Me, just me.

I am me. You can go halfway or hell, around the world, hell and back, I will still be me. You will never find anyone like me or somebody identical. Never. Because I chose to be him, I love being the owner of me. Every little thing that I am, that builds me as the very person that I am is without a doubt, I posses. It is mine. Certainly, I handle me. The way I dress myself, the way I laugh, the way I think the way I smile, my actions, certainly just because... I have my own dreams, my aspirations and ambitions, my illusions, my nightmares, my hopes and my fears. I own my successes and my victory, just as much as I own my failures, my downfall, my humiliation and mistakes. All are mine, certainly. No one else will ever know me well enough. No one will ever know me better than myself. Certainly, no one. And those times I would be uncertain of who I am, I will always carry on, pick up the pieces, and hopefully be determined enough to solve the puzzle and not give up. The puzzle, which is certainly my whole being. All of my feelings, all of my emotions, all of my love and my affection. My thoughts, my values, my morals. My heartaches & my heartbreaks. I own everything, everything I create, everything I control, everything, I manipulate. Me. Certainly, because I am Gino.

These hands hold my future.

I cannot even begin to count how many times people have told me that my entire future is at the tip of my fingers. The responsibilities and burdens rested upon my shoulders and over time, my hands start to tremble. I lost direction because my mind became tainted by reality which carried it’s own dosage of atrocities, tragedy, and horror. My future became vague and I questioned whether my fingers could carry such privileges of holding my future any longer.

The same hands that wiped away my tears.
The same hands that intertwined with my mothers.
The same hands that created art.
The same hands that have been scarred from breaking my falls as a child.
The same hands that fed me.
The same hands that dressed me.

These hands hold my future?

The same hands that pushed against the door.
The same hands that fed me those toxins.
The same hands that have stolen.
The same hands that were used to hurt others.
The same hands that were used to hurt myself.

These hands hold my future?

What happens when my hands are too worn out? What would become of my future? Life is ever changing. At any given moment, everything could be sent down a spiral of unfortunate events. When such things would occur, you are forced to redirect your future according to where you are at. How much longer can my hands last? Because they are trembling and I am afraid my hands cannot carry such weight any longer. My gentle hands will become rough. My child-like hands will wrinkle. Time will take its toll and would this make my future age as well? What would become of it? So I clasp my hands and hold it close to my chest. I feel the faint beating of my heart and there is hope. As long as my mind, body, and soul stays intact, I will be fine. Right?

I am sitting here, typing words, backspacing words, over and over again. The screen is once again blank. Thoughts come rushing in, then I lose track, so I erase.


I think of you and my confusion, my sadness, my anger, and my frustration. Then, my butterflies, my excitement, and my feelings for you take over, so I erase.

It’s not the things that you say, this I know for a fact, because I have heard it once before at some point in time. It’s not your image or your smile because I have seen it once before, so I erase.

I know what you are all about, the “hit it and quit it” type. I know you are not as innocent as you claim to be. I thought being innocent was something you wanted, so I molded myself into that person. So I erase.

Then I find out you like a douchebag, you know, the partying, the drinking type of guy, the asshole type of guy, who is arrogant, spontaneous and out there, so I became that guy. No questions asked, then I lost myself. So once again, I erase.

My thoughts are lost, I have forgotten why I even sat down and began pressing my fingers against this keypad. Typing nonsense, pouring out my thoughts, yet hesitate because I am so afraid. So I erase.

I am on the edge, forced to make a decision, but why? These are the questions I have asked yet cannot seem to find the answer to compliment them. Time is up, the clock is ticking. I am almost there. So I erase.

"Last night I saw you in my dreams. Now I can't wait to go to sleep."

