What Life Means to Me

This is a free-write that I recently discovered in the process of composing my journals for my English class. Add some breaks and batta-bom. Poetry- or at least something interesting to read.

Life means different things to me at different times.

When I am happy, slept well, distressed: I typically look at life as an adventure to explore. 

Never ending twists and turns. 

Bam. Make it happen.

When I am looking at the stars or the sunset, I see the world as a puzzle.

The mystery and wonder is mine to contemplate.

Logic, luck, glamour.

I feel small. Insignificant even. 

I ponder my meaning.

Life feels like a game to won.

Sometimes life pisses me off.

There are times I don't see the point.

We come. 

We live.

We die. 

We come into life unable to physically do anything.

Then we are bound by society to conform to their morals. 

After we are "old enough" to make decisions for ourselves, finances trap us.

We work.

We sweat and cry until we are too old to physically do anything.

Then our minds leave us. 

Then we're gone.

Alone.

Dark,

Free?

I consider myself a hopeful person.

I believe Jesus is coming back for me.

Life should be a party.

Yet, we let Greed, Anger, and Insecurites get in our way. 

Life is about letting go.

Life is acceptance.

Life is meant to be good.

It is up to us.

Perspective is everything.

Without it, life can be nothing.

i merely am

my world isn't fading.
death is nowhere to be found.
there is nothing on the line.
i merely long for the long forgotten sense of recognition.


my memory is irreparably damaged of knowledge of acceptance and meaning.
i'm not depressed. 
i'm not enthused.
i'm not aware.
i merely am.


i don't melt at Your words.
Your presence settles me into a comfortable state of familiarity. 
there is no fear.
there is no reward.


to continue to force a belief that there is more is pathetic.  
i deserve at least that.
there is assurance in solidity of knowledge.


i don't long for my predisposed and ignorant understanding of love.
attraction is formed through a chemical reaction in our brains at the sight of another being that arouses us.


how romantic.


Your conversations don't capture me in a suspension of exploding desire like they used to.
the sight of You no longer stirs a response from the man within me.
any eloquently written scripts of love and passion devolved to superficiality and a weak attempt of persuasion. 


i only wanted to be wanted.
You're arms are cold.
hold me tighter.