Tlg
JF-Expert Member
- Apr 3, 2017
- 804
- 612
In my life I have always been an achiever . Always a good getter. I flourished at becoming good at all I did. Always good enough . A perfect son. A lastborn son. I got certificates for them. I got trophies for becoming the best in what I did. I was (tlg[emoji40]) the good boy who expelled in class work and a sharp boy. I knew better than most boys of my age. I always read ahead . In class four I had read class seven books. I had unending curiosity that needed satisfaction. A thirst for knowledge. I wanted to Know why what happened. I tinkled with physics enough to make it my favorite. I had never taken interest in biology much but I fell for physics. It became my first love in the sciences. The weapons the machines they fascinated me. Mesmerized me. Made me want to know more.
Literature interested me. Ignited the curiosity of stories. I always wanted to know what happened. Maybe that's why I'm a writer today. Maybe it's my punishment for the thirst to read other people's work. Like a burden I will ever have to carry to remind me of where my greed for knowledge led me.maybe that's why I over here my age. At class five I had my gardens. Blessed hands my mother called it all I knew is I planted.
I was not merely a consumer. I had the urge in me to produce. I was born a creator. A creative mind. Minds that could weave a tale out of a broken heart and a broken soul. Minds that could twist words and give them life. Breath life into them in form of character. All this time I didn't realize I was loosing myself. I was messing my childhood by behaving an adult. I always wanted to achieve more than my dad and give him the best life.
But life had yet to show me it's other side. In all my quest for over archieving, I felt something was missing in my life, People. I grew desperate for friends. I went desperate measures to make friends. I wanted to fit in as much as my alpha macho male would not allow me. I was born an archiever not some social freak. Yet I craved attention. I learned to make friends fast. I was a sharp student after all. I developed a skill of making friends.
I thought it a blessing yet it was a curse in disguise. All it brought was bad things. I made friends , but , nobody ever taught me how to keep them. They didn't stay for long. Then they left. They always did. Maybe they sensed the desperation in me. The craving for love they felt they could not be able to satisfy. The void needed to be filled. Maybe that's where the drugs came in. They became my comfort. My friends when am lonely. You'll ask, how can one with so many friends be so lonely. I like to smoke, helps me drift away from loneliness. Helps my mind wonder away from my troubles and emptiness. No matter how good you become in all you do , never forget how to relate to people. Get friends. Real friends. I came to learn a little too late, never work to please others, that shit'll backfire on you.
Life has never been any crystal stair
Life has been full of ups and downs
Lifes been hills and valleys
Lifes been a monster
Life's been merciless and caring
I lived each day as it came. I cared less for all I did . I became terrible or just didn't care anymore. Mum asked where his son had gone. what had happened to his obedient son. Something had snapped. Her son would never be the same again. I created characters , lived their lives. I lived the lives of the doomed characters I had created. My creativity was haunting me. Maybe because I wrote more tragedy than anything else. The blood of the characters I killed in my stories had cursed me.
They was the price I had to pay for being an above average kid in all I did. Life fucked me up. I was destroying whilst thinking I was building.
A tale of current past.
I'm tlg
The storyteller
[emoji767]tlg
Literature interested me. Ignited the curiosity of stories. I always wanted to know what happened. Maybe that's why I'm a writer today. Maybe it's my punishment for the thirst to read other people's work. Like a burden I will ever have to carry to remind me of where my greed for knowledge led me.maybe that's why I over here my age. At class five I had my gardens. Blessed hands my mother called it all I knew is I planted.
I was not merely a consumer. I had the urge in me to produce. I was born a creator. A creative mind. Minds that could weave a tale out of a broken heart and a broken soul. Minds that could twist words and give them life. Breath life into them in form of character. All this time I didn't realize I was loosing myself. I was messing my childhood by behaving an adult. I always wanted to achieve more than my dad and give him the best life.
But life had yet to show me it's other side. In all my quest for over archieving, I felt something was missing in my life, People. I grew desperate for friends. I went desperate measures to make friends. I wanted to fit in as much as my alpha macho male would not allow me. I was born an archiever not some social freak. Yet I craved attention. I learned to make friends fast. I was a sharp student after all. I developed a skill of making friends.
I thought it a blessing yet it was a curse in disguise. All it brought was bad things. I made friends , but , nobody ever taught me how to keep them. They didn't stay for long. Then they left. They always did. Maybe they sensed the desperation in me. The craving for love they felt they could not be able to satisfy. The void needed to be filled. Maybe that's where the drugs came in. They became my comfort. My friends when am lonely. You'll ask, how can one with so many friends be so lonely. I like to smoke, helps me drift away from loneliness. Helps my mind wonder away from my troubles and emptiness. No matter how good you become in all you do , never forget how to relate to people. Get friends. Real friends. I came to learn a little too late, never work to please others, that shit'll backfire on you.
Life has never been any crystal stair
Life has been full of ups and downs
Lifes been hills and valleys
Lifes been a monster
Life's been merciless and caring
I lived each day as it came. I cared less for all I did . I became terrible or just didn't care anymore. Mum asked where his son had gone. what had happened to his obedient son. Something had snapped. Her son would never be the same again. I created characters , lived their lives. I lived the lives of the doomed characters I had created. My creativity was haunting me. Maybe because I wrote more tragedy than anything else. The blood of the characters I killed in my stories had cursed me.
They was the price I had to pay for being an above average kid in all I did. Life fucked me up. I was destroying whilst thinking I was building.
A tale of current past.
I'm tlg
The storyteller
[emoji767]tlg
