I do write poetry, on occasion. This is my favorite:

 

( The City's On Fire )

There is a certain oddness to the world at large that I cannot help but propose and put forth.
Consider, if you would, the state of the world today. It is not as it was yesterday, nor will it be the same tomorrow. What is happening now is not what was happening when you began to read what I have written. What was, no longer is, and what will be has yet to occur.
Now, so that we don't confuse the point I'm trying to make, I'm not.
In the strict set of events, perhaps all that will happen is not decided, for what has happened can still be called into question as equally as what is happening.
Keep this in mind. Not for the rest of what I'm going to say, because the two thoughts will likely fail to coincide, but because it is simply something useful to remember. Everything is its own time-line, and when they will meet or weave together is what you must question.

And now that's out of the way. Perhaps now I will make a stand at being normal, when normality is not what anyone desires, or perhaps only those who are not normal desire to be normal, and those who are normal desire to be abnormal. How strange.

But we reach and desire to be what we cannot be, or perhaps we can be anything, we just need to work at it. But sometimes merely wanting something is not enough. I don't think someone could ever have "enough". Not in the strictest sense.

But enough of that. Welcome to my mind, where a random jumble is probably the best you'll ever get. But I'd like, one day, to make my thoughts known, on paper, as a story, as a poem, as an ode to my life, the lives of others and the lives of no one in particular. Real or imagined.

Or fuck it, maybe I just want to tell a story.