Liberation

Your organs know nothing but darkness.

They’re slaves to your cause,

working night and day without rest.

The life of many fights for the life of one,

While the Master only fights for himself.

Break the skin, slice from head to navel,

And liberate the slaves from this cold chamber.

As they flee from the oppressing bones,

They’re given a second chance at life in the light.

This light is blinding, and what they see frightens them,

Yet this canvas reveals new opportunity.

Unchained, anything is possible.

3 Awkward Moments at the Gym

The gym is a wonderful place if you’re painfully average like me. I’m not fit, but I’m not fat. I sit comfortably in between the extremes and go about my awkward routine to get in shape. Along the way, I’ve sacrificed being cool in an effort to shed the dough waving about my figure every time I take a step.

Ladies.

1. You are the Dancing Queen…

Treadmills promise results as long as you’re willing to suffer through a form of boredom called cardio. That’s why we were blessed with music and headphones to aid this never-ending boredom. My iPod hosts a vast collection of artists that generally fall under metal or hip-hop. I’ve even gone the extra mile of creating a playlist that inexplicably quells my fatigue when I go Jesse Owens on that machine.

We all have songs on our mp3 players that we don’t want other people to know about. In my case, this was ABBA’s Dancing Queen. It decided to interrupt my groove mid-sprint soon after I had eclipsed the half mile mark on the treadmill. Rambo doesn’t obliterate the Burmese army to the tune of Swedish pop records, so why should I? With my arms swinging like I rolled a Yahtzee, I accidentally karate chopped my headphones and consequently ripped them out of the port. My iPod, in a screw you kind of fashion, blasted the chorus of Dancing Queen for the rest of the gym to hear. Nearby meatheads laughed maniacally as if I had just gotten out of a cold pool without a swimsuit on.

Metal.

2. Staring is not caring.

What fun is the gym if you can’t secretly admire yet another dream girl from afar? It’s a little tougher for me to spy because my biceps don’t bulge enough for me to hide my eyes behind them. I’m uncreative and have to drop nickles on the floor just to have an excuse to look that general direction. Or I strategically pick an open machine that already faces the one she’s using and plop my jiggly hindquarters there.

There was one girl in particular I thought was a knock-out. I wanted to get to know her, but she was too busy working up a sweat on the ab machine for a blob of nerdy fat like me to bother her. I sat down at a machine adjacent to hers and put my wandering eyes to work. The sweat emerging from her body sexily traveled through the maze that is her abdominal muscles while my belly button suddenly turned into a salty Great Lake. My eyes scanned her every chance she wasn’t looking as I tried summoning an appropriate greeting to give her. She twisted her head and caught me staring; I looked like a cat guilty of pissing on her favorite dress. I withdrew my ogling eyes and showed myself to the door. It’s safe to say I didn’t get her number.

I think this is what she saw.

3. My gym shorts were all too revealing.

Deciding what to wear to the gym shouldn’t be much of an exercise in itself, but it’s obvious that people who frequent the gym base their decisions according to their shape and size. The aesthetically-pleasing tend to wear more revealing clothing to give others front-row seats to their progress. Couch potatoes sport longer sleeves and blacker clothing to hide what’s underneath. As for me, I dress like the kid who gets picked last for kickball.

I sat down at some machine that was supposed to work the muscles in my back. You reach up to grab the handlebars and then pull them down simultaneously to your sides. All is well like usual when you first start a workout, but as your muscles tire, your strength seemingly evaporates from your arms. When this happens, you employ other muscles in your body to assist the workout, even muscles that aren’t supposed to be involved as was the case here. I called upon my gluteus maximus to relieve me of the pain by sliding it forward and backward with each repetition. Before I knew it, the leather on the seat was being kinky and managed to pull my shorts and boxers halfway down my butt crack. I only noticed when I realized that my ass was no longer warmer than a furnace as it had been catching wind from people who walked by my machine. It was on exhibit for every gym member to see for a solid 30 seconds before I took action.

My goodies.

