I am hopelessly devoted. I can collapse to my knees, scared from the regret of the times I was apathetic to repair them. Scratch that, to actually care about them. I can feel my being beginning to transform into some hateful, and unforgetful person I portray to be in my constant battle of this ambient fog I surround myself with. I look up to these free writers and artists, having the forgiving conscience, I seem to forget leave in my back pocket at all the right times, my conscience analyzing me to a complete science, holding me back while my tongue dances behind my lips for the one taste of done-wrong . Being apathetic isn’t such a downer. It gives you an apprehension and a sense of consciousness to actually steal the tick from the clock and just breathe. I like sitting back, and just observing the good and bad quirks of this place I call my hometown. It would better be described as a home-speck. I’m just tired of Xeroxed, cold cut copied people running this place because they get that five million year old talk, you’re gonna be just like your father. Your mother. I will never say that. Slap me in my demented profile if I even let it pass my chapped lips. As I am writing this I am frowning in disgust. Why would someone ever want to say that? Why do you compare me to another person I only have relations to by blood? I have no sense of their opinions or expectations, thank god. How come no one ever affirms the thought of , “You are gonna grow up to be a person who no one will ever see in the world after you pass.” Why must we be the person other people put upon us to aspire to? My pulse is bolting and I can feel the anger spread across my dry mouth and bring about some sort of a downward curve, for ever to be remembered as the day my Microsoft word got an ear full. My nights consist of pondering the actual stupidity of the people I am surrounded by. I am just so mortified by the nerve of my society and I just wonder where they get the untrue assumptions they anatomize in their heads. Maybe this is what growing up is. Realizing that the little “Stranger Danger” and “Stop Drop and Roll” is created to ditch you when you really need it and to be replaced by fear and altered feeble-mindedness, life is filled with situations such as this. Child hood is nothing but the age span from birth to adolescence. I can’t deduce the facts of the sappy definition such as the best time ever. Child hood is a definition, not a microorganism meant to be provoked. I don’t think about it that much.

You know what’s funny? This whole article was planned to be on the idea of being apathetic. Oh yeah, maybe that was a hint of surprise sarcasm sparked by my filing cabinets in my head. Looking back on this computer screen, taunting my eyes to squint, this whole legend is the total opposite of the state of mind I was going for. Maybe apathy is a asylum for the most abundant accumulation of affection for the feeling I most avoid, this troubling hunger annoyed by the fear of over reacting. This is me caring.