It’s the wise ones who often suffer the most because often those are the ones who are engrossed within reality. Real agony, sealed fantasy, reveal gravity because if you only knew what really happened in this world you’d realize we ain’t have reason to be high. My respect towards the wise who’s cup is still full of hope and who still find courage, even after perpetual disappointment, to be hopeful. Because I, for one, am tired of being too aware. Too evocative. Too knowing. They say ignorance is bliss, and I used to think it was bs, until I touched lips with the Devil and felt his kiss. Because upon his lips I tasted the lips of everyone who’s ever kissed him, and let me tell you, after that kiss they never dissed him, but dissed God, and never missed Him. Sometimes, I wish I was one of them.. because when the blind lead the blind, at least they’re in a peace of mind within their confined line. Why does it matter if they’re sightless? It doesn’t imply that they’re visionless, and if you have vision who are people to say you’re decisions are any less of value than theirs? 

Sometimes, I wish I were oblivious. Because at times, the obvious to me, is what others perceive as intangible. And when you’re aware of how alone you really are in this world, it’s frightening. Some would say it’s enlightening so why does it feel like the sun’s out but I suddenly was struck with lightening? The worst events are the ones you don’t expect. 

Have you ever thought about our purpose? If our lives are really worth it? How the definition of living is something that’s not definite, but a concept that we’ve adapted to? How if everything was meant to be, that means we were meant to find attraction in the things we’re attracted to? How if fate and predestination were truly how our lives were destined, we’re just sticks of meat existing on a wet sphere, and we’re not really here to discover anything.

We are born into this world just to get set back to dust, and everything else we’re told that challenges that reality, is just a theory.

Knowing too much can be a bad thing, because the truth is what you believe, and when the truth is that nothing matters, what’s left to believe in?

That chick that doesn’t whore and moan cause living up to her morals is more ratifying than satisfying her hormones. That chick that would rather you explore the inner crevices of her mind than have you explore the inner crevices of her thighs because she knows sex shouldn’t be used as a prize in which guys fight to win, because they don’t even fight to win her heart, just her body. To that chick that would rather spend her time invested with her head in the books than in her looks. The one that spits knowledge, and metaphors. Wisdom, and verses, versus baby mama drama and sentences that contain curses. The chick that thinks just as natural and constant as she blinks, with the answers seen through her pupils peep hole and questions as her eye lashes, she lashes the ‘I’s’ in forms of opinions and in ink. That chick that doesn’t fuck dicks cause her words fuck with their mental, man. She’s only into gentlemen. And she’s realized she need not the gentle kiss of any man to reassure her of her value. That the mental stimulation her mind is capable of bringing forth is of value, too. To that chick that would much rather have an intellectually stimulating conversation with you, as opposed to initiating sexually satisfying relations with you. She converses with you about your aspirations, dreams, and ambitions just as much as your favorite sex positions, because she realizes in order to sustain a healthy relationship she has to able to trust you, let down her guard, see that you won’t demean her and, in fact, hold her feelings in high regard.

To that chick, that recognizes the fact that when it comes down to it, sex is easy, it’s understanding her that’s hard.