A Look Inside My Head

Untitled Eleven

Now I know that I am just another face that is surely soon to be forgotten.
But I ask for you to listen to my words that I speak,
No, I'm not saying that you must agree, as we are all have our own views of life.
Please let my words do more than just echo throughout these endless walls, that seemingly rise up to the sky.
I ask of you to soak up each syllable that I spew from my dry lips. Let each word fill up your shoes of empathy, almost to the point of overflowing, like a dam about to burst.
I'll be damned if I just waste time up here, st-st-stuttering each word, with such immature topics.
Please forgive me if I sound too self righteous, for I use my aura of confidence to mask the insecurities and depression that pick away at the utter essence of my being.
No one else is to blame for my shame except myself, because yes, I suppose every bullet of venom being shot at me, wether it be with ill intentions or a mere friendly fire has only just added to the crumbling remains of who I am.
I could go ahead and blame the society of today, although it's responsible for more than just self consciousness, every person. Hell, even myself, cringes at the though of being wrong. Of facing our demons, mistakes. I hear so many people repeating the words "Mistakes are how you learn" if mistakes are how you learn, than wouldn't we have solved problems such as pollution, self doubt, war, rape, hell, even the most mundane of things. Because yes, I do suppose you learn, although how are you to learn when a mould is tearing you down and forming you into the "perfect person" telling you who you should be, and who you shouldn't?
But who am I to tell you how to live your life? I'm just another ticking time bomb that's soon due to hit zero.
Ive been asked "why do I see the negative things I life" by many people. Well to answer that question, hell, the question I often ask myself at times.
I see the shadows that hide in every brightly lit room, I see every false intention, Every act of selfishness, for who else will? I could chose to look outside at a busy street during lunchtime rush, and see the wandering gazes, bright flashes of smiles and memories, that would be much easier, and often times I myself, lean towards the idea of being blissfully ignorant. Yet, the darkness of the smiles, the slight falter of the lips being pulled upwards, the greedy glance of a man waiting for his next victim, that's what's imprinted in my head. Burned into the blank, and ripped pages of my mind. A constant film, that seemingly won't go away, I am my own enemy in a sense.
Cliche, I know.
I know that many of you think that already, criticize themselves enough for a crowd of thousands, or at least, I know I do.
But who am I to spout these opinions that mean nothing. Have no value in the black and white edges of life, these "answers" to everything.
What I say is not the truth, nor is it lies. Everything we see isn't a matter of yes or no, but a matter of who. Who saw what. Perspective is a difficult thing to explain, for I only have one. And yes, I many be wrong a lot of the time. But in my perspective, that's learning. Nothing is black or white, perhaps it may seem that way for lots of people, yet if you look closely, you may be able to see the smudges of charcoal, graphite grey, that is blended between the two polar opposites.
Why must we profile Homo sapiens by the pigment of their skin, sexuality and outwards appearance? Why judge others that are here for the exact reason as you are? And no, I won't give you an answer to why life is given, I'm not entitled to give such an answer for a question seemingly unsolvable. Because yes, there could be thousands of answers, yet which one is true? How am I to answer a question that even I don't have a suggestion for? What does it matter to you that I look different, like different things, see things in a different light? It's not like I matter anyways.
I am not afraid of death. But don't be alarmed, there is a difference between not fearing the inevitable, and craving it. I want to pursue a career in the military, and I often come across the question "aren't you afraid to die?" Well no, why should I fear the ultimate fate? Something that is bound to happen, wether it be today, tomorrow, or years away.
If I am one of those people that doesn't fear it, yet will come face to face, staring off with the reaper itself, why should I let him come to me? If it's an impending fate, I have the right to say how and when I leave this cryptic of a world.
Maybe I don't fear the blanket of nothingness because I have already experienced it, the moment when no thoughts clog your mind, swinging like a pendulum, each swing dragging it closer down to my head, barreling down at me like an axe.
But no, alas it silences the usual deafening tones of the incurable screams. Yes, I welcome the idea of disappearing, but I don't crave it.
Often times, I crave the sense of belonging. Many people do, but why should we crave to belong, crave to be identical like dolls being made in a factory called the education system? I'm not disagreeing with the idea of school and education, but the execution of it all, is the mirror image of a trial back in the Middle Ages.
The whole thing is obsolete, yet who am I to say that something is obsolete when the mere existence of me, us, everyone is obsolete in a sense. We have no purpose. But we hand craft our purpose, sculpting every edge, curve, angle of ourselves, constantly shoving away the inspirations and moulds that society was and always will try to fit us in. Because we are our own artists, we are the sculptors, the clay, and the masterpiece.