When does it end? I suppose the proper answer is never. There seems to be no end to the troubles and trials of some people. I don't necessarily think I'm one of them. I mean, yeah, stuff has happened to me, but not that much stuff. It's like they can't get away from it. No matter where they go or what they do. Honestly, sometimes, it makes me angry.
I feel scatter-brained. I can't seem to collect my thoughts at the moment. I'm angry because of the junk that keeps happening to my friends, and angry and sad that some of them keep taking it out on their friends, and I'm tired. Sometimes, I'm even tired of caring. I'm tired of feeling like I want to do something to help and being able to do nothing. I'm tired of the conflict. I'm tired of it. I just want to sit and do nothing, or rather, just whatever I want. I want to read books and play video games and shop for wedding dresses and cook my own food so that it tastes like REAL food. I want to be done with school. I want to be married. I want... to stop thinking about what I want. I want to stop being so selfish, but I don't really know how at the moment.
I can't just stop wanting and thinking about what I want. What am I supposed to do about it? Am I just supposed to say forget it? I don't really know what to do. I care. And I don't want to.
So I guess right now I'll just take a shower and get to bed.
Love
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Unbeautiful and Other Thoughts
I guess that this will be my first ever blog. I don't know if that's important or substantial or anything, and I don't really know what to start out with even. Do I start with something simple, mild, and slightly bland to make sure I don't scare people off? Or should I post on something hilariously funny to keep them coming back for more? Maybe I should start off with my most outrageous thoughts just to get them out of the way? I don't really know. I think I'll just start with a poem or song or something.
All the unbeautiful faces of me,
The things I can't hide that I don't want to be;
The parts of myself that I don't think you'll love;
That I'll only show you if push comes to shove;
The part of my soul that wants to die
Though it wants to be dead it doesn't know why;
The part inside me that wants to hate you
To hate you because I'm not able to;
The part of me that is lonely and cries
That hides all my fears with smiles and lies;
The part of me that's so angry it screams
Waking up wishing life was a bad dream;
The part that's hopeless, lost, afraid
Knowing it won't make the grade;
All of my faces inside my heart
All are so different but still are a part
Of the stuff that makes me, the one you think you know
But you only see the part of me that I show
So I wonder if you'll love me when I am real
With unbeautiful faces, walls of concrete and steel
When my hair is all messy and my face is all red
Will you love the real me, or another instead?
Will you wipe off my tears, kiss my eyes when I cry,
And bring out the best me so I learn to fly?
Will you love who I am, and who I might be
And all the unbeautiful faces of me?
I wrote this poem during my senior year of high school. It's kinda depressing at first glance, but there is much more to it that goes unwritten. I know that those faces are all negative things, but I'm not actually a negative person. Those faces are the "unbeautiful" parts of myself. There are other parts of me that I know can be seen as beautiful; my passion for friends and music, my sensitivity, my hope, my silliness. The idea was just that there is so much more to a person than what we may think we see. The reason we don't get to see all of a person may be because they are afraid they won't be loved for who they are in totality. And the sad part is, it's sometimes true. I've met people who didn't try to hide who they were, and for it they were shunned or avoided. But these people who don't pretend, and don't hide, they seem so much happier than the people I meet who spend all their time wearing masks.
It's an interesting thought, really. Being yourself. Being you. The majority (99.9% I think it was) of human DNA is identical to the rest of humanity because it's all about what things are and making them work. What makes us different, then, is that tiny minority. That .01% is all we've got. It gives us the speed of our metabolism and mental processing, and the color of our hair and eyes. That's all. Everyone is unique, everyone is individual. What matters is being us.
To think that the God of the whole universe could have done things so differently. He could have made it so that the majority of our DNA was all about our identities. But instead He gave us a tiny point-zero-one-percent to create ourselves. It says in Genesis that He created male and female in His image. But what image were the first man and woman supposed to project when they'd seen so little of the work that we have stored up for us in the Bible? The only thing they had seen so far of God was that He created. So then, we are supposed to create as well. We are supposed to be creative.
For some reason I think He knew that we couldn't handle much when it came to life. So, He gave us all we could handle. He created us so that we could create ourselves. And of course we messed it up. We can't create ourselves in His image. We fall short. So we call on His name and He starts to be our re-creator. He is a potter, taking the clay of our hearts that we tried to shape ourselves and fixing it, reshaping it, until it looks more like the creative image of the creator.
Wow, this blog is a lot longer than I expected it to be, and I need to go bake.
Love Never Fails
All the unbeautiful faces of me,
The things I can't hide that I don't want to be;
The parts of myself that I don't think you'll love;
That I'll only show you if push comes to shove;
The part of my soul that wants to die
Though it wants to be dead it doesn't know why;
The part inside me that wants to hate you
To hate you because I'm not able to;
The part of me that is lonely and cries
That hides all my fears with smiles and lies;
The part of me that's so angry it screams
Waking up wishing life was a bad dream;
The part that's hopeless, lost, afraid
Knowing it won't make the grade;
All of my faces inside my heart
All are so different but still are a part
Of the stuff that makes me, the one you think you know
But you only see the part of me that I show
So I wonder if you'll love me when I am real
With unbeautiful faces, walls of concrete and steel
When my hair is all messy and my face is all red
Will you love the real me, or another instead?
Will you wipe off my tears, kiss my eyes when I cry,
And bring out the best me so I learn to fly?
Will you love who I am, and who I might be
And all the unbeautiful faces of me?
I wrote this poem during my senior year of high school. It's kinda depressing at first glance, but there is much more to it that goes unwritten. I know that those faces are all negative things, but I'm not actually a negative person. Those faces are the "unbeautiful" parts of myself. There are other parts of me that I know can be seen as beautiful; my passion for friends and music, my sensitivity, my hope, my silliness. The idea was just that there is so much more to a person than what we may think we see. The reason we don't get to see all of a person may be because they are afraid they won't be loved for who they are in totality. And the sad part is, it's sometimes true. I've met people who didn't try to hide who they were, and for it they were shunned or avoided. But these people who don't pretend, and don't hide, they seem so much happier than the people I meet who spend all their time wearing masks.
It's an interesting thought, really. Being yourself. Being you. The majority (99.9% I think it was) of human DNA is identical to the rest of humanity because it's all about what things are and making them work. What makes us different, then, is that tiny minority. That .01% is all we've got. It gives us the speed of our metabolism and mental processing, and the color of our hair and eyes. That's all. Everyone is unique, everyone is individual. What matters is being us.
To think that the God of the whole universe could have done things so differently. He could have made it so that the majority of our DNA was all about our identities. But instead He gave us a tiny point-zero-one-percent to create ourselves. It says in Genesis that He created male and female in His image. But what image were the first man and woman supposed to project when they'd seen so little of the work that we have stored up for us in the Bible? The only thing they had seen so far of God was that He created. So then, we are supposed to create as well. We are supposed to be creative.
For some reason I think He knew that we couldn't handle much when it came to life. So, He gave us all we could handle. He created us so that we could create ourselves. And of course we messed it up. We can't create ourselves in His image. We fall short. So we call on His name and He starts to be our re-creator. He is a potter, taking the clay of our hearts that we tried to shape ourselves and fixing it, reshaping it, until it looks more like the creative image of the creator.
Wow, this blog is a lot longer than I expected it to be, and I need to go bake.
Love Never Fails
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
