I can't really ever convince myself that it's worth it.

Fuck it, you know?
I'm so sick of trying and caring.
I'd much rather give 60%, and get by,
than actually try.
So I'm probably not going anywhere special.
I'm not special, so it's not surprising.

Maybe I'm just mad because I don't think anyone cares.
I mean, I'd rather throw my anger and my rejection and my frustration in everyone's face. I'd rather tear myself down, rather throw it all away. I'd rather toss it like sand to the wind than keep trying to make something out of it, keep trying to make it look nice. This life.
Life is boring and predictable.
My world is empty and fruitless.
My mind is wicked.

But really, I think the world is beautiful.
I think my life is worth living.
I think it's worth sharing.
I think it's worth dedicating myself completely to something.
But it's easier to follow foolish precedents, and wink with both my eyes,
Than to think.
I think it's worth it, but the more I think about it, the less I think of it.
But inside, I believe in me, and my world, and my life, and my mind, and beauty, and love, and teaching, and poetry, and philosophy, and parkour.
I believe it's worth sharing.
I just can't, sometimes. Can't make myself do it.

"Her," what a strange concept.
The one in my mind I can really be with, live with, breathe with.
But she's never just one person anymore.
"Her:" just a concept.
And I keep trying to fit different people into that dream.
Isn't it foolish to keep doing the same thing over and over, and expecting different results?
Isn't it foolish to keep dreaming of that one I can never seem to find?
But I believe in my foolishness.
My foolish precedents are more beautiful, more serene, more fulfilling
Than my thoughts.


"I'm so lonely"
What the hell have I done?
This type of thinking could do me in.