Ink
I’ve come to realize something lately. Every time I feel the urge to scratch my pen across this paper, there is no ink for my words. Yet, every time the ink flows to my brain, circulating through my veins, I have no pen to write with. It makes me wonder how many words like mine go unsaid every single day. Then again, it makes me wonder how many words are created by sitting in silence.
But now,
I realize at this exact moment,
I have never had more to say.
I find myself writing every word that comes to my mind down on paper. Every single sentence of these pages are filled with the ideas I’ve been trying to release but never found the courage to say.
I’m writing as if every second that ticks away,
more ink will evaporate from the last pen I will ever hold.
I have to get these words out now.
And if all my words have already been said, I refuse to remain silent. My 2 cents may not buy me much, but I know without it, you can’t make a dollar.
However, I’m not looking to buy your approval. I’m not looking for anything from you, really; but if I were to ask you one thing, I would ask you this:
When I speak, please listen. Even if I speak words you don’t want to hear.
Because I’ve come to learn the things you don’t want to hear,
are the things you don’t want to believe are true.
Reality is a drive-by shooting. It creeps up behind you and in one split second -- the black blanket covering everything you thought you knew suddenly vanishes. You’re left standing paralyzed with what lies underneath, never knowing how you could be so oblivious.
The barrier of illusion between an innocent individual and the world broken open by something so small,
yet charged with so much force.
They say that some stars are so far away, that they may have already burned out 100 years ago; but here on Earth, we still see their last light before they fade away from the sky forever. Knowing this makes me wonder: how much of life is really an illusion?
So here we sit in English class and discuss ideas of existentialism and the theory of the absurd.
Life is more than absurd.
Life is a test.
But life cannot be corrected with a red pen.
Life cannot be graded with a point system and a marking on a report card.
Life is a test, but who really determines whether or not we pass?
In reality, however, I’m not this deep of a thinker. I’m just writing down whatever comes to my mind. I’m putting in my 2 cents, and hoping you can make some sense of it. I’m just writing down my experience, my lack of understanding, and my lack of understanding of what I understand.
And I’m perfectly fine with using the last pen I will ever hold
to write down all of these words
that aren’t even mine.
But now,
I realize at this exact moment,
I have never had more to say.
I find myself writing every word that comes to my mind down on paper. Every single sentence of these pages are filled with the ideas I’ve been trying to release but never found the courage to say.
I’m writing as if every second that ticks away,
more ink will evaporate from the last pen I will ever hold.
I have to get these words out now.
And if all my words have already been said, I refuse to remain silent. My 2 cents may not buy me much, but I know without it, you can’t make a dollar.
However, I’m not looking to buy your approval. I’m not looking for anything from you, really; but if I were to ask you one thing, I would ask you this:
When I speak, please listen. Even if I speak words you don’t want to hear.
Because I’ve come to learn the things you don’t want to hear,
are the things you don’t want to believe are true.
Reality is a drive-by shooting. It creeps up behind you and in one split second -- the black blanket covering everything you thought you knew suddenly vanishes. You’re left standing paralyzed with what lies underneath, never knowing how you could be so oblivious.
The barrier of illusion between an innocent individual and the world broken open by something so small,
yet charged with so much force.
They say that some stars are so far away, that they may have already burned out 100 years ago; but here on Earth, we still see their last light before they fade away from the sky forever. Knowing this makes me wonder: how much of life is really an illusion?
So here we sit in English class and discuss ideas of existentialism and the theory of the absurd.
Life is more than absurd.
Life is a test.
But life cannot be corrected with a red pen.
Life cannot be graded with a point system and a marking on a report card.
Life is a test, but who really determines whether or not we pass?
In reality, however, I’m not this deep of a thinker. I’m just writing down whatever comes to my mind. I’m putting in my 2 cents, and hoping you can make some sense of it. I’m just writing down my experience, my lack of understanding, and my lack of understanding of what I understand.
And I’m perfectly fine with using the last pen I will ever hold
to write down all of these words
that aren’t even mine.