i look into your eyes like i know what's behind them.

tell you how beautiful they are as if they are something special.

i'll take you out, call you my girl.

i'll laugh at your jokes as if i can actually feel something.

but i don't, sweetheart.

the faster you learn to dig out the happiness from someone's eyes, what little they may have, is the faster that you'll learn that it's all an illusion.

you don't know their thoughts, my darling

or how they spend their nights crying,

begging for your arms to be linked around their waist.

it'll kill them inside when you finally tell them how you really feel.

that it's someone on your mind and in your arms.

i hate to be the one to break your heart, but i can't allow you to break mine. this is the most crucial part in your existance, sweet girl. i am honored to be the one to tear it apart.

#challengeoftheweek #happiness #sadness

A cruel and ravenous beast is loneliness. She is a sadistic succubus, vile and willfully soulless. She eats at me. She drains the aether from my soul and fills me with a void immeasurable. This hole through my chest, It is not a pit, it is a tunnel. The hollow shell of my spirit blows through it and I feel the icy breath of that frigid whore solitude crystalize the veins leading from where my heart once sat. She has eaten it, bite by bite, piece by piece, at a cellular level she has devoured my very being. All left is rage and agony. While the blood freezes in my veins until my eyes leak crimson snow and then they too become solid, open forever to the beauty of a muse which will haunt me to the day when I might blissfully cease to see through them. I am Recluse.

advice for young boys

feeling caged of emotion

dreaming of manliness

guarding every motion

speaking confidently

without a doubt

giving into peer pressure

not letting your “soft side” out

holding back tears

when you want to cry

because being called “a girl”-

you’d rather die

to the boys who like boys

but still want to be one of the boys

to have the same friends

to have the same joys

to the ones crushing on girls

the “normal” boys

you treat them nicely until

society tells you to treat them like toys

my advice: simple

stay true to yourself

pay attention to kindness

and your emotional, mental health

and realize that no matter who you like

what, how, or why

we are all the same, treat people sweetly,

and reach for the sky.

1. i hav a new skool and it is cald peskool. mommy says i am a big kid now. she givs me cookees for lunch. they tayst good.

2. my teecher is miss jessy. she is very nice and she smiles alot and she alwayz givs me hugs. after skool she kals me secret-lee and givs me candi.

3. mommy is very bizy. she says i hav to stay at skool layter i dont want to!

4. after-cayr is not so bad. it is fun! miss jessy stayz with us. i told her i lik cookees.

5. mommy forgot my cookees today but miss jessy brot me sum.

6. miss jessy was sad today and i askt y and she sed her bay-bee dyed today last yeer. i gav her a hug and she waznt sad anee-more.

7. today miss jessy gave me candi that mayd me sleepee so i fel asleep and then i woke up and miss jessy sed i waz at her howse. its a nice howse i sed but wayr is mommy and miss jessy sed oh she is sum-wayr. she gav nise food.

8. miss jessy didnt let me go to skool today but she went. wen she caym back i askt if she saw mommy and she sed mommy had a new kid to love and that mayd me sad. miss jessy sed she cood be my new mommy but i miss my reel mommy.

9. miss jessy didnt let me leev the howse but she brot me lots of toys i likt.

10. miss jessy is nice and she plays with me more than my mommy. she is so fun even thoh i cant leave the howse. i hav lots of good food.

1000. Today Mommy and I went shopping. She let me come outside since a few weeks ago, and I’m so happy! Finally! A sad looking lady looked surprised to see me. She looked familiar, but Mommy said “time to go” and we went back home. Weird.

11/14/2018

Inspired by “Born of Man and Woman” by Richard Mathewson.

My small fingers curled around my father’s hand. The air was heavy with ash and tasted of smoke, each step producing a crunching sound. And even though my feet were growing uncomfortably warm, the rest of me was cold to the point of numbness.

“Father, when can we go home?” I asked, looking up.

His face was darkened, illuminated briefly by a ray of moonlight that pierced the fog. Lips pinched into a thin line, something wet sliding down his cheek. Were those tears?

“What’s wrong?”

I tugged on his arm, and he looked down. Why did he look so sad?

“It’s okay, honey. We’re not going home tonight, we’re going to go ... ”

He paused, swallowing.

“Camping?” I squealed, jumping up and down. “I love camping!”

Father turned and kneeled, pulling me into a hug and kissing me on my forehead. “Yes, camping.”

Wrapping my arms around his neck, I rested my cheek against his. Then I pulled back.

“But what about Mommy? Won’t she want to come, too?”

There were those tears again, though I couldn’t figure out why.

“No, she’s ... tired. Maybe next time.” His thumb slid down from the corner of my eye to my jaw. “Come on, let’s go.”

He picked me up, and I giggled. When he laughed, it didn’t sound right, but maybe he was just tired. Hopefully he wouldn’t want to go right to bed, so we could fish or count stars or sing by a fire.

