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Dairy of a different man part I

Life is too short to care too deeply about what everyone thinks about you, keep true to yourself always, because what good is it for a man to win the hearts of all his enemies under false pretenses? Dress your way, think your way, be you, and if people just can't accept that, well its their loss. They judge me for thinking differently than they do, they believe me weird for writing and expressing thoughts through my art. They laugh at me and say, "Why do you write and think differently?" I smile simply, "Why do you breathe?" They watch me in disgust, hatred, they judge my turtleneck, my blue jeans, my hair, my face. Does it matter? No not at all. At times I feel anger, against them, towards them, but then I remember that I, a good person who doesn't need acceptance, am a different person outside these walls, I am a caring, loving, deeper, a cherishing person for everyday that I am given, because I am not ignorant, I have no illusion that I will live forever, I am not immortal, for no man can escape his own mortality. I pity these people, as they will never change, even as they grow, they are the same within and outside the walls, insignificant, not intelligent, not caring, nor loving. Yes, I pity these people, because they will never understand me, and what I have to offer, nor will they ever hear the truth of my words because I don't fit the quota. But in the evenings, when I come home and lie peacefully in my bed, listening to nature, I remember that I am but just one man, not destined to anything that I do not will.
I pity them, as they will never know my strengths, nor what I have been through, because I'm not one of them, as they use that as if I were to take it as an insult. I take pride in being who I am, being different, not fitting the quota, the norm or average. The abuse of a man passed upon a child entity of me, buried in the past but not forgotten, lost into the sands along with the very image of his face, but never burned completely out. The past is best left to decay and not dwelled upon, but sometimes I think of it, not with anger, but with true pity. Then I think of the future, of life, and of death. Death especially, not with fear, nor envy, nor anxiety, but with somewhat of excitement. The thought of mortality and that no one will ever completely know nor comprehend what exactly happens, this is excitement, not fear. But then again, most people don't look at death with fear, and I pity them too.




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