4N

I am grateful, yet anxieties are great.

Survival is the mission of this life. If I’m still alive, am I still winning? Am I still in the race to become America’s next top model?

You’re supposed to have the most faith when things are tough. That’s when you’re supposed to lean on God the most. I think it’s so you don’t kill yourself - so they give you the GREATEST thing ever be your crutch. The creator, the universe, existence and etcetera. I’m still in the game. Anything is possible.

Has anyone ever been scared of their own ideas? So you shrink them and without realizing it yourself, you’ve shrunken yourself too.

Tomorrow I will be brave and I will have action. Tomorrow I will lead and tomorrow I will work hard. And the day after, and the day after, until it is finally time to rest. I yearn for rest, more than anything. I wish these waters would flow calmy and flourish the grass with flowers.

Why do they sell love to us? They should have told us to dream of work.

su-n-s-e-t:

(via heavenly-garden)

It was great it was beautiful it was wild it was sad

I had a dream that I was in a warehouse, lit by skylights, with electric cables weaving through industrial metal racks filled with pallets and boxes. Birds were everywhere here, sitting on the wiring, hiding in the shelves, flying about. I’m at a table drawing and someone I know comes by and looks at what I’m drawing. A rib I think. She says its good, very good and more people come to look. I feel good about it, but I leave and I am in India. Maybe not like India in the movies, but it feels like a city in India. The air is damp and humid but cool like a winter morning. It feels peaceful and refreshing. There are skyscrapers and old gray dusty temple ruins.

If I were to think about my thoughts throughout the day, I can sort them in two genres:

Life is beautiful…
Life is sad…
Life is beautiful…
Life is sad…

Indeed, life is beautiful, but it can also be sad. Perhaps there is beauty in sadness, but is there sadness in beauty?

This question is too broad. Beauty is sad maybe because of how transient it is, a delicate power. Yet, there is also beauty in the destruction of beauty. It’s the aftermath that’s ugly. Anyways, not to beat around the bush any longer, but I am sad and it doesn’t feel very beautiful. Perhaps this struggle is a thing of beauty but it really doesn’t feel like it.

I am a person facing ruin and the only hope I have is that I can come out a new person. If birth is hard, what does rebirth feel like? I’m not sad like before, when the only thing I ever wanted was love. Yet love did not heal me. It disappointed me, time and time again. It was disappointment that was healing me. Because I want more now. I want better. But I feel so immaculately stuck, like a fish in a tank, like a bug under glass. I am pounding on the walls to set me free.

I only have God to turn to these days. I don’t think anyone can help me. At the end of every minute to hour of advice, no one can do the work for you but you. I grip the steering wheel and I say my pleas to God, please! Are you there? Am I talking to myself?

I feel like my whole life I’ve been doing useless things. All my pursuits have been such trivial expressions of … something.

There’s definitely a genre of gay that just loves… beautiful things. Perhaps we wish to possess the beauty that men so often are infatuated with, but never really capturing it. So instead we become tastemakers for women - dressing them up, painting their faces, brushing their hair. Women simply possess a natural beauty we envy.

For many years, I chased this but to no avail. I went to school for the wrong things. I have no understanding what women like. I can only offer them my male gaze. When I was younger I wanted to be in fashion so badly. Perhaps that interest was just a product of all these fashion shows that appeared on the telly when I was a teenager. Perhaps it was just to be in the epicenter of beauty. But I don’t even bother shopping nowadays. I don’t trust my taste anymore. I’d rather look like a slob. Am I old now? I have that blasé-ness that old people just have.

What am I doing with my life? All these jobs look so… serious. I’m not qualified. I don’t want to do this. I don’t know what I want to do anymore. And on the same side of the coin, I’ve done everything,

When I hear the word “successful,” it sounds like a faraway land. A mythical Far East. The Orient. A place where people are happy and satisfied with their jobs. I hear “hashtag love my job” and I shrivel up inside.

I wanted to be a pop star so badly, and maybe that was a projection too, influenced by the mass communication of record labels and MTV. My voice isn’t beautiful enough. My body has grown stiff from the gym after years of proving my masculinity. Dancing is hard. Singing is hard. I’m old. No one will care.

I keep complaining to my therapist I want a new job. This one’s not enough. But when I ask myself what I want to do… it’s blank. This part of me is dead, or dying.

I used to be so honest with myself yet I never really figured out what my purpose was. I just like finding beautiful things and looking at them, but in a world like this, it seems rather useless. I wish I knew.

She pulls this card. It represents conflict, either internal or external. I feel both. The next one represents decisions. “You’re overwhelmed by choices.” She says I have limiting beliefs of myself. “‘What 'should’ and 'shouldn’t’ and 'what’s 'supposed to be’ doesn’t look good on you.” After years of feeling people were holding me back, now I’m holding myself back. Funny. Not really, actually. Ironic.

Everything boils down to money huh? Either you create or do something people need… or you create something people want. If I were beautiful, people would just give me money for my attention and time. I would be paid for existing and feigning interest. What a dream. What a fantasy. I’m smart right? And yet, I don’t feel like it.

I’m a mess and now I’m blasé now from age, from life. What do I want to do?

I can’t do that. I don’t know where to start. I don’t know how to run a business. I don’t know how to get people to care. I have applications to submit. I’m tired. It’s all too much. I can handle it and yet, I don’t want to. I wish I could start over. I wish I didn’t feel behind. I wish I knew. Truth is, I’m scared.

kellisanth:

(via spongebobssquarepants)

The fantasy of u

Like my fingers trailing south

A kiss of your touch

Can fulfill a drought