Robot Library

When did our world become so robotic. I sit in the mist of a library, a castle filled with novels and tales and I hear no silence, no indulgence and wondering of words, I hear no absorption of readers and thoughts. Instead, I hear the click clack of skin to keys, the ignorance to think independently and the manipulation of bright screens in narrowed corners.

Care to Share?

A genuine smileHer incentive tone has struck my rage. The way she is too involved in her own life to see how presumptuous she really is. No one so fake, so oblivious, so mean existed… not in real life? What made me unworthy of being included, knowing…. reasoning? What made her problems and supposed “life crisis” of boys and drama outweigh the depression of my life? Was there something wrong with me? If not, then how could a single should have so many different faces to them? Was  it a moral act to make a new comer feel more foreign then they already are? She doesn’t realize the shadow that follows her around, the “puppy” desperate for the attention she bought her for…. desperate for a genuine smile, or look….. anything. I sit at the lunch table for the pure reason to get away from everyone else, because I know i will be rejected and excluded at that table. A table meant for sharing and conversing, a table meant for everyone. Yet, I purely sit there to not talk to anyone. She says she has problems, she says she has lost faith in telling people her problems… then why does she expect people to reciprocate to her. What makes her advice better then anyone else. If she thinks that I will not understand, then she better think twice before something really bad happens to her. Has she made the effort to know me? No. Her bleak words of “I care” and “You matter” mean nothing if their actions do not perceive. I am tried of her fake face because it is her image and portrayal to the world that matter more then the people she has the possibility of having in her life. I see myself in some of these people, I see the problems I dealt with at home. I see similarity and yet they cannot figure that out. I refuse to be a subject of someone else rejection, so instead I will distance myself….I am used to longer distances that meant more anyway. But it is she I feel sorry for, she thinks her petty concerns will matter, yet he has not faced the real world, and yes I am not of much wisdom or judgment but I can tell the difference between fake and real, and I will no longer feel unwanted and neglected…my yearn for attention that she caused through her initial kindness have been lost in her meaningless words and “don’t worry about its” I am not her pet, I am not anyone’s slave… its her loss.

My heart is broken … or maybe it’s just me 

Pain. It’s so common… so familiar and yet all it does it tear me apart. I’m tired… exhausted of the heavy breaks that dark circles under my eyes. It’s so easy to say just be happy but it’s being able to breath the same air that hurts so much. I find peace in the solitude and freedom of the way the river flows so smoothly so … softly. It seems like everything that happens to me lately is just one big blow after the other. No end to the warm tears running down my face …. theybhsve left stains on my cheeks and heart. I walk because it’s the only way I know of to move forward. One step after the other … I wish life was as easy as walking. The stentch of desperation and carelessness…. all to common in my life. 

Its the Little things that count.

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One of the nannies in Mutare, Zimbabwe. Beautiful!

 

As I was preparing myself for bed (being the 11:00pm and the earliest I have gotten to sleep all week) I contemplated what exactly this post tonight should be about. See, my thoughts tend to order themselves strategically at the same time as being as abstract as possible. Its really why I have a hard time explaining myself to others…point is, I decided that all I have really posted about are my heavy and deep aspects of life. My depressions and ideas and responsibilities, but really in life its the little things that count. Hence in my title I have capitalized the word “little” giving it importance…because truth is without these “little things” we wouldn’t be able to do the”big things” right?

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Baggage Notes

 

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Children of Zimbabwe

 

One of the most interesting lines I have ever heard someone say in my lifetime is “I don’t judge”. Whether this be about someone else’s characteristics, styles or preferences, to me this is incorrect. Everyday we wake up and go about our day, unconsciously grouping aspects in our life together in order for us to better understand how the world around us works. No matter how little “judging” we think we do the truth of the matter is everybody does it. We are all apart of different groups that make us who we are, classified and placed according to the lives we are born into and the families that raise us. Although I prefer not to think of myself as a part of a “grouping, it is these exact groupings that influence my independent thoughts and how I may think about other areas of life.

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