Father pulled me tight to his chest, but then I couldn’t see the sky or make creatures out of the smoke. I squirmed, but that only made him hold me tighter.

“You’re hurting me,” I said, confused.

But he didn’t hear me.

A few seconds later, he loosened, eyes fixed straight ahead as tears streamed down his face. They plopped onto my skin and hair like rain. The smoke must sting his eyes like it did mine.

I twisted my head. The village lay behind us. It was hard to make any of the buildings out, and even where the smoke blew away, they weren’t in the spaces where they should be. Where was our hut? Where was the willow with its long branches that brushed the grass?

“Where is everything?”

He didn’t hear me this time, either.

“It’s okay,” he soothed.

“Okay.”

I rested my head against his chest. If he said everything was okay, then that had to be true.

I should catch a fish for Mommy.

I giggled to myself.

I definitely feel like he’s watching me,

feel like he’s definitely watching.

Without my consent

and questionable intent.

I definitely feel like he’s watching

He’s talking to me and everyone else,

to himself, it seems like he’s talking.

He’s in a house all alone

no wife or kids to call his own

To himself, it seems like he’s talking.

He has always wanted to have a neighbor just like me?!

Why can’t he settle for puppets in the Land of Make-Believe?

So let’s change the channel and get lost in cartoons

with anvils falling and bombs for balloons.

To run and escape, run and escape.

This really creepy “neighbor”

No, I won’t be. Please stop asking me.

To just be,

your neighbor.

The very next day, he repeated his routine

The next day, his routine he repeated.

Without any pride

as humbly as pie

The next day he repeated his routine.

As he talked I hid under my chair,

under the chair I was hiding.

Full of dust bunnies and hair

dirty toys with germs. Unaware.

As he talked I hid under my chair.

I don’t even talk to my neighbors who live around me.

Mom and Dad said it’s dangerous to do so, in reality.

So I was cautious of Mr. Rogers and all he stood for,

as I watched him, watch me, on the living room floor.

As I hid and escaped, hid and escaped this

extremely “creepy neighbor.”

I was only three

when he calmly asked me

from t.v.

to just be

his neighbor.

Serving Artist aka Jamila Jones

theservingartist.com

Today mommy went out with Mr.Banks. He is a very nice man. Wears this huge tie and has big hands. Big giant hands. I honestly don't like them a lot, but Mr.Banks makes me laugh.

Mommy doesn't know this but I saw her touching lips with Mr .Banks one day,Just like she does with daddy. Maybe they were sharing top secret information. Anyway, I felt hungry after that, so I went to the kitchen for some milk and cookies.

Today when mommy came back, there was something on her shirt. Me and Daddy were sitting in the drawing room when she came in. But, something was different. She smelled just like Mr.Banks. Something flashed across my mind.

"Mommy, where you sharing information with Mr .Banks again?" i blurted.

That got daddy's attention. He raised his eyebrows so high i was afraid they might pop out into the sky. My mommy looked genuinely shocked. But before she could say something, I asked,"Were you touching lips again?"

Mommy looked horrified. Just like Elsa when she had frozen Anna.

Then i looked at Daddy. Suddenly i noticed the dark circles under his eyes, had he accidentally used my crayons. Then I noticed the marks on his face...what were they called ?Mommy had told me...warkles..wipples..wrink...wrinkles! Yes wrinkles!

For the next few seconds , Mommy and Daddy just stared at each other. Maybe they were sharing information too. But maybe Mommy liked Mr. Banks' information better, because she was crying. I ran over to her to see if she was hurt so I could kiss her boo-boo better. But she just pushed me away.

Now, three weeks have passed. Mommy and Daddy still don't talk. Maybe Daddy got angry that Mommy was touching lips with Mr. Banks. I don't understand. What's wrong with sharing?

But, Mr .Banks comes by everyday and my Mommy and him, share information a lot.

Mommy must be intelligent. She shared information with two men; Daddy and Mr. Banks.

I hope I can be like Mommy.

11/14/18

I hated him for having whatever I didn’t, for being all the things I wasn’t, and for stealing her heart. I hated how I could never get her to like me either.

I hated my parents for making me do the things they wanted me to do. I hated the things they wanted me to do, and I hated the fact that I pretended to love doing them.

I hated my friend who was funnier than me, more popular than me, and smarter than me. My classmates didn’t deserve money and happiness. I did. And I hated all of them for their successes.

And you… I hated you the most. I hated how you thought you were better than me. I tried as hard as I could to be as good as you but you didn’t let me. I wanted nothing more than your approval but you never gave it.

So, I sat around resenting everything and everyone around me, including you. I turned into the worst version of myself because of you. Whoever you were, I hated you for making me feel this way. And I hated you for not helping me feel better.

