Ramping Rant

My name is Andrew Guthrie. And right now I feel okay, even though I cannot feel a single sun-born ray. And in the blackness of this dark, I'll push on 'til the day. Droplets of sadness drip from my heart... are they naturally falling? Or ripped from the start? Was I born an empath, or did I forge this path? Sometimes feelings and perception get lost to conceptions of deception. Life is hard, and I'm striving with all my worth, some people though, they seem to glide and surf. I want it to be that easy, and I yearn to be that good. Yet I'd become queasy and burn as I wished I understood. There are specific stories my memory just invoked, when I was pinned to the ground and dominated: choked. A Fall evening when a baton bashed by forehead, how lucky I am, not to be dead. I'm sorry world, for what I have done. I'm sorry world, for what I haven't done. All the false hopes, all I tried to make fun.

I write when I am happy, but right now I am sad. And it might come off as sappy that my outlook is so bad. I lay in my bed staring at my alarm clock. Minutes slip to hours as seconds tick and tock. The light showed up, then the light went away. I neither breakfasted nor supped on the passing day. It really isn't so bad, I know this to be true, yet I can't shake the feeling of an ever present hue... everything in sight is a cold shade of blue. Isn't it Winter playing nasty tricks? Haven't I been previously tormented by his spiky frozen dick? I'm not so sure, but continue to doubt, why else would I rant? Why else would I pout? I'm not good enough, not very smooth, but not properly rough. Stuck in the middle without the right stuff.

But,

My name is Andrew Guthrie. I have to keep going; tripping while trudging to reap what I'm sowing. I'm working on a new way to bring music to the masses, but first I'll have to make a robot grasp it. Imagine it now, in all of its splendor, an orchestra fine-tuned, brought to you by Bender!

Am I in too deep? Bitten off more than I can chew? Should I be scared? Am I royally screwed?

No. No I'm not. But sometimes it feels like it, and it's important to realize it.

Overall, I'm happy. It's not so sad. Sometimes it's crappy, but it's not all that bad.

Bliss

When I see you walking, I want to hold your hand.

If I held your hand, I would seek a dance.

If we were dancing, I would look into your eyes.

If our eyes connected, I would sing to you.

And that song would be stifled by your lips.

My eyes would close, but I'd see bliss.

Smile

You know you've felt down awhile.

Joyous thoughts seem out of style...

Tremendous tasks stack and pile.

Toil verifies the vile.

But...

Real shortcomings seldom rile

your tough trudge through every mile.

May this poem be the vial

that when sipped cracks lips: a smile.

:)

Writing

In a moment of pain, I wrote, "Writing helps, people wrong us and there is little we can do to resolve conflict but acknowledge the consequences." Writing focuses any thought types and consolidates feelings. When I write, the immersion of imagination and the physical act of typing connect me wholly.

Extroverted Problems

My issue with people is that I love 'em so much,
and you might wonder why there's a problem as such.

I have so much empathy in my brain,
all this love in my heart it just feels insane.

Going to church with crowds by the steeple,
so many warm faces of so many warm people.

Then I pause... I have to laugh,
when I'm alone I feel sad,
and it seems rather rash...
lacking kinship seems so bad...

But I keep on a pushing,
and keep on a kicking,
days keep a turning
and clocks keep a ticking.
My eyes are pried toward the prize,
I cried and cried as I tried.

I keep on a pushing,

and keep on a kicking,
days keep a turning
and clocks keep a ticking.
My eyes are pried toward the prize,
I cried and cried as I tried.

My love feels ever failing and fleeting,
but I keep on going and keep on seeking.

My doggie died just the other week,
sometimes my outlook feels so bleak!

Sometimes I cry and want it all to end,
but I sigh with relief when I see my friends!

Then I pause... I have to laugh,
when I'm alone I feel sad,
and it seems rather rash...
lacking kinship seems so bad...

But I keep on a pushing,
and keep on a kicking,
days keep a turning
and clocks keep a ticking.
My eyes are pried toward the prize,
I cried and cried as I tried.

I keep on a pushing,
and keep on a kicking,
days keep a turning
and clocks keep a ticking.
My eyes are pried toward the prize,
I cried and cried as I tried.

How could so much good be construed as sad?
My life is so full and I'm so glad!

Bring my joy with the people I love,
I miss them already like a flock of doves.

The circles I’m part of make me: me.
The circles I’m part of set me free!

Then I pause... I have to laugh,
when I'm alone I feel sad,
and it seems rather rash...
lacking kinship seems so bad...

But I keep on a pushing,
and keep on a kicking,
days keep a turning
and clocks keep a ticking.
My eyes are pried toward the prize,
I cried and cried as I tried.

I keep on a pushing,
and keep on a kicking,
days keep a turning
and clocks keep a ticking.
My eyes are pried toward the prize,
I cried and cried as I tried.

Then I pause... I have to laugh,
when I'm alone I feel sad,
and it seems rather rash...
lacking kinship seems so bad...

Bare

My pain is a rip and tear.
Eyelids dry drip: not tear.
This empty face I wear
wears deeply toward despair.

Is it asking too much?

Just looking to connect a pair?
Are my methods neither reasonable nor fair?
So transparent to stare?
How much pain am I willing to bear?
My heart is naked and bare.
Who cares? I care. I always care.