something i wrote not too long ago, didn't know where to put this, as it is a writing but it isn't a story and yeah.. At the time of writing my mind's afloat. Thoughts saddle on top another like alienating layers of fabric. They knit and twist with near eternity almost perennially beckoning to my current discomfort. Through the horizontal divide of curtain blinds I stare at the small arc of moon that in turn stares back at me. Eyes watery with curiosity and longing I compare myself to a star. I'm lost in the same vastness of an infinite space. It feels that I might be attached to everything and still desolate while reflecting and repelling light simultaneously. I feel as if I'm insignificant. That at any moment I'll flicker and burn out. A dead lamp. What should I believe in? What do others think of me, what would others think of me? If they only knew. I've been brought up as Christian in a Christian family but my views differ from my family. I've thought so much about becoming Wiccan/Pagan or Buddhist or even an Atheist though I can't say with any certainty that I'd be a good true atheist. There has to be something there in the cosmos, looking down on us, or something in some other universe where our hearts sit glowing and our dreams and happiness are granted. My beliefs are clear in that I believe everyone should be who they want to be and who they are, religion shouldn't stop you from being you or prevent anyone from anything that is good natured. I ponder these things as frequent as the blood flows in my body. And so often I wonder about purpose. Trying to acquire meaning in the things I do and liberty for what I live for. Searching in everything for perseverance and obstinacy, calling and ambition, I'm left vulnerable. Like a novel without conflict or moral. I can't explain it, it'd be useless to even try and the closet that I can do is to somewhat paraphrase my emotions. Belittled and ashamed at my curiosity and my want I feel disheartened. It's frightening to realize the persistence of one's fears. That unmerciful savage that summons recognition with dominance. That animal that whispers "I will order and you will obey" Not wanting to comply I must regardlessly do so for I am ruled by my own adherence of purpose. It may seem strange but paradoxically these things neither stall me or set me back. Instead they drive me forward. Because I know that somewhere there is an answer that I might one day obtain. Somewhere there is a person that is thinking on the same line that I'm thinking on. An invisible transit of familiarity. Still greedily I want more. Demand more. Need more. Knowing is not enough. Knowing is only the beginning. I want to love and to care and to live while at the same time I want to run and to be free and to die. I want to be born anew and I want to find that person out there who ever it may be that understands but isn't exactly like me. Like opposing poles of a magnet I want diversity and contrast. I want to be the heavy dark ink that settles onto thin paper and is seeping though. To make myself known. It may sound possessive and it may be but I cannot deny my natural attributes whether they're gifts or flaws. We all have our frailties and as hard as it may be to accept these truths, I believe that we should embrace them. There's more to this though than just curiosity and longing. There's the fact that I want to express my ideals and my beliefs. I don't want to force anyone to feel like I do but to feel a sense of empathy for the chance that they might go though what we all go through. Sadness and disappointment, happiness and heart break. That is one of the reasons I write poetry. To turn emotion into words that in turn, turn words into emotion. To make people feel or to make them feel contradictory apathetic towards an event or experience. In all honesty I want to break their hearts. It may be sadistic or it may not be. I think that's kind of irrelevant as long as what I write touches someone in some way. If they think or mull over the words then it makes me feel as if I've accomplished something. It makes them feel that they're human. Even though at times my writing is repetitive I try my best to convey feeling in my poems or stories. They might not necessarily all be about real events but the emotion I put into them are real. Often my writings leave me depressed and pessimistic and feeling empty. Often I'm confused and bewildered into solitude and gloominess. Where grandeur is far and long between. Still I'll never give up. I'm very interested in physiology and sociology. There's something about the question "why" that draws me to it. "Why do people react this way, or that way" "What if they were told this or that" and "Why do we do the things we do and what for" "Is there meaning in the most basic of things?" "Where do we come from?" Those things and more pull on me without any sympathy. Even if I'm in an abyss of cycles and thoughts and concerns, a love triangle between us. I guess that's the way of the world Because of all these things I hope. It's a deadly thing to behold because it's the one thing that can make me think and feel indefinitely isolated and non accompanied but most of all makes it me feel that at any one particular moment; my life will flicker out like a lit candle sat outside in the wind. The stars go about their whispering journeys in a night sky and all I feel is a sense of being unknown. The vastness of the universe too big for even me. Cast aside and waiting for an answer. I'm both an oxymoron and an ail of insignificance