lifepath25

Latest Posts by lifepath25

Rebel against something today. Not to feel cheesy, but maybe , just maybe , it’ll be the beginning of something you.

And no, this isn’t motivation. This is a battle note.

PIMK WAS HER FAV COLOR

Man is capable of loving.

And they blamed God for the atrocities they inflicted on themselves, human to human.

They asked why He looked on as they dismantled each other.

They couldn't even use right the thing they bragged about: free will.

"God, intervene" - their excuses are their acceptances that they can't be without You.

The life and the dream in Chicago.

Death will find me dead.

Fear is long gone.

Better leave me undescribed,

stare at me,

and like a flower,

pluck what you want

and leave me to bloom for others.

Isn’t this what the world has become?

My prayers, oh God,

seem to be answered

by the devil.

When I prayed to make my momma proud,

she was taken instead.

And when I asked for the voices

inside me to quiet,

they raged,

trying to burn this

little brain of mine,

ordering me to do

things,

things that could drive me insane.

God,

should I pray in an opposite manner now?

rantandreleasespace@gmail.com

sometimes you want to deep talk. other times, laugh at how unfair life is. then there are days you want to be crude as hell, unfiltered, messy, real.

but...

social media feels too loud. friends feel too busy. texting feels dry. even your notes app is tired of you.

and still... the heart swells. the mind spins. the soul aches for softness. for being heard without performing. for depth without interruption.

that’s how rant and release was born.

for the ones who: → overthink everything. → replay conversations or decisions on loop. → feel it all and still carry it all. → need to vent but don’t want pity. → want to share but not with just anybody.

it’s old-style. it’s basic. it’s messy. but I promise — when you find me there, we’ll laugh at life together, get scared together, maybe even get cruder together. because in there, it’s us against life.

one email away: rantandreleasespace@gmail.com

no rules. no perfection. just human. though, NOT THERAPY.

Together, I am isolated. Alone, I bloom.

People will never look like flowers.

Death is all I want to test now. I have had a glimpse at everything possible. Death, can you find me please?

God or No God ? No God.

Well, No GOD !

no Existence no Love no Science no Atheism no Self no Facebook.

…so well then, GOD.

After all, writing isn’t the whole damn world. Fuck this writer’s block.

I’ll walk around, watch Béla Tarr or Andrei. I’ll call Joyce she never runs out of words.

Or I’ll sleep it off, because I refuse to let a blank page make me consider the unthinkable.

We live between

bad choices

and worse ones,

and we choose the bad,

hoping that at least

we shall survive.

Mere survival is what

alot of us sometimes

sleeplessly

struggle for.

I don’t doubt, sometimes, that I may not make it, among the chosen ones, the steadfast, the unwavering, the ones who stood firm against sin.

But still, I try. And my trying will only cease the day He has fated my end. Perhaps by then, I will have earned my passage to the joys and everlastings of His promise.

I still hope. I still see the possibility. I still long to be part of that eventuality, in the land where milk and honey flow.

There’s nothing to be pressured about.

The chance of dying without ever tasting what you crave is real, and alive, breathing down your neck.

And no amount of pressure will ever change that.

very hard indeed.

Possessions

He told them to trust more in

Heavenly possessions as earthly

Ones fade away, though it's hard.

The kids want to be writers and painters, but by 22, as they pass car dealerships, watch movies with perfect, slim women, and step over men picking up scrap metal just to buy a cup of coffee, things change.

All they want now is to survive, to sit in cars with models from the movies they watched last night .

They choose that kind of win and it's understandable.

Sometimes, my thoughts tangle me up, is this earth just a war between God and the gods, a battle for who claims the most souls in the end?

But then I tell myself, I’d rather be among those where Jesus is the Son, God is the Father, and the Holy Spirit walks beside me.

That is where I fight to belong.

The fate of love keeps my wait warm, knowing that I will find you, love you, and show this world that deep within me, there was always love waiting to break free.

The whole world isn’t mine, true, but my world, my world is mine.

This life, a gift from the Almighty GOD. But I wonder SOMETIMES if He had let us see first, see what’s here, what lingers in hearts, what other souls are capable of, would any of us have accepted this beloved gift of existence?

Personally, I don't think I would but I thank him now that am here, now that I know that with him this all chaos is bearable.

But it’s been hard to let them know that all I need now is not Lethargy, or Trazodone, or Sertraline.

I need a heart that can beat when mine is trembling, a face that can smile when mine is sad-locked, and a person who can accept that I am in a dangerous mood.

And I felt it— the weight that kept me in bed, a heavy stone on my back.

My mom had paid hefty fees for private school, but even that couldn’t make me smile— or, to say it right, help me understand myself.

Worse, my dad loved me, but even with what others yearned for, I was no happier than them.

So, in my bed, I realized— I had to find myself, to accept myself, to love myself first, before the other loves could truly reach me.

And maybe then, I could pursue the happiness I wanted. As hard as it might be, the stars had assured me— it was a hopeful gamble, maybe.

We shall die but not this night.

This night is us on a bed in a rose garden looking at the stars laughing at the odds that had thought we couldn't meet and love and laugh and last.

War has come. Where is my artillery? We have failed, drastically, to reach a truce with life. So now, let the war begin. I am not afraid.

I once heard stories that God saves the cursed, but in this case, I’m sure I am the cursed. And all I need now is His hand to lift this curse of life, this darkness, this weight that I carry alone.

The rebellion is me.

The Woman You Wanted Me to Be.

When I think back now,

I see how you abused me,

without pulling my hair,

without slamming my head against walls,

without forcing yourself on me.

But you broke me all the same.

You compared me to other women,

made me wear your favorite color

red when I hated it most

and

ordered me to paint my lips

for every walk i had

beside you.

Now that I remember,

I never lived freely with you.

It was exhausting,

it was toxic Fred.