Dear Dreams of Mine,

You have been giving me the gift of temporary escapes for the past eighteen years of my life. Without you, I would probably be a very boring person. I cannot seem to figure out how you do it and how such a thing happens, but I do not dare question you. Thank you, for last night. I can honestly say that I learned a lot about what my subconscious has been bothered by. You are the only one who’s ever dared to bring it up. I saw her, I saw them, I fought, and I loved. All within the short eight hours. I realized that I have been lying to myself. That does not change anything though, I will continue to do so. Why? Because that is the only option I am left with. It’s nice to know that I am still left with my dreams at the end of the day. The way you take my worries and play it up in a different scenario. You reminded me that I miss the embrace of a person and that I have done it all wrong. Or have I? Maybe it’s time I shift my loving style. Then again, even if I were to change my mindset, sooner or later, it will peek out. I guess such lessons are learned and it takes time to get there.

Let’s meet again, tonight.
See you there

Shivers ran down my spine.
The hairs on the back of my neck stiffened.
My smile gave up.
My eyes became idle.

It felt as though the entire world stopped, everything froze. There I stood, in the middle of the road, where traffic once occured. There is no other way to put it, no words to substitute the true meaning, no matter how I say it, the connotation is there. I am lost. A rush of bitter-cold air swept by me. Leaving me to stand there, with goosebumps along my arms. I cannot move. No matter which avenue I choose to take, I will just be hurt along the way. The road to recovery requires patience. If I choose to remain in the past it may hurt. I’ve been let down so many times before, what makes this any different? Maybe it was the fact that I had something within reach, something so close, was taken away from me. I am a fool. Always and forever will be. Never learned. I should be ashamed.

Just because the future does not look as bright as I thought it would be, this is not the end of the world. Because of the world froze, does not mean I have to. I know that eventually, things will progress into a better light. All I need is strength. Though there will be times where I find myself stranded along the way, and there might not be anyone to turn to. But one thing is for sure, all the good memories I have created will always outshine the bad memories that has scarred me. Best believe it.

Because all that I can ever ask for, lies with me.
Once again, I will pick myself up.
And live this beautiful struggle called life.

Censorship of the Mind

All my life, peers and advisers have taught me to speak my mind, yet when I do, no one seems to handle it well. Society wants me to “tone it down” because it is too out of the ordinary. Who defines what is ordinary? Who draws the line between normality and mediocrity? The world seems to have created a box, and wishes for everyone to only color within the lines, because as as soon as someone does something ludicrous, all hell breaks loose. Maybe I am wrong. If you are going to censor my mind, you are forcing me to restrain myself, keeping me a prisoner. This has nothing to do with the freedom of speech, because I do not mean my rights as an individual. What I mean is that even though I have the right to say whatever I please, express myself in any form, people still want you to fit within a certain persona. Even if they do not physically restrict me from doing as I please, their subliminal actions, thoughts, and how they verbally approach me says it all. Artists are not obligated to follow certain guidelines. You are not respecting my art if you expect me to do so.

Art, to me, is a very vague but vast subject. In my opinion, art includes dance, writing, anything and everything that requires you to free your mind, and express yourself. Creating something. “The quality, production, expression, or realm, according to aesthetic principles, of what is beautiful, appealing, or of more than ordinary significance.” It is a craft. A talent. A gift.

Hiding under written thoughts

I find it very difficult to express my thoughts, truthfully.

It’s as if I did, I would show weakness.
It’s as if I did, everything would fall apart.
It’s as if I did, I would end up hurting people I do not intend to inflict pain upon.
It’s as if I did, I would regret it at some point.
It’s as if I did, everything would change.
It’s as if I did, everyone would be disappointed in me.

I can sit here and construct my thoughts onto this piece, because I know you would never take the time to read it. If you did, you would just shrug it off. I am sure. In a way, I am hiding behind this screen to voice out my thoughts because it is a given that I would never have the guts to tell anyone how I feel face-to-face. If it’s anger, I am not afraid to voice my opinions. If it’s my feelings towards someone, I would rather not. All these thoughts run through my mind, and the cons always seem to outweigh all possible pros. Maybe I am over-analyzing the situation, and stretching it out to such extreme measures. Maybe I should just go to you right now and put my two cents in. Thing is, do you want to hear the truth? Are you prepared for it? Or would this completely change everything and make me wish I had kept my mouth shut?