Why do I have to put my life aside all the time?

Why do I have to put my life aside all the time?

I haven’t written recently because of one simple thing… collage work, it just never ends, and the truth is… I don’t even think I’m learning that much.

I don’t understand why I have to put my life aside to do what is supposed my choice of life.

I did choose to go to college… didn’t I?

I’m no longer sure; I can’t remember the moment I chose a major… I just remember one day my mom driving me to the campus and I signed some paper…. And voila! I’m studying a career I hate!

Everyone I meet and I show my work to says “WTF are you doing here?” actually today Ana Maria (A girl I’m really into) said that I was wasting myself studying this :P I’m not sure if it’s a complement or if it’s an insult, but it’s surely says what I feel right now.

(1 day late)

Liar

Liar

You are a liar, a fake phony false human being... if you can call yourself human. Deception disappointment, in everything you do and say, nothing is real, nothing is true, nothing is authentic.

Liar. Masks all over yourself, makeup... actor, pretender, wannabe...

The truth is I can’t do it, the truth is, and I’m incapable. The truth is I sabotage myself constantly, which part of me is real?

(14 days late)

God?

 Yeah?

 I have problem

No! Really?! 

No need to be sarcastic.

... The girl I like talks to you…

 But I think you tell her something different than you tell me so... l, are you lying?

 Of course not.

Lying would imply saying something that is not true, and everything is true.

 She thinks I am a sinner 

You are sinner

You told her you spoke to god.

She asked me what you answered me back when I spoke to you... I lied 

What did you say? 

I said you always replied the same thing: yes.

 Well, you certainly omitted my neat sense of humor and sarcasm. 

I know... I don’t know why id did it.

 You don’t believe it’s me anymore

I do.... I do believe this is you

 Then why didn’t you tell her. 

I don’t know... 

I guess I was afraid I would come out as a raving lunatic, I told her... I was god. 

Which is true? 

Yeah, for you and me who understand it? 

But for her... must have sounded insane... 

Can you talk to her? 

I will 

Thanks she is bit stubborn

 I know

\(4 days late)

I’m so going to hell

I’m so going to hell. Because this boy… . There   one I have lied about everything… sometimes I feel like I should rescue him, like if I should make him my prince… sometimes I hate him with all my being.

He brought up in the conversation his parents will be off next weekend, but never actually made the invitation. This left me a bit disappointed. I can’t believe I’m saying this… it feels wrong, because he is way younger then me…

God, it kills me that I can’t afford anything right now. Stupid college student budget.

I get about 8 dollars a week, for lunch, books, and transport. So I get to save about a dollar a week… form unused change.

(6 days late)

To my mother

To my mother

I have life, I have gaps, I have what I want,

I have scars, deep wounds, immense pain,

I have my nostalgia, my questions, my affections.

You left to punish us all,

to mark your territory with the weight of your final absence,

to kill us too.

I died in you

you killed me

you evicted my life with your death,

imposed, impossible, final.

Every day every night,

every day every night,

your memory is never alone

there is always you and your death,

your hand stretched out in the empty space

so purple, so cold,

your mouth ajar,

the sound of your dead chest.

You didn't leave me alone

you just left me without you and with your death,

violent, simple, provoked.

"Only optimists commit suicide," they say.

I believe

What did you think was going to happen?

What were you going to find?

Didn't mother tell you that there is no beyond?

You condemned yourself too,

you took off,

You killed me, you evicted him, you killed them, we got lost,

You turned off your light very early.

With your last act,

sublime act of selfishness,

you gave me full hands.

Who would believe it mother?

Who would believe that you could give birth to me twice?

I hold on to the facts

your body, dead and decomposed is in a grave,

your soul does not exist.

Who do I talk to when I talk to you?

You are memory.

I have my affections, my questions, my nostalgia,

immense pains, deep wounds,

scars,

what I wish,

empty,

life.

I have life.

Maria G