I am an often troubled soul dwelling in a place too beautiful for my scattered time to grasp. My fingertips are lacerated daily by the pages of many tomes, the foundation I lay for myself and my kin to walk upon. Language used to be my temple but as of late my mind resides in the alleyways of emotive stimulus and reminiscences. I am a pirate papa, spawning outside the stream, seeking complimentary ambitions and small beauties. I smoke, I feel guilt, I bleed, blister and drink beer, read books when I can squeeze them in between the bullshit, I raise my children the best I can with what I have immediately around me, I listen to my dreams in the day and let them flow over me at night, I feel regret for some things, I know who I am most of the time but am unsure of who I want to be, I watch movies at nap time and sell books anywhere I can, I pick up interesting rocks and take close-up photos of different textures, I love when I can and cry when no one's watching, I am that I am and no more.
This is from a few months ago, I just didn't want to lose it. Wow. It's nice to not feel that way anymore, or less... or... (insert something profound)
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