I Was Afraid

I stopped writing because I was afraid. I was afraid of how I was portraying myself. I stopped writing in this blog because I found myself to be so depressing. Even when I wrote things that were intended to be positive and lighthearted friends would ask, "Kenneth, why do you sound so sad?" It would catch me by surprise or confusion because I thought I was happy. I thought that I had masked over the tinge of sadness quite well. However, the more light I shined upon myself, the greater the shadows seemed. The more inevitable and prominent it became.

I tried to escape my own mind by stopping the narration of certain aspects of my life. I thought that the negativity was perpetuated by my writing and its ability to recapture and dwell on fleeting memories... memories of bliss but also of pain. I believed that this blog, this area, this "thing" that has become an outlet for certain parts of my mind and heart had become stained. I saw it as a canvas that had become mistakenly stained by a pitiful darkness within myself.  It became an apparition of my mind outside of my mind, therefore taking a life of its own. From this, it held a gentle grasp on me, to hold me where I was and to keep me writing of sorrows that allowed such an entity to exist.

I believed that if I walked away from this, my sadness wouldn't be such a threat, such a prominent figure in my life. I thought that if I started with a new canvas to write and perceive myself, I could steer it from gaining the same pattern as this blog had. Unfortunately, I was wrong. It didn't matter where I went or how I wrote, the sadness was still there. By walking away and shrouding over different fragments of my life, I neglected myself as a whole. Yes, I get sad. Sure, I get lonely. Certainly, I can be contemptuous. These things are me along with introspective, passionate, compassionate, intelligent, and progressive.

Life isn't as simple black or white, neither is one's soul. What I'm saying is that I've returned. I've come back with an improved perception of self. I admit to being imperfect, but I still see the life I live and my humanity as beautiful. What I must do is live with a heavy heart and mind... a heart heavy with emotions and a mind heavy with thoughts and curiosity that validate my status as a free-willed being.

You Don't Deserve Me.

You are beautiful to me. You were once kind, gentle, and caring. You comforted me when I felt alone. You gave me affection when no one else could or would... But you don't deserve me.

Here I am, offering myself to you, but you don't want to listen. I've traveled into unknown territory just to hand you my love. You didn't seem to care. You couldn't understand how much you meant to me then and you still don't comprehend. In words and in actions I tried to give you my love and affection. I made myself vulnerable to you... I degraded myself and offered you my dignity.

I once hurt you because I told you the truth. I did not love you when you first professed love and I told you. It hurt you to hear the truth. You cried because I was honest. You wanted me to lie. You wanted me to give you what I did not have. You despise me, you hate me, you hold a grudge against me because I told you what I knew then as the truth. I did not lie to you. I did not deceive you. I told you the truth and for that you see me as your enemy... For that, you don't deserve me.

I love you. You don't seem to care. You believe that I deserve to suffer like you did. You want to hurt me like how you hurt. Please remember, it was the situation that hurt you, not me. Here we are, here I am, professing my love to you. All you can think about is how to serve me what you think I deserve. You cried, but not for me. You cried because you could not get what I could not give. You did not love me, you loved the thought of being loved by me.

One thing is certain, dear, you don't deserve any part of me.

Love knows no hate. Love does not associate with Regret. Love hopes, but never expects. I know that I love you. Even though you deny me, I hold no grudge. I don't regret anything I've done to show you my love. I don't expect you to still feel the same for me, all I can do is hope for the best.

I wish I could make the world a better place for you. I wish I could fix all of your problems. I wish I could take every blow the world has given you, but all that I can offer is myself. It seems as if it's no longer good enough... If you think I'm not good enough for you, then you don't deserve me... I deserve better. I deserve to be loved as much as I loved you.

You may be better looking than me. Everyone may not notice me like they do you. Some days I feel lonely. Some moments I feel inferior. But I know that I deserve more than what you've given me. I don't deserve to be put on my knees to beg, but you let me. You don't deserve me or the love I can give, but I still offer it to you.

Every moment at the moment is occupied by you. I showed you the secrets to my heart, but you didn't understand. You want me to feel the pain and jealousy you felt. That will never happen. You hold a grudge against me because you regret the love you professed for me. I don't regret what I've done to prove myself to you. I don't feel deceived, tricked, or swindled. I don't have the desire to make you suffer what you're doing to me. All I offer is my love and I don't expect anything from you.

I willingly give you my love and only that. From me, that is all you will ever receive. You don't deserve my love, but it's something I'm willing to give. Just please remember dear, you never deserved me.

Bondage and Inherent Liberty

I wonder, what is the purpose of our existence?

I always believed that our ultimate purpose is to find purpose for ourselves. I believe(d) that our reason to be is to find what satisfies our individuality; a presupposition that would argue the existence of our free will. If my beliefs are incorrect, if we do have a purpose set by some higher order, what is it?

I consider myself to be a wandering spirit. I don't like to be bound by obligations, guilt, or expectations. I see so many people struggling and working just to live. When do they actually find the time to live? People look to the far future, to their expected retirement, as the time when they'll finally be able to live their lives as they desire so. I question why people must wait until later in their lives. We were not born as laborers or as servants to those that suppose their superiority over us.

The only masters I can admit to are the hunger and desires of my body and soul. I often feel the hunger and thirst for nourishment. The purpose of nourishing my body is to continue and preserve its existence and the existence of my consciousness. But what is the reason for our continuing existence in body and mind? The soul/heart's hunger for the passion(s) which would satisfy it.

What is my passion? What does my heart and soul hunger for? I must admit that what's hungered and desired by my intangible self is currently uncertain. All I can be certain of is that I want to live. I want to live not as someone's subject or to labor on until my later years in order to live. Why must I sacrifice my life in order to supposedly gain the means of living it? I want my body and my mind to be willed by one another and by no other outside of myself.