with every word

Somehow, I want to be able to write so much better than I do. So much better than I think I do in my mind. So much better than I now think possible. Sometimes I feel like I’m living a lie, begging to become better at something I hardly practice at. I’m not really a writer, I just pretend to be. Like everything in my life, I manipulate the truth until it is appealing until it’s what my life should be.

It’s almost the start of a new year, and I hate new years resolutions but if there was one thing I would try to promise myself is to stop pretending. In more than just writing, in what I say I am, in what I would like to be, and in what I show people.

Maybe then I can cope with reality. 

what is love?

what is love?

im caught in a daze of confusion
an era where men is men and women is women
people mention this multiple time
but still

what is love?

i never felt this before.
does it gives you butterfly?
or a feeling so deep you could just broke down and cry?

what is love?

is it just a form of amusement?
or a toy to fool around with?

what is love?

i couldnt find it in my dictionary
i search it for years but never once got it

im caught in a daze of confusion
everywhere, everyone has it plastered on their forehead
should i have that too?
but where and how?

love taught me to lie, to hide.
i’m 18 now and yet, i still walked away
walk away from knowing whats the true meaning was

why am i not getting it?
i am not so different than all of them
i wanted to consider the word love to be real

but how?

Introduction.

Hello, very pleased to meet you.
I’m very new here so do give me time.
I suppose you want to know more than face value.
How much you get depends on how much you want to know?
How far down does my rabbit hole go?
One step in, and everything seems alright. Organized. Normal.
Walk a little further, and everything gets a little stranger.
Not anything from one era. Not anything spur of the moment either.
Everything been there, stewing, waiting for an escape.
A mish mash of all sorts of sources, enough so that it seems somewhat original.
But everything is just a copy of a copy of a copy.