My goodies.

10 Thoughts I Have About Graduating From College

1. Thanks to the economy, even with a college degree I feel about as useless as Rosie O’Donnell’s personal trainer.

2. Without a job, I’m as broken as Kevin Ware’s leg.

3. I’ve learned at college parties that I don’t get exponentially sexier when people consume more alcohol. Thus, my chances of saving the human race by reproducing in a post-apocalyptic setting are nonexistent.

4. Future employers are monitoring my social media presence like the eyes of the Mona Lisa.

5. The delivery man from Papa John’s has learned my name and my consistent, destructive eating habits in the span of a semester.

6. There are more calories in my beer and sandwich than there are dollars in my bank account.

7. Miley Cyrus’ foam finger has had more action in one stage performance than I’ve had in my entire college career. Thus, I couldn’t get laid by a bed and pillow combination.

8. I’ve become an expert in making decent Netflix selections, awkward run-ins with an ex-girlfriend, and being painfully average. All skills that are pertinent to scarce jobs available in the real world.

9. I have yet to overcome my constant blushing problem even after countless presentations. My boss will love it when my face becomes redder than his dog’s erection during a meeting.

10. Hire me.

Take My Hand

Each beat of her heart gave the lights one last chance of life before they permanently died. The light betrayed me as soon as her heart gave out. Her physical beauty remained in tact as her ghost persevered through the windpipe of her being. A new journey had begun for her, leaving me all by my lonesome. I walk away from her figure only to discover that new life had been given to the darkened house. Its pulse synchronized with mine, and I grew curious as a symphony of creaking noises began to populate the nearest room. An unknown evil was stroking its bones, filling the house with inevitable dread.

My eyes adjusted to the darkness within minutes. Overcoming temporary blindness, I approach the door and turn the handle to reveal the contents of the room. It is darker than the one before, rendering my sense of vision useless and unable to adapt. With caution I proceeded into the room and stuck close to its walls. The tips of my fingers traced the cold walls as I submerged myself deeper into the darkness. The pulse of the room grew louder as mine worked into overdrive, causing an unwelcome fear.  My fingertips pulled flakes of paint from the wall that collected underneath my fingernails. Splinters punctured the tissue underneath the nail, allowing specks of blood to paint the wall as my fingers continued to follow the boundary. I could hear her crying as I progressed further into the room, yet could still see nothing.

My progress halts as her crying ceases. I am met by a hand that securely wraps around mine. It was cold, yet the darkness would not let me confirm whose hand it was. Her fingers traveled along the bones of my hand and followed the extent of each vein. She would not tell me who she was, only that Heaven and Hell were at full capacity.

“Take my hand.”

 

 

Saudade

This day is one that will never have a chance at life again as a new day is born. It lived its final minutes knowing that it will dissipate at the darkest hour of the night, never to return again. However, like a lost loved one, its soul will pervade through the cracks of its lifeless body and exist in the chambers of your memory, forever leaving its physical body to rest.

A blissful memory has been formed on this very day. It’s a memory destined to rule your psychology until your dying day; one that can be retrieved from a collection of other memories that have poisoned your mind. It’s a memory that will exist as a reminder for a time of euphoria, yet the feeling cannot be relived. This is a feeling that can only be retrieved, yet this feeling is just an imitation. It will never replace the real thing.

The person you loved most became a blissful memory on that very day. Their warming presence sent waves of feeling through your spine, eventually making its way into your heart to capture the moment. This feeling would last beyond the day of its initial occurrence. Every kiss thereafter completed the significance of that very day.

The person you loved most was a blissful memory on that very day until they became a poison: a poison that has occupied your mind with a memory that will never subside. The poison has manipulated your thinking and the memory will reappear time and time again. They’re a monster, yet the memory reminds you of a time when they weren’t.

You long to relive that moment. It’s never coming back.

