The strength I call my own.

I feel sometimes that I must re-invent myself or I will only be lost inside of an old shell. To molt and shed away a skin of the past is hard to do; Sometimes altogether pointless. However, I do it all the same, and must continue to do so.Small things mean a lot to me. Stupid things mean even more to me. Creating a new journal, a new screenname, choosing music to listen to, all affect me much more than they probably should. These are extensions of myself, intangible limbs that stem from my mind. I draw a strange, pure sense of satisfaction in achieving exactly the artistic image that I want to at any given moment. Listening to just the right song for the way I am feeling… instills a sense of euphoria that I can’t replace with anything else int his world. As for the written word, I absolutely love being able to express myself in a form of my choosing, and writing is that medium. It’s just one more vessel with which to excercise my thoughts.But expression and catharsis isn’t for observing the world around me, it’s for acting. For grasping a steel hand around that which haunts me. So, as I do these mundane, idiotic, meaningless things (as they may seem to some), I feel a strange sort of ascension, of defeating the ghosts that haunt me.I know somehow that, through these channels, I will gain power. I will become stronger. I never gave up to begin with, though. I never sat down and said, “take me, already, and be done with it!”. I’ve always searched for an exit, for a pinhole through which to escape. However, Escape is only a step forward into another situation, into another atmosphere.The only thing that binds a man is the mirror he has to look into every morning. I choose to not only stare at that piece of glass with a determined gaze, but I will give the mirror a reason to exist. Hopefully, I won’t shatter it like I’ve done so many times before


~ by cranialrumblings on February 3, 2009.

One Response to “The strength I call my own.”

  1. so true. sensibly and beautifully written..

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