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my father is a scumbag. why do i still love him and seem to be more and more like him as i grow?

before i go to sleep at night i pray to god that i'm going to dream about you because it's the only time i'm allowed to be part of your life.

my father used to tell me that every ounce of pleasure is bought with an equal ounce of pain, and for a very long time i believed it, if for no other reason than to help me through difficult times by being able to tell myself that it would all be okay later - something would get better ( Read more... )

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there is nothing more potent and motivational towards the application of the arts than failure. i find, oftentimes, the application of my own personal happiness makes for, perhaps, more quick writings; more happy little sonnets and limericks. however, my deepest and most [personally] respectable works have all been deeply influenced by the anger, ( Read more... )

sometimes i have so much anger and hate in my heart, i forget myself ( Read more... )

i feel like i have no time for anything so often that i forget that i, realistically, have almost all the time in the world ( Read more... )

it's the most beautiful thing.

slight and purple and blurred and dark,
it's the last kiss - the last souvenir
i might ever get.
i look at it often, since i spend
a moderate amount of time in the gym,
i like to see it.

people ask how it got there
and i smile,
missing the source.
but it makes me sad too.
it is the end.
never again.

(I wanted, originally, to go to UC Davis. I was rejected, along with almost every other college I applied to. The only one i had gone out of my way to apply to that had accepted me was a very small liberal arts college in the-middle-of-nowhere Massachusetts. A few UCs decided to throw me a bone and i had the selection of Merced, Santa Cruz, and ( Read more... )