Mind

My mind, filled with confusion, filled with desire, lust. I think and think, never having a repeating subject. Over and over my mind races with the feelings and thoughts of the past, present, and future. Why is it now that my stream of consciousness is ever flowing? Why not before? As lust grows, self control fades. As I grow happier, sadness fades. As I find tranquility in all that I've done, all doubt flies out of sight. This feeling, these feelings, I've never felt before.
Now what? It is all gone, what happened? Panic, is what I feel. Scared I loose the stream and fall into a storm. Hate and anger fills to the edge with anguish. I'm falling, struggling, I am lost. Every thought, every word, is a world of pain. It effects all and me. It spews from my seams and creases.

This Moment, This Day, This Very Second (Memories)

Landing on the bark, from my leap off  the old metal jungle gym, brought me justice from above. My discrepancy after the teacher yelled "freeze", landed me sitting on the hot brick wall. these years kept moving in the same direction. For the first time I felt my fist against a bony human face, it came and went faster than most things. Before I knew it I found myself sitting on a hot yellow dot, painted on the cement, only showing off my new deed.
Knowing that having too much fun comes with consequence, I didn't expect  finding myself under a playground covered in my own blood and tears. With a new crooked nose and thick scar, I seemed to gain more and more flaws.
From the time I shredded my knee on asphalt  to the times bloody fights brought me new friends. The moments after  sliding down a rock face with no shirt, finding that nothing was worse than bleeding from your side. Or, even, the moments my crazed stalker almost tore my arm off.
Every second that passed as I lay upside-down in a bush, hiding from the passing police car, I reminisced on my past adventures. The strain of my heart, brought thoughts of glorious soccer victories. Every second the lights flashed off of house windows, reminded me of the first time I saw leaves on a tree. The leaves, bright and green, moved in the wind revealing bits of the sun.
Now, this day, I fell into a hole of injury and haven't climbed out since. The day hope slipped through my fingers, was the first day of mortality, mortality I still feel. the potential of the past was lost by the present. I stand in the now, missing the past and fearing the future.

Eyes Wide Open

It's hot, my shoes gradually heat to unbearable temperatures. In this heat I could hear the movement of feet and a burp from a longtime friend. I feel I can hear everything in the still. Every ant and every falling leaf, I can hear every movement.

Time

Time, it passes by without moments to spare. Taken for granted, we abuse it, underestimated it. It flows without end,it is always there. It heals, but always kills. Full of memories that last forever, never the same, but always the same. Moment for moment, past to present, one to another. It never stops, it never ends. Always to be feard, never understood.

See, Hear, Speak

See with your eyes. Feel with them, think through them, see all, and be seen. Now close them, blind yourself. Hear the things you saw. Listen to the pain, the anger, the insanity, but hear the love, the happiness, and the joy. Speak now, tell of what you've seen, tell of what you've heard. Let them feel through your words, let all know. Through your voice, through your writings, inspire many. They need it, they need you, they need the guidance.

See it, hear it, now speak it. Someone will listen.

Why Do I Write?

 I've never actually asked myself " Why do I, Zachary Marcus Mitchell, write?" I hadn't really felt the need to even explain to myself why I do. I was so entranced by the satisfaction I had found through writing, I never felt the  need to question it. without really thinking about it, I found the reason I write.
 For some it maybe the world they escape to or the "person" they tell everything. Maybe they just don't have the ability to express their feelings, without pen and paper. I write to feel the satisfaction of the spot light. Even if I don't have the spotlight, I feel satisfied because I'm confident in my ability. I write to be heard, to even show off a lil' bit. But through the want of being praised, I write to guide others with my experiences.
This craft brings me joy unlike any other but, with that, I still feel the need to tell myself who I am. I write until I feel I've gotten what I needed to say, out. I write to find myself. Each story, each passage, each note, I step closer to finding me.