Close to 8 months ago, I went out on a whim and started this blog
as a representation of what goes on in a worked-out high school senior’s
brain, mind, feelings, and heart as he traverses his final year of formal education.
It has been a wild thrill to write, to enjoy seeing my words reach out to people
but myself, and to witness others identify me not by my awkward humor or
ingenuity when it comes to defining the word ‘random’.
I never thought I would be able to keep this blog alive, as I not once thought
why the hell would others want to know about what goes in my, fairly whimsical, head?
What is the point in laying out feelings on paper if no one knows what they mean?
How in the world does one explain what he wants from life, one he wants to explore
more and more. Am I destined to continue ending up short-handed in the physical
world that never seems to turn at the speed I want it to turn at, reflect the way I want
it to… Is that too much to ask for from a high school senior with huge aspirations
and an even bigger desire to satisfy himself and others.
Man, how come so much of my poetry stems from me being hungry for more,
spitting on what misery I seemingly have been handed.
Why would I write from a third-person if everyone knew it was me?
Does that actually help people ‘feel’ what I feel?
I love knowing I tried to satisfy the hunger of others, to know what goes in
inside one’s head, mind, body, and heart. At least the next stage of life
will bring a renewed desire for the same elegant passion for knowledge, for
diving into the world which no one can yet explain, not even me. Not even the
person who seeks to find truth behind the faces of trouble, happiness, and
conceit.
Have I done my best at trying to conquer my fears and laying myself out
like the maps I love to study on my spare time? That is, of course,
never a question I want to hear the answer for, because no one can truly
understand what others are willing to say.
For hours on end, I sometimes stare into the distance thinking about what
I am coming to, what feelings I have within me, and if they truly matter, or
they are the residue that forms beneath the dryer that washes my clothes every week.
Cleansing my soul of all the unnecessary is what I love to do. So is that what I did for the
past 8 months?
Whatever the answer is, I am so much better than I was before.
POETRY 