Then one day I broke. When I put myself back together, everything became so clear.

You weren’t the person I hated my whole life. I was.

You were really just me all along. You were jealous. You were entitled. You were full of idealization and pedestalization and inadequacy. You were so fake. God I hate you.

The worst part was that I ran from myself my whole life to chase after you. I ran after you because I was afraid of who I might really be. What does that make me?

Lesson learned.

I love you now. You’re my hero. You can do anything you want. You can help everyone you meet. There’s nothing in this world you can’t accomplish. Everybody’s waiting.

It’s ok to be you. In fact… it’s perfect. You’ll never be anyone else.

I love you now. Even though sometimes I still hate you.

I’m Jameson. That’s not my real name though. I can’t tell you my real name. I can’t tell you I’m Schizoaffective either. The word Schizoaffective is scary and intense sounding. It even looks unsettling, maybe even a bit mysterious. Can you imagine how my corporate finance career would start to track if I pinned that word onto the top of my resume? Jesus. Someday I hope I get to do that, just to see the hilarity that would ensue.

Being a shy, introverted, sensitive soul has always been in my DNA. Even though my face blushes incessantly, I still like me… most days. I have a fiery, passionate side too. Or at least I used to, anyway. I don’t show it much anymore, outside of my writing. Not since I went off the deep end. To me though, what changed the most wasn’t that I actually went crazy. I just finally admitted to who I really am. I think living the past 35 years of my life pretending to be someone else is what was truly crazy.

But it is funny what one little hypomanic episode will do to everyone’s perception. Now, I have to pretend to be subdued all the time so I don’t raise concern. I can’t stray too far in either direction either. If I’m happy, I’m manic, and if I’m not, I’m depressed. Spending too much time walking right down the middle of the tightrope deems me dissociative. Standing up for myself gets me labeled narcissistic. Being a pushover makes me a prime candidate for having a personality disorder. My life right now is an advanced class in method acting.

Actually, I just found out I have Asperger’s Syndrome, according to my fiancé anyway. She even monitors my writing, my blog, and my twitter account behind my back to make sure I don’t run out of bounds. I would probably laugh about it if she wasn’t doing it for the purpose of building a case against me, just in case we separate. Custody battles get nasty. I found that one out the hard way. My fiancé and her lawyer dad kept my two young daughters from me for three months last year. Not because I’m not a great dad. They both admitted I am. Not because I don’t support my family. All I do is work and spend time at home. But because I broke off our relationship. Now that we’re back together, trying to work things out, I sure as hell better not say anything controversial. I always thought those closest to you were supposed to support your passions and desires, not hold them over your head.

At work, I pretend to be someone else. At home I try not to be me. So who am I really?

Well, I finally found out I fit in with the artistic crowd more than anywhere else. I want to be a writer. That’s right. I’m dragging all of you right down with me. Don’t worry… take it as a compliment. We’re the ones who are going to save the world someday.

All I want to do is make people smile and laugh. First, I pepper you with drama and depression to soften you up though, then I pounce. I know what it’s like to feel like shit half the time, and I wish I could make it so nobody had to feel misery ever again. Odds are high that I’m one of the least judgmental people you’d ever meet. I wish money and politics would just go away forever. I think we need to move past the inequality debates that persist between us. We are all one. Everyone is a human being. That’s where it should start and stop… there is no difference between anybody. I was the jock in high school who people thought less of because they assumed I thought less of them. They were wrong. I never thought enough of myself. Now I know we all need to think the most of each other.

I like to use my mistakes as teaching points for other people. Don’t assume anything. Always be yourself. I spent my whole life pretending to be someone else. Now, when everyone is concerned about me acting differently, and I think I’m finally acting normally, it’s a complete clusterfuck.

Earlier, when I said I’m Schizoaffective, I was telling you what one doctor thought. He landed on that diagnosis because I said I’m an empath and that I can feel the emotional energies of people around me sometimes. All my other testing came back normal, and two other doctors adamantly disagreed with him, even going so far as to laugh at the notion. Why did I lead with that point then? Because it sounds scary and intense, maybe even a bit mysterious. I was probably more intriguing to you back then. Am I a different person now in your mind? Probably only in that you don’t like how I misled you. I hope that’s how you feel. That’s the more concerning trait to be weary of. Lying, manipulating, and deceiving. In my corporate job, those are the behaviors I see every day in my interactions with a lot of the executives. Those people might find me strange and different, but they sure as hell scare the absolute shit out of me.

Yeah, I’m the weird guy who talks to animals and enjoys ghost stories. I genuinely believe in shamanism and spirituality, and nobody will ever convince me there’s such a thing as coincidence. Call me crazy if you want. I don’t care about that anymore. Today’s level of sane is frightening.

It’s a crazy world. I guess I fit right in.