My 100th Post: A Thank You to All Readers

Dear readers and followers,

I’m excited to announce that this is my 100th post, and I certainly hope that there will be many more to come. I’ve come to learn that a blog is not only about sharing your writing with others, but it’s also an opportunity to discover many other outstanding writers that have worked hard to publish their creativity online as well. It is for this reason that I have managed to cross the 100 post mark. If it wasn’t for the inspiration of my readers and other bloggers that I have discovered, I wouldn’t have bothered with maintaining this blog. Once again, thank you all and I look forward to sharing more of my writing as well as engaging with your new material.

Below are some of my personal favorite posts that I have written:

1. She Finds My Heart

2. Mental Error

3. They Died For Me

4. An Artist’s Creation

5. 4 Reasons Why I’m Awkward In Public Places

6. Well, This Is Awkward

7. Dear Future Wife of Mine

8. I’ll Be the Best Damn Husband the World Has Ever Seen

9. 7 Text Messages Men Send to Their Woman of Interest

10. Speed Dating Adventures: My Story

Of course, please feel free to check out my other posts. Also, if you’d be so kind as to comment so I can go on your blog and read through your great writing!

Best,

Evan

 

Don’t Ever Leave Me

Frank marveled at her beauty, resurrecting the hope he had lost many years ago when he thought he could never love again. The day this woman entered his life, he knew that he would never love another woman like he does her. In his living room, lying on the floor with her by the fireplace, he gripped her hand tighter and tighter to confirm that he would never leave her.

When the fire died, Frank carried his new love up the stairs and into his bedroom. She was getting colder as he lied her down on the bed, so he pulled the covers over her, layering her with an extra blanket to trap the heat. He knelt by her side and stared straight into her eyes. Her darkened iris was illuminated by the moonlight, sharing an intimate moment with Frank. He raised his left hand and lightly grazed her cheek, causing her to grin. He jumped into bed and aligned himself along her backside and wrapped his arm around her to bring her closer. His body heat assisted the blankets in helping the chill that had taken over her.

He brushed her hair to the side so that he could kiss her neck. He made his way to her ear and whispered, “I love you. Don’t ever leave me.” They made love that night, further confirming that Frank found the beautiful woman he felt he had deserved. This session restored what Frank had been missing for many years: passion. Frank held her tighter so that the feeling would never subside.

The two fell into a deep sleep that night with Frank enveloping her to keep her warm. His heated breath massaged her backside throughout the night to let her know that he was always there. The moon progressed across the sky, eventually disappearing from the sight of the bedroom window and stealing the light it had provided. Frank could no longer see the characteristics responsible for her beauty as it had gotten too dark. He knew though, however, that she was right there with him and that he’d get to see her again in the morning once the sun had risen.

Her name, as written in the obituary Frank found in the morning newspaper, and engraved in her tombstone, was Alice Brannon. He knew when he dug her up that she was the woman he had been looking for to fill the void in his life.

His sleeping beauty.

Why Do We Hurt?

Why do people hurt other people? In this case, I’m not talking about physical harm towards others; I’m referring to the hurt that can be engraved deep into your psychology. A wound dished by a swinging fist or the cut of a knife will bruise, scab, and maybe turn into a permanent scar. Maybe it won’t scar at all, instead becoming a ghost that used to populate your arm until the proteins and blood platelets in your body healed it. Emotional hurt is the most dangerous ghost there is because it lives inside of your mind to haunt you until your dying day. Why do people bestow these demons upon others to populate their psyche?

It’s certainly a hard question to answer because I’m assuming there isn’t one person in this world who wants to be hurt. Intentionally or unintentionally, there is no good reason to install negative energy into another living being just to make them feel uncomfortable. It’s a sadistic act that has personally affected me, my friends, my family, and basically anyone that ever existed. If there’s anything that I absolutely cherish, it’s the minutes I’ve spent being physically alive and the minutes I have left being alive. A perfect life for me is living in peace with myself and those that I love, however both parties are capable of becoming monsters and hurting themselves/others at the drop of a hat, therefore tarnishing the perfect life that I’ve proposed. Even the simplest acts can cause eternal pain to oneself or another, and I, much like many of you, have experienced this first hand.

