Forcing someone into the world of others will always be wrong, they’ll come to realize how far they are from where their passions rightfully belong. I have a vision and mind that is creative with no holds, turning blank pages into art with daily thoughts from me. The poems on this former white paper showing only lines are far from just words, creating verses that will make you think and have you saying ‘She’s good at this.’ Like the blood that flows through everyone’s veins giving oxygen to pump your heart, bringing life you’ll come to see I am the same because I was made for this. Organizing words in a way that may only make sense to me is the only way I have ever known how to express this amazing chaos I keep hidden under my chest. No longer can I allow my creative mind to lay at rest, I have been there before I know what happens next; a lifetime of nothing but shame and regret. I have broken free from a so-called reality I thought I belonged to, a dream planted in the minds of all the children who were left behind. We are all from the home of the brave, so they say but none of us were ever really free. They gave us prescriptions to alter our minds, making us believe in a lie they call reality, forcing our lives to be as fake as Ken and Barbie. No thanks, that is not the life for me I will protect my sanity, my will belongs to me. No longer believing if I were someone else I would be happy. I no longer feel lost because I am no carbon copy of those who tried to program me. Being different is a gift that I made for myself, all you need to know is you have failed at controlling me. Keep that in mind as you read through these pages of my words that I have thoughtfully arranged, these words are the only reason I have ever known me, the sole reason your attempt to brainwash never came to be, if you decide to read on I have only two words of advice; read carefully.
I am drawing a complete blank, not a damn thing coming to mind all though i have too many thoughts in my head, not a single one of them goes together, if they do then I just cannot keep up, I cannot place them in the proper order. Yes I have picked up the notebook and my favorite pen, scribbled and doodled all over it. I have torn out exactly 5 pages and Xed through 10; I have taken some time to stop and read what others have wrote, been through a list of writing prompts (which turned out comical to me, I shall post that later) and here I am, writing this garbage again. Blah blah blah am I really going through this stage again? So soon!
The time was 9:32 PM, outside was dark, the weather calm and all the creatures of the night were settled in their favorite spots in the grass, trees and bushes. I can’t really tell if they were all talking to each other, talking over each other, throwing a rad party of which that we will never witness or maybe these little creatures were just screaming, screaming their revenge for the amount of noise and the many times us humans disturb them during the day. OH! One more theory; they may just be doing what I do when I am outside at night time, cussing out and yelling at the worst offenders; the mosquitoes.
The scene inside the house is a completely different story, there is but one light on, on the bottom floor of the house, probably a couple upstairs as well but no need to picture that I will not be writing about that part of the house. We enter through the front door and please do not let those mosquitoes in! The first thing we will notice is the smell of coffee, always perfect this time of night. It is a slightly tense atmosphere, Captain is on the computer working for a few extra bucks in her tie-dyed shirt and her sleeping shorts; determined to get as much done as possible to make up for the hours she is losing at work. Not much to be said other than that, if you know her you know that posture… Stay clear she is anxious, stressed and in a hurry to get through those, we haven’t had a decent conversation in days but it’s ok because I know she works. Next I was going to describe the sound of my dog pacing through the house, obsessively cleaning herself, and scratching wherever she can reach BUT as I looked over at her she stopped, mid scratch right next to the desk Captain is sitting at and gave me the weirdest look, OH SHIT.. She knows I am about to talk about her so moving on.
The couch; my home, my bed, my hangout and my writing space when the computer is occupied. In this dimly lit room we hear the clicking of paws, the clicking of the computer mouse, the screaming bugs and a random thump, oh shit what have the cats done now? Pan over to me wearing an old pair of basketball shorts and a white tank top, pale legs and half tanned arms. Sitting on the flowery old but reliable couch, (don’t need anything fancy with as many animals as we have new is bad.. 7 cats, 2 dogs and 2 turtles) This is where I am right now with crumbled up paper, empty pen, tablet, ashtray and Pina Colada flavored Sobe surrounding me. With my trusty notebook in my lap and my 2nd favorite pen in my hand. Unfortunately this is where this story ends, I am here I have been writing this real small hoping something wonderful will strike but time as caught up with me and this is still all I have. Time 9:59 PM maybe I should call it a night?
This is Thomas aka roady our beautiful Tom cat, when I first moved in here he hid in a window and meowed all the time, was shy, hidden and as they say not him self at all. I had an instant connection with this cat he was intriguing and I wanted to break him down and bring him back out of his turmoil, it was a personal mission I refused to fail. It took a month or so of me living here, a few scratches and angry hisses later to bring him out of his dislike of me and the rest of the house it seemed. I would go spend a few minutes a time sitting by his window with him, brought him food was water because he refused to eat and touch as close to him as I could, meow with him, hiss with him and stare out that awful window. When he finally started creeping out of that room and off that hated window sill we were all happy and shocked and tried to not pay much attention to it, I’d still meow at him and talk to him, very slowly after leaving his safe place his real personality started to shine. To everyone’s surprise he stayed by my side, cuddled with me at night and became my lap cat, as the roommates said that is different he don’t cuddle, he likes people and he likes to talk when someone walks close to him. I love this cat, love cuddling, I love having conversations with him (yes it’s like a conversation when you get him going) he greets me when I walk in the door, his big eyes are very expressive he is all around expressive. Now Mr thomas has a thing where he likes to lay on my notebooks if I put one down, my roommate said it looks like he is protecting it. This morning as I was writing he kept jumping in my lap and laying right on the pages, I even put another notebook down beside me and placed him on it but no right back in my lap, so I placed two notebooks down for him and after five attempts I got him to stay on those. Maybe he did not like the subject I was writing about? Is that the true definition of writers block? A 15 pound Tom cat?