Picture My Life

For Intellect. For Emotion. For Substance.

Posts tagged bad

75 notes

Life is Good

It’s been awhile since I last wrote something meaningful. I used to write almost everyday. Here and there, little notes just to keep the creative side of my mind in motion. But lately, it seems like I’ve lost the will to write. I’ve been so focused on fitting the pieces of my life together, I guess I’d rather act on it than write about it.

Today, on the other hand, I feel like I need to filter my soul just a little bit. Put my life down on paper (tumblr text), I guess you could say.

So let me update you on me:

I’m in a good place emotionally. Taking some chances, stepping out of my own boundaries. I’m in love with life, in a way, for the first time.

I’m starting a new job, a better one, with more opportunities and room for growth that is right up my ally: advocating for social justice. I have new ambitions, or rather revived ones, and I’m taking the necessary steps forward to achieve those goals.

I’m in a wonderful relationship with someone who adds meaning to my life. Someone who believes in me and knows my true self, inside and out. Someone I can be myself around and not feel scrutinized or judged. He sees right through my walls. Together, I know we will do great things.

There are down days, of course. Tis life. But they fail in comparison to all the good days, the happy days, the cup half full kind of days. And it’s nice to be able to appreciate that and not feel so apologetic.

“It is never too late to be what you might have been.” - George Eliot

Filed under creative writing poetry poem spilled ink spoken word prose dear diary thoughts new life job work happy love blessed good bad sorry sorry not sorry great music good music journal journey chance social justice law legal story me

149 notes

He’s addicted
More so to the chase than the temporary high
Finding refuge in reason
Some dedication to the pursuit of…something?
Trivial as it may be
It’s a motive for survival
Living life like today is his last
Nothing good can come from sleep
So he scrapes by on doses rather than dozes
Appreciating dawn’s arrival
As if he’d won some kind of battle
But come the evening it’s like he lost the war
Constantly tripping over any sense of mind
Having no sense of time
Verbally speaking, he makes no sense at all
Losing ground, lacking faith
Elevated on a trailing train of thought
Reflecting on the past
Because life looks better through the rearview these days
Tangent rages of anger shoot through his veins
The rush of adrenaline relieves him
Then he turns for another fix
Desperate to un-break what was unbreakable
But his mere existence seems shattered
And there’s nothing left for him to believe in
Other than the thrill of the chase that gets him high
He’d rather feel the summit
Than the painful realization in the decline
So he swims in a consistent inebriation
Under the influence of fantasy
Sometimes lies sound so much better than the truth

Filed under creative writing spoken word spilled ink prose addiction drugs addict high low write dear diary journal dream fantasy good bad heroine weed pot marijuana ecstasy poem poetry poet