“It’s never too late in the end”

“It’s never too late in the end, to begin again”

Falling back into old habits.
Slipping into a place where things are always a little less happy.
That place I used to find some sort of comfort.
The paintings stopped.
I’d start to write…
but nothing felt real ….
one step ahead of my self created misery and sadness found me in the middle of a crisis…
How do I feel what my art is about if I don’t feel that way?
Frustration grows because this is who I thought I was!
My mind tells me
“this is what makes you special”
I do I love painting.
I do love writing and I love creating things…
however at what cost ?
So I write… unfulfilled
“paint because this is what makes you interesting!”
you’re right, fuck…
Frustration and fear.

The words I’d written down.
fake, fake, false, trying.. BULL SHIT… truth.
I don’t feel any of these things!
I used to, oh yes…
and from these writings would come paintings that I felt proud of.
That made me feel again worth something.

“Your truth is a lie,
and this is your only truth”

I knew that all of this was tried and nothing was real about it

“I hate these feelings and I hate these thoughts, please stop , dont stop, please stop…”
If they stop completely, what will I create? (you are worth nothing you are not special!) please don’t stop..
If I don’t stop them, what will they destroy? (everything I love!)… Please stop.
I ended the page with
“this cant be me.”

My mind has these stories it likes to replay for me.
it’s favourite, An 8 year-old boy in a bed, begging to be heard, ignored…

It’ knows that this is the moment I shut down…
“No matter how you feel my boy, don’t bother to express it, because no one cares what you want.”
I believed it.

Second page.

“These days I have little to say, and less for anyone to hear.
There is so much that is held back,
It’s something that seems nearly impossible to explain..
I can see it on my lovers face that all of this doesn’t sit well.
I can feel her slowly pulling away ( I’m not sure if it’s her pulling or me pushing)
is there some comfort in this ?
she cries, I hate that I cause her cries.”

I tried to make this better.
I did not want to fall into that trap I set for myself, but its hard….
“What you feel doesn’t mean shit… everyone will just let you down AGAIN! so stay silent..”
Your mind has a really great way if tying you up to things in the past.
I knew that I was pushing or letting what I loved get pulled away.
See it, I saw it!
I tired to let her know, but it was too little too late.
Love is a word that doesn’t come out easy for me..
“I love you”
I’d feel silly saying it.
“I really like you” would fall out most times with I thought it,”love”.
“I love you” she would always reply…

I wrote a song…

“I swear that I’ll be born new.
Ill try and little harder,
I’ll be a little better,
just for you”

next page..
I corrected myself and caught that trap I set. moved one
“eye really wish I could just open up, but all of this is trapped inside of me”
Open me up and find everything beautiful, all that i feel and all I love.”….
and then some truth

“these days I feel less and less worth anything.
I forget what its like to be honestly happy.
I BRING PEOPLE DOWN… this is how i feel.
such terrible thoughts
I have never really spoken
how I love
what I love
who I love
just look close and you can see it
I forget who I am
I forget who I am
I forget who I am
I forget who I am
I forget who I am
I forget who I am
I forget who I am

please please love
no dont forget
your heart is so beautiful
your eyes are so brave
loved , you are.
you are, loved.
really, you really love.

you are brilliant, alive, and real, honest and strong… this you is shadows.
slow down love, theres little reason to run, dreams of love.”

so I sat in the park today…

You knew, You knew…
you tried, too little
too late.
and it’s okay now to take a minute and think about what you want.
tears are good…

I am worth my feelings.

worth loving and worth love.

I need to believe in myself.

The last day of my 31st year.


1 Comment

Filed under letter, photos

One response to ““It’s never too late in the end”

  1. a.

    confessions of an artist are so damn honest

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