What is a Plea for help?

Someone please find me, please help me, please hold out your hand. I’ll grab it I swear I need it right now. Someone please tell me who I am, I am a follower of jesus Christ, I love God, but who am I? Who am I?

Who am I who am I who am I who am I who am I who am I who am I who am I who am I who am I who am I who am I who am i

What is the purpse of life, why do I get up in the morning, what is my reasoning for things

I don’t understand why I fall for things, when I should stand for what I want

someone please help me

Tell me what is going on tell me what the reality of things are tell me what the future will hold someone grab me by the arm and drag me to the future show me something brighter

I don’t want to be in a place where there is nothingness where there is only comfort I want to be in a place where I can reach out and feel the diffculty grabbing at my chest and trying to take a bite out of me. But I want to do it so I can know who I am. All I want, is simply for me to be myself, to understand who that is.

Why do I feel so dead all the time? Why do I do the things I do?

Why whyw why why why why why why no pattersn please no patters

Let there be spontaneity let there be a place where I can hide. Why can’t I hide? Why is it the same thing everyday? I want to run away from this, I want to escape. God, please save me, please show me what I need. My way just isn’t working.

God can you please show me, please help me, please guide me. God if you could cut my soul, if you could rip out my heart and polish it, give me what I should have. God please take away all the fog and the branches the things blocking my viewe father please save me.

It’s the fog

It’s taking over

Fathere I can’t see and I haven’t been able to for such a long time

I feel like I’m in a perpetual dream. Something I will never leave, something I’m waiting to wake up from. I don’t like the softness the curly softness of it all. There’s padding every where, there always was. What am I being sheltered from? Can I please not live in side a dream? No more wiaitng please… please… let me understand something anything, father I want to breath again, I want to be me again.what am I missing. Please show me the details show me the harshness… … please hlelp me. Show me more, show me more that I am ready for. Can you get this? Can you get this plea for help.. can you save me? Are my prayers heard? Can they really be heard father? Or is it something that gets lost in translation… am I speaking your language… father can you hear me? PLEASE can you hear me? Can you? Can you? Can you? Please father? I need to know your there, I need to know you’re there. I need to know I need to know, I can’t live in this awful dream anymore. I need to know I need direction. I’d do anything, But I wouldn’t do anything, that’s what I know. Because I don’t know if you’re there!!!!! Ugh, please speak to me in the way that only you know I will hear you. There is a way, there must be. What is there for me to do and to breathe in to soak up into my triangle skin.take these shakey stubborn hands and turn them into something that creates beauty something that creates love

The Sad Truth

I’m sitting at the computer right now, disgusted with myself. I went onto yahoo to see what other people were having problems with their books that they were trying to write… I thought it was pathetic. Seriously, if it’s your book why ask other people questions?! IT”S YOUR BOOK!!!

So what if people don’t like this or they want to change that, if they would like to change things in your fragile structure of a book then tell them to write it themselves. Or, better yet, tell them to write a book that would entertain them selves.

Some people are weird, others disgust me and the ones in between are always caught in my mind; whether I want them to or not.  

Great writer’s, don’t care about what other people think. Great writer’s, write what others are afraid too. Great writer’s put emotion in the works of art. Great writers write what they feel, they don’t care how the words flow, they want to put that raw emotion down first and tweak it later. Great writers don’t have to be author’s to prove to other people. Authors are people who cower away from reality with a shaky hand holding and under used pencil that longs to be pushed hard against paper with a new idea. Authors want other people to tell them what they are doing wrong. Writer’s know what they are doing wrong but go along with it, they do it to change the way people think. Great writers, are usually recognized after they are long gone. 

Great writers can capture their readers attention with one quick swoop and keep in their molding hands long enough to question your opinions and morals. Great writers don’t create a story, they live it. Great writers sit upon a ball and balance on it with all of their ideas: good an bad. They live in their own little e world that people only wish they could understand. Great writers dream vividly about the world and it’s dark places. Authors take what they fear and twist it into some thing less scary and manageable. 

