Some shit I wrote on July 26.14

by be.

Because being wronged has made me write for love and life and some otherwise banter for the sake of Likes. I haven’t the answer and still beg to differ since blood is cheap and the price of water is sick. And the sun is shining and the oil is slick and I’m not quite sure what we’re fighting for. Or why there’s war. Because I can’t stand at attention nor span my attention for a caption and that’s an action that I’d likely ignore. Since I don’t read much but I see the lines. An artists heart beats much so I bleed designs and the cost of my fabric isn’t worth the cotton. But from the cloth I’m cut the wool is softened. The starch is firm. The fruits are rotten and when the pain gets thrown the wounds only get sewn at a harsh return. I’ll make it some year I tell myself. I’m not from here I yell sometimes because I know that eyes are rarely touched but they’re always felt. And I’ve seen too much to want to stick around. So I write my closest folk and my furthest friends who pen my quotes on post-it notes in case our closeness ends because I’m less afraid of dying than I am of feeling not alive. And I heard once a man should leave his emotions hid. And then I heard once that we’re all just kids. Who need affection and love and acceptance like everyone else. And fuck your dad and what he did to you. And fuck your mom for how she lied to them. And look what you’ve made of yourself they say. They love what you’ve done, your work is incredible, but I’m still me at the end of the day. And all they’ll know is what I share with them. And they’ll all just assume it’s every part of myself. Right here is as close to a heaven as it is to a hell. An empty water hole is still called a “well”.

- Bryan 'be.' Espiritu