucking endured. i feel like i've been through so much shit. so much emotional stamina it has taken to get through my years. so much fighting, and struggling to keep my head above the water. And for awhile, i felt ok. i felt at peace. with myself. and my life.

and now this. this endless hole, the bottom falls out and its over.

and its true. as much as i don't want to believe it. i've always felt off. as a child. outcasted. spit out. wrong. bad. stupid. fat. ugly. there's been times, where things click for awhile. but its mostly been so sad. And i thought it was normal, something that would pass? get better? go away? but it just keeps drilling through. picking out the pieces it wants to hollow.

will i eventually dissipate into nothing?

Compos Sui

i often forget what im doing with myself. i forget who i am, i forget what i've accomplished, only to forget what i am capable of.

If there was ever a time in my life that i've been lost it would have to be now. my head spins, my heart sits cold and silent behind my ribs. there is no paint under my fingernails. my camera case holds four months worth of dust, grey and uninviting.
Yet my legs are sore, my back throbs. my hands pulse from my late night boxing sessions. red welts grace my elbows. Its the only thing that makes me feel alive and ready when running has not. my anguish rests inside two white gloves that wait for my blows of frustration into the humid night air. I sequence kicks and punches to a bag. our shadows stretch together, ghost like across the empty field lit only by private airport lights. My blows intesify as i think about every split i didnt meet on the track, i feel my anguish leave through poised shoulders, bent elbows and a perfect shot to the blue bag. My troubles spill out every pore. For a while ill feel mended, well, confident, sure.

I am the master of myself. My own director.

to overcome

its that wave of emptiness that washes over you. turning you over and holding you under its powerful grasp. But its so meaningless, this wave. You should be able to defeat it, and stand up. you should be able to breath, you are strong. this wave can not hold you under, today you will not drown. And now its all over, the pressure, the pain. All that it took to hold your self up, and not break down into pieces. All the things you've done to overcome. your legs are tired of kicking. your lungs are fragile porcelain structures. your hands shake with adrenaline. and your heart...

your heart feels as if its carefully been removed from your chest and opened for the world to see. But you don't care. because this is it. this is life. and you've defeated it.

push

i couldn't tell you what I'm doing here, or why i decided to make this move. being stuck i suppose. feeling out of options. for the sake of spontaneity. for the sake of my own sanity.

how ironic. now my sanity breaches the line of crazy. These flat stretches of Bentleys and Beamers, overdressed old people, and lifeless humid mid afternoons. Iguana's don't even lie lifelessly atop tree branches anymore.

I was cutting onions last night in my dark, empty apartment. Usually its the onion that makes you cry, it must have been the emptiness that finally got to me because i found my self on the floor, back against the ugly particle board cabinets, sobbing my heart out. For someone, anyone, to reach a hand out and tell me this wasn't a mistake. To tell me I'm only human. To tell me this life is meant for things like this. How else will you ever know what you really want out of it unless you have to sit in dark empty kitchens and cry everything you got left onto the hideous linoleum floor.

your that little thing busting your ass up hills, and down stretches on the 101. mastering the technique, of a wave, a race, a fucking sociology class. i wont stop until i get it right. even if that means making my way back to cali.

my hearts still a little broken, my confidence is still a little busted. but I'm still pushing hard.

everything works out in the end, and if it still hasn't worked out, then its not the end.