Skyward Bound

Sometimes I wonder - how does this existence even matter? It’s probably pessimistic that I think such thoughts. How couldn’t I question the role in which our very being is being compared to the simplistic bothering’s of the world. Do the misfits in the world even have a place? Does the ordinary person make a difference at all by even existing? Or must one be extraordinary. Sadly even if you split up the basis of the word it’s a sad tale; extra-ordinary, as if you are especially ordinary and that makes you exceptional. It’s an oxymoron in itself. An ordinary person would be considered ‘normal’ and normal people rarely make history so by being extra normal how exactly does that make you special in any way? If anything it makes you extra dull. The world is more likely to remember a psychotic than a shut in.

However it makes me wonder – what if you are different? I don’t mean different in the terms of the slim ideals slipping from normality; I mean different as in you do not conform to the norms of societal thinking in its entirety. To expel religion and to divulge into the historical teachings of ‘right and wrong.’ Not only to study them but to question them.  Are there two sides to every story – Yes so why can there not be two sides to any moral. Though perhaps some things are not meant to be questioned. That is why society has banished its’ misfits in their rebellion to the mass’s thought. But if there are morals and religion – why can we not fight them? It is human nature to question things and I refuse not to question everything. What is real, what is fiction, what can be done and what cannot. We will question everything until the day we die so why not question the purpose of being born into such a sadistic world that refuses to reveal the purpose of our birth? Perhaps if you do not question where we came from and what we’re here for – we are not human for such thoughts make us so.

Im here, I’ve always been here yet you always stare through.
Im not a figment, not an item, though you seem to treat me like one.
I’d scream it to everyone if you wouldnt discourage my actions.
We’re in love and they wont ever know.
You never want them to know.
And so I’m here, the sidelines my home. Dreaming of a way that you wouldnt be ashamed of me.

Sometimes people make me feel so underappreciated. They take for granted that I work 5 hours straight so they dont have to groan about me wanting one. I’m treated as a pigeon by my friend I got a job at my work. Its rediculous. And then I worry about the mass of debt he has and how he wont let me help him with. Its stressful. I love him to death but god does he ever make me worry. I believe I’m suffering from depression, I think I have been for a while. I have people who love me but it attaches like ball and chain, strangling me, pulling me down. I do not know why, I do not know how. I believe I’m very happy, especially with him but despite that, there’s a whole gnawing into my heart..