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Existentialism.

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Don't get me wrong, Men are trash, vile treacherous things that will betray even themselves.a Engineered to want or need women from the day their born. And so from the get go the ball has always been in our court. But we're to busy loathing ourselves and in competition with each other to notice. That discovery and not just the external locus of control has been the source of my many depressions. That all we do on this earth is hurt and be hurt, endure. Tell me what is the meaning of life,  How does the caterpillar metamorph if it is constantly in healing? How does the butterfly relish in kissing flowers when it will either pluck it's wings out? It's self or other animals and forces of nature will do it.  And that ladies and gentlemen is the struggle of the depressed. Futility. What is the point of trying, if the probability of your efforts being thwarted is identical to you succeeding? The metaphor I like using for my depressions...
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Strength

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I know strength , I've seen it lived it,  heard it in the voices of those closest to me,  felt it. I've embodied it. And I've come to comprehend the gravity of what having it means.  So I asked myself, how is it that I  was constantly in fear, enslaved by trepidation, when I knew strength .  I'd seen, lived it, heard it in the voices of those closest to me, its in my veins, I embody it. Yet I was riddled with anxiety and insecurity. I never understood. I've stared strength in the face for 21 years, how could I be scared? Nothing but realisation of this was the cause of my anxiety. The fact that I was born from and related to strength , was surrounded by it, it being all I knew is and was terrifying. What is so bad about humanity that the trait that gurantees an individual's progression,  is not optimism , honesty or kindness ,  not love or  even happiness .  It is strength, and the world demands a...
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Unscathed.

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All my life ive been surrounded by women. No father figures around, so my upbringing wasnt fully woven. Loving and caring were the only languages that were spoken. Hate used to be foreign until i had to walk out the house. And all i would see were fathers and child in hand, A glimpse at mine and I remembered that it was never held. An intoxicated teenager missing his old man, But how do you miss someone you've never even seen? If i had a question pointed at him, the first one would read; "Where the hell have you been?" I was just a boy when my thoughts manifested and turned to an ocean tears. Flooded my face and left my eyes swollen like i just had 10 rounds in a boxing ring. I was forced to grow up fast so i could face my fears, So cigarettes, weed and alcohol became my companion. I couldnt wrap my head around relationships so i moved from one to the next like i was shifting through gears. Before i knew it i was already thinking like an old man, But being...
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