Great writers put that fear in there because they wish to expose you of your dark corners, so you can fully understand yourself. Great writers want you to feel emotion, they want you to cry when some thing happens, they want you to want to throw the work you the window and let the rain soak the words away; so can’t read what made you feel… for the first time. Great writers fear nothing, they only long to have what they can’t, but all in due time. Author’s write for what they feel is a good purpose, a good one to help society. Great authors are found by complete accident; they write first then contemplate later. Writers take nothing seriously, other wise they would fall hard and far, there world is based on imagination and the unstable feelings of others.

Great writers can put that irritable ticking noise in the writing, and even when you tear your eyes from the words dancing across the page, you can still hear it… pounding through your head and nestling its way into your soul; curling up quite nicely and leaving less room for you to feel comfortable. Great writers know that they are only great if…. Then the idea is gone. Great writers are only great for as long as they can hold the idea in front of them in a meager cage as it rips and thrashes about. Great writers fear nothing, they should be feared. Great writers, they don’t need embellishment, there work is already explosive and tangy enough as it is. Obsessive readers hold fast to the embellishment when the story is long gone because it is what it is. Great writers sit at the computer typing with a burning sensation rippling through them; their hands sweaty and feet cold. Great writers don’t know what is coming and don’t care what is behind them. Authors worry constantly about the future and fret about what will happen, when they haven’t even started. Many great ideas are lost to people who over think everything. Great writers know that every raw and weak idea is something special and all its own. Everything counts, and that is what great writers know. Great writers will take a deep breath from the bottom of their heart after hours of typing then look back up at their work, wondering how they were able to create such words on only their first try. Great writers laugh at those who think perfection is possible, because the perfectionists always feel empty. Great writers set aside scattered pieces of inspiration for themselves, because they can. Authors don’t write emotion, they write what they want to feel. Authors are weak spineless fools; they care only for what they don’t have and ignore what they do. Authors though, are usually the ones recognized for their ignorance. To let you know, writers laugh at authors’ stupidity, because that’s shear ly all it is. Writers go along with there first instinct, they listen to their intuition. Great writers see the words as if they were a part of themselves.

Great writers don’t put and end to their writing, they write till the writing finishes itself. Authors spend months figuring out the perfect ending, then stress out when it isn’t exactly right.

Passion at its finest

Eyes wander back and forth back and forth, back and forth.
Your fingers drum absent mindedly against the black paper, you chew the eraser of your midget pencil.
All these images floating inside of your mind and beautiful and drive such an urge of painstaking passion clear down to the very core of your soul.
You cannot release it, this passion so fiery it threatens to incinerate you from the inside out.
How did you get this way? Not being able to find the right words?
A voice is hushed in the back of your mind but you were trained that way, trained to be like you are. These images you carry so near and dear and pushed aside because that's all that can be done, with training, becomes a new structure that must be filled. It is indescribable, yet so common most all of us have undergone it.
Slowly we start losing the rawness of our true self, only to be polished little army men, robots, models of what we should be. What should we be? Could be? Would be...? Never mind that we mustn't think on the past that we turned away from. We wanted to succeed and dammit that's what were going to do, even if it is posed as someone else.

Where is our passion now? Oh right, we sold it, traded it, willed it away, copied it, stole it, wreaked havoc on it, mistreated it, abused it, used it, and distrusted it. What's more powerful than a passion that drives you? Oh right, the million of little things along the journey that eats a hole right through it's solid exterior. All that's left is a shell.

So what do we do with the damn thing?

A "Welcome" mat of sorts

Here's a place you can stay a while, to enjoy the pictures, stories and perspective. You're not forced to stay and you won't be made to leave. If all you want is a rest, I can promise you as much, just not sure what you might find on the stay. But by all means! Here's the welcome mat, wipe your feet if you wish and come on in!

-Bea