Ā Ā Ā thereās this really weird thing about talking to people that i just canāt seem to wrap my head around. why are some people just so god damn stupid? and not the lovable stupid either, i know lovable stupid either. i hate to admit it, but my brother has mastered that art. thereās a lot more to my brother than he may show, deep down i know that if he truly tried.. he could be as WISE as i am. but thatās how life works, there is a balance. jared is sunny nights, iām gloomy days. doesnāt make sense, does it? heās technology, servers, data collection. iām a pen and paper, humanistic, emotional. some may see him as cold, some may see ME as cold, but weāre both just products of a conflicted family merger. the constant reassurance of you donāt belong where you are now so itās only human to find a home in where you most belong. in your own skin, thoughts, and devices.
Ā Ā Ā i think i found that way to cope far before he did, maybe i was more inclined to make a home in isolation. but i wrote my way out, as iām doing now. as iāve done with all of my problems. the number of poems that i had written, the night following my discovery of the bag of money, is inconceivable. i wrote my way through school, as i do now. through the bullying and punches and shoves, i picked up a pen. it inflated my superiority complex of course, the fact that i could hurt a bully with words just as much as they could hurt me with fists.Ā the boy i was then didnāt understand the danger of an ego. i do now, therefore i keep it to myself. unless my brother mouths off in my direction again, then itās only my obligation.