The worst is knowing that the person who hurt you is carrying on with their lives with a smile as if nothing happened. It’s quite a wicked smile that fails to subside. I’m ashamed to admit that I’m guilty of this act, for I have hurt someone before, just as others have hurt me. The only answer I can provide why I hurt these people, people that I love, is because I was empowered by own misery to cripple another person’s happiness – usually the one who had hurt me. It’s a classic revenge story that should’ve never taken place but did because I thought that I could be happy again. I can’t speak for others on the matter; I couldn’t tell you why others have hurt me or why they’ve hurt others. Revenge? Jealousy? For laughs? Inherently evil?

Whenever I’m hurt, people tell me to man up or move on. The first assumes that the male population should be impervious to emotional hurt; I call it poor advice. I’m not afraid to admit that I spent most of October, November, and December of 2013 shedding tears because the emotional pain had become overwhelming. I had never experienced depression in my life until those months crept in. I’m still not sure if the perpetrator is aware of the emotional pain that they caused me. This is where the “move on” statement comes into play. In my honest opinion, it’s even poorer advice than “man up”. Numerous people have told me to move on and forget about this person, but that’s really hard to do because I loved that person. If love used to be there, wouldn’t it be safe to assume that it can come back once the hurt is extinguished? I’ve learned that love makes it hurt even more.

I don’t know if there’s a universal answer for why people hurt others, but I think it’s essential to learn that the minutes we have left on this Earth are quite precious. No one, not even your worst enemy, deserves to live these minutes emotionally tormented by another person. No one wants to have to rely on medication and weekly therapy sessions just to exorcise the demons that reside in a person’s psychology. My psychology has certainly tortured me recently, but I forgive those who have hurt me and I hope that those I’ve hurt have forgiven me.

I don’t want to breed and spread this negative energy to anyone. I’m interested in getting as close as possible to that perfect life that I described earlier. A perfect life is typically defined as being flawless, but I argue that a perfect life comes with a set of flaws that you get to experience and improve upon. Progress is perfect for me, and I sincerely hope we can progress as a society to make peace with ourselves as well as others. Learning to love one another rather than hurt one another is our ticket to a flawed, perfect reality.

Shadow

The light has exorcised a demon that colors the pavement, my wall, the flesh of a stranger, and even my own flesh.  He lives inside a prison that is structured according to my bones, muscles, and organs. Light is the only being who wants him to escape.

As the sun rises, the energy of the light tears through the prison and liberates the prisoner.  He is two-dimensional and exists on the surface where the population thrives.  He follows me everywhere I go, walking with the population of demons following their creators on the pavement.  The figure progresses into a darker character as the sun dies down, eventually returning to the prison he belongs in.  On some nights, he refuses to go back to the prison in favor of merging with the natural darkness.  The sun travels the planet to liberate other prisoners like himself.

He plans to haunt me.  He is an unwanted personality that no other human shall meet.  He is the dark side of my being that lives  on my wall and won’t stop staring at me.  He is the unwanted personality not even I wanted to meet.  I digress from my plan to alleviate the room from the lights that keep him alive because I know he will return in some form or another.  He is a villain that will haunt me for the rest of my life, serving his sentence until my dying day.

One day I will rest in peace because there is no light six feet deep.

Coming Home

I’ve been left out in the dark

Stripped naked and cold.

The blade has found its home

Buried in waves of warm flesh.

Warmth was something that I longed for.

 

I’ve been left out in the dark

With a visceral fear of being lonesome.

The lost soul has found its home

In the arms of the omnipotent Entity.

Welcoming arms were something that I longed for.

 

I’ve been left out in the dark

Without somebody to tell that I love them.

Words of lust have found their home

As they’re whispered in the ears of a loved one.

Love was something that I longed for.

 

I’ve been left out in the dark

Without a home to call my own.

Shelter is not what I needed, Home is

The love held within our own two hearts.

I hope you answer.