Some speak of freedom as if it’s a choice.
It’s an ilusion.
We are bound by chains we cannot see, held down by weights we cannot feel, entrapped by walls that aren’t really there.
Cars and more.
Captives to souless, lifeless captures.
An eternity of servitude.
We are so owing to things, posessions… money.
Money makes the world go round? No. It doesn’t. Money keeps you in line, it has you under lock and key, that is why no one will ever be free.
Life is not free.
There is a price for life, do you know what it is?
That price is the same as it’s always been, and that price is life.
A life, for a life.
Life for many is a sequential play acted out day by day. Meticulously precise and never changing, the whelk keeps turning but they never go anywhere.
Anxiety, worry, stress and doubt fill their minds as the look towards the future. While all the time regret, apathy, guilt and depression eat away at their emotional being because they are stuck thinking about the past. Think about how it could have been different.
They go between the future and the past. Bouncing back and forwards. Never living in the moment, only living in the illusion of hope or retrospect.
They join the ongoing cycle of meaningless existence.
Stuck, on Rinse and Repeat.
Writing helps you understand all those little thoughts in your head. It allows you to see that you’re not alone, you only feel that way because you don’t understand what you have.
Writing allows you to love yourself and have faith in your choices. It banishes the dark clouds that creep up on you, and it gives you resolution.
Many don’t write for approval or even recognition, they write for empathy, but not in a typical sense.
I believe many write to help them connect with themselves, because the only person we have to live with is ourself. So we may as well be comfortable and honest with that person. Otherwise, life will be hard and you’ll always be left asking that ominous question:
So many try to be good.
Are we not good by nature? Is that not what it means to be accepted by friends, family and loved ones? Because who would love us if we were not good…
The struggle I see in the eyes of the masses I have written about before. Conformity is the downfall on many. The lonely surround themselves with people so that they have a place to belong, a place to call home. The linger in the past searching for scraps, no, remnants of memories long devoured by the sands of time.
I am only a simple person with a simple mind. I have hopes, dreams and desires just like any other, but, I am different. How can I claim such a thing? Because I am not afraid to hurt peoples feelings for the right reasons. I don’t tiptoe on the edge. It’s all or nothing. Too many times I hear falsities. Friends lie to each other to protect the feelings that lay in a fragile balance.
My writing is inconsistent and fragmented. It screams out, yet only a few can understand the true meanings behind my words. People will take from it what they want, be that lessons, sadness or a look in to my psyche.
Often I write about what I have learnt, only to have that lesson and its teachings broken by a new lesson. This is truly fascinating.
I am by no means the arbiter of fate, nor am I an angle among men with sight beyond sight. I am experienced though.
Your future has already been written in my past.