On My Father and On Happiness

Another small hint fiction and a slightly larger story for you. I feel bad for not posting another story yesterday, so I’ll catch up today.

On My Father

He loves peanut butter,
He loves chocolate,
But he hates Reese’s.

On Happiness

When you ache
From all the times you thought you’d fail
And you were sure it was over;
When you thought you were stuck,
And that someone pulls you up.

I’m Ready, Are You?

I don’t know what to call this. Some sort of combination between free writing and free verse. Poetic free writing? Does that make sense? Either way, it’s a mess, like myself right now. So much is going on and I’m in zero control. All I can do is buckle up. The journey hasn’t been easy and it will only get harder. For the most part, things haven’t been good lately. I’ve had some nice moments, but the don’t seem to last as long as I’d like them to. I don’t know why they don’t. But I’ll continue to hope they do. What else can I do?

I’m Ready, Are You?

I’m tired of talking to those
who want me to feel better
about why I don’t, and what I can do
to be the person of my dreams.
Instead, I want to simply be happy,
happy with myself, with what I do,
happy with you.
I want to stay true to who I am.
I don’t just want these things;
I need them.
I need to sit on the beach
and collect my thoughts.
I want you to be there with me,
in my arms,
your head on my chest,
heart pounding,
nothing to say, nothing to be said.
I want to share a moment with you
but the moment never ends.
Instead, I think about myself,
what’s going wrong: everything.
I struggle every day to believe
I’m not worthless,
that I deserve to be happy.
I live for others, for you.
Without you, I don’t know what to do,
And the problem is
I don’t know who you are yet.
Every time I think I know,
I realize how little I’ve experienced,
and there’s no way for me to know
what the future has in stock.
Who is ready to step up and join me?
Is it selfish of me to believe that I can be happy?
I can’t be the only one hoping for honesty.
But hope is always in the background,
the family friend you forgot,
but knows you better than you do
even after all these years.
I can’t shake hope.
I hope that one day,
my hopes become reality.
My hope is you become my reality.
I hope to live for you,
die for you,
and you will do the same for me.
I hope you show up sooner
rather than later.
I’m tired of the anxiety attacks,
I’m tired of feeling depressed.
I’m ready to move forward,
with you.

What Makes Me Smile

This is a simple prompt: Write about something that makes you smile. What makes you happy?

I have a feeling this post is going to be a huge mess. Hopefully I can keep it together and turn it into something nice, something that will make you smile.

What Makes Me Smile

The first thing that comes to mind is the quote: “Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth.” The truth makes me happy, even if it’s something sad. With truth comes trust. If you can’t trust someone, that someone might not have been truthful to you in the past. If you assume that someone is lying all the time, you’re not happy. No one is thankful for being lied to.

Now if that someone feels that they have to lie to you, they don’t trust you, either. Why is that? What did you do? Are you a pushover? Is it just who they are? They learned it from someone. Everything we know comes from someone else. You might not have done anything to deserve being lied to, but that’s all that someone knows. That’s how they get by. There’s no other way. All you can do is forgive and forget.

Does love make me smile? Sure. I haven’t felt it personally, but I love looking at people in love. The innocence that pours out of their eyes and bodies is overwhelming to the point of tears. What makes that love for each other possible? Trust. Truth. There is no doubt in either person that they love each other. The eyes always give them away. Any hesitation, any surprise, anything hidden comes out whether they notice or not. If they don’t trust each other, they might choose not acknowledge it, but deep down know it’s missing. Without it, they can’t go on.

Money: the root of all evil, and yet, it makes me smile. Why? I earn it honestly. What does that mean? I go to work, do my job properly, and get paid accordingly. When I spend it, I spend it wisely. I spend it on myself, on someone I care about, or something I want, and it makes me happy. I’m a very materialistic person. I spent the vast majority of my savings on a Macbook Air. I could have bought a cheaper Windows laptop, but it wouldn’t have made me happy. It upsets me that I had to spend a thousand dollars on a laptop, but I love it. I expect it to last a long time. It inspires me to take better care of it than the last one. I believe my money was well spent, and that’s all that matters. I can truly say I earned something in my life. There are very few feelings that are better than this. If you don’t earn your money honestly, you don’t feel you deserve it. You feel bad about having it. Maybe you did something illegal to get it, and then you get caught. Now you’re left with nothing.

There are countless ways to be famous today. I want to be remembered for being a good-hearted person. I always put others before me. If people around me are happy, I’m happy. The only way to do that is to live an honest, respectable life, a life that inspires others to do the same. I don’t seek fame. If I ever become famous, I don’t want to see it coming. I want it to be a natural result of my actions. I don’t want to be famous for being a murderer, a thief, or any kind of criminal. I don’t want to bring anyone down and force my way to the top. How do you want to be remembered? Your actions will determine that. Some say it’s not in your hands; that’s a lie.

So what makes me smile? What makes me happy? Life, ultimately. If you’re truthful, if you’re trustworthy, you feel alive. When you feel alive, everything comes alive. I’m happy to be alive. We all deserve to be happy. A smile goes a long way. Start there. They’re contagious.

Can You Believe It?

Like many of my posts, I wasn’t going to post this, because it would just be weird (it still might be, but I don’t care). Then I realized I shouldn’t feel weird about how I feel in the first place. That’s why I write, and that’s why I have a writing blog: to express how I feel, so I don’t feel so alone, because I struggle to express myself in any other way. I also realize that this is an absolute, unedited mess of a poem, so I’m just going to call it free verse so you have no choice but to deal with it. Sorry, don’t hate me.

 

Can You Believe It?

I look at myself

In the mirror every day

And say to myself,

“I’m happy.”

 

I leave with a smile

On my face and embrace

the day ahead.

But what I know and won’t admit

 

Is that it’s all a lie.

I lie to make myself

Feel better, so I don’t

Go back to that dark place

 

Where nothing exists,

Where I struggle to find a

Reason to wake up

In the morning,

 

Where I never want

To go back to.

 

I put on that smile

In hopes of one day

Waking up

And believing in the lie.

 

I know it’s not how

Things work, but

It’s worth a shot because

If I can find the source

 

Of truth, of happiness,

I’ll forget it was all

Based off a lie

And become reality.

 

But would it be genuine?

Would it matter? Why

Do I go about trying

To figure out how life works

 

Instead of just simply

Trying to live it?

I’ll start today and

let things fall in place.

Out of Time

Hey everyone. I’ve been busy with work and my writing sample and I’ve also been reading constantly, but I finally found some spare time to write for fun. If you’re wondering what I’m reading, I just finished Great Expectations and started The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao. I’m going to use a prompt I found online: Describe 100 years of a character’s life in 10 words. Then describe the last 10 seconds of their life in 100 words. Hope you enjoy.

Out of Time

Time was not on his side, but he didn’t mind.

He never stopped doing what he loved, but his problem was that he never knew what he really loved. People knew they could walk all over him, including his parents, but they did it because they cared, he would tell himself. His mother told him to be a doctor, so he studied to be a doctor. His father told him to find a woman, and he did. He even had a child. This all plays through his mind as he gets closer to the light. Finally, an idea (what makes him happy) started to form, but it was too late.