We Are Tired.

God is an old man. All he is falling apart at the seams. He keeps forgetting about us. His hands are too battered to lift us. His joints crack and moan. The world that he made in his youth is much the same as he.

The world was a child. Now it's an old man. It had it's time to think, It’s moved away from you, but still response to your wills that it can't feel or see.
 You’ve let it fall, you've picked it back up. You’ve let it flood, and you've let it dry out. You let it burn, you snuffed out the fires. You let it build, you broke apart it's land.

it's aged with the time you bound it too.
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The world is tired and it doesn't want to hear you. You, your moans and failed attempts of justification.

The people that claim to speak your language are just repeating your words, mixing them up so that we see the good side. They speak of what you "meant to say" thousand of years of repeating reasoning and rejoices, judgment, confliction, and leadership.

This world is old but its heart still beats, steadily but faintly.
 Its people live in a way that displeases most and supposedly you.
But it’s alive and well with a slight fever.

You’ve caused all of this. You did this, and yet your voices that you speak through, who hear you… they blame us.

Most of us are too weak to even carry a dead man on our shoulders and yet you blame us for throwing it out of balance merely by our habits and preferences? If we have no power how can we do what you say we did? You made us to fail. You knew this would happen and you did nothing. We know nothing about you. You don't speak, you don't hear, you just wave your frail hands. And breathe your shaky breath into yet another generation.

But who made the blind man see, and the crippled man walk?

Who made the blind man blind and took the crippled man’s legs in the first place?

You call us your children but you beat us down like dogs.

You call us your children but deny you and you send us to burn forever.

You gave us music but gave us plague.

You made light but made us be born blind.

You contradicted yourself.

I understand why people hate you.

And I understand why people love you.

 I mean who wants to think that the weight of the world is on their shoulders?

That there is rest for the weary; that we'll be able to see those we love again as long as we fallow these simple rules and be like this man you gave us many years ago. Small things.

I understand something but I am only a child.
I don’t understand completely and never will.

We are all children

I find it all wrong, sad, and aggravating.

 I’m sick of feeling wrong. I’m sick of finding so many flaws.

We are tired. 

Gray Is a Lovely Color.

I want to draw a skeleton, distorted and vomiting, dark words come from its mouth in different sizes and boldness, that's how I feel, that’s all this is, that’s how I see the world. Blackness spit from lifeless beings.

I’m tired. I’m tired of feeling the way I do every day when I remember you.

He died, and I knew him.

I feel like there is a black hole in my stomach when i hear of what you do. I want to protect you but I can't. I want to know you'll be ok. I know you will be but that's not enough. I want to shove you all under my wings but there are too small to keep you locked in.

my lungs are filled with air but throat burns and swells with the words I can't seem to say. I want nothing more than for you to hear them but that's not what you need. Life is pathetic in a beautiful way. I hate it, but I love it.

I’m sickened by myself...

sickened?

 I could’ve just said I don’t like myself.

 Why do I feel the need to use such big words? ….Why do I even bother writing this stupid blog? All it does is make people laugh and give them a look into my life with vocalization required. But I guess laughing is a good thing, I love to laugh and I love not talking… I like blogging. Go ahead and laugh and read, I don’t mind.  

There should be a word for love and hate. I believe it’s possible to see gray and be just fine.

Gray is a lovely color.  

 we all fear being a disappointment and being less than what the narrow paths want.

with hush tones and a trusted ear we speak of things that would make the world cry out if we spoke too loud.
  i don't know what i think of all that I'm told. i just know that I love hearing you speak. Just give me a moment to readjust MY LENSE and one more for my skin to stretch enough to fit this inside.
 then we'll go back to the way things were.

I don't fear change.
but i'll fight to keep things the way they are.

it's all fine.

I'm not going to waste my breath judging all that i don't know.
 I'm just a listener.

i respect you too much to see any fault,
so do what you wish.
I sure as hell won't stop you.

and i just want you to know that i'm just rolling with the punches, that there is no disappointment. because there's no expectation.