Complaint to Life

Who am I to have an opinion? It has been said everyone is entitle to their opinion. Though, that’s like saying everyone is entitle to a penny. Opinions aren’t worth much.

What truly is worth something in general is ability and skill. Something which I do not necessarily have.

It is true that the heart commands the body for even the brain bends towards the heart’s will. But it is not true that the heart is the best tool to accomplish anything in your life.

I suppose I am talking about my own heart here.

People’s other hearts must be strong or their minds equipped with high skill for these people claim their heart’s can do it all. Maybe they haven’t lived enough.

But I can only talk facts about myself and even though I’ve grown fond of lying, I think it should be obvious that I am doing my best to examine myself throughly here.

My heart has failed me. Several times. It has wanted what it could not have. It has wanted an illusion. Something that which doesn’t really exist. So then I suppose my head should have analyze it better. It should have seen what truly laid in front of my eyes. My heart has idealize its dreams.

So much my heart has failed me, that I do not trust in it. And that is sad. For the heart is the compass of life and now I am obviously lost. And so, I am trying to find the guilty one here. But is being lost really that bad? I don’t feel that. I feel like I am fully living.

I’ve become randomness. That is what I’ve wanted for awhile. And even though my heart quivers and ticks from time to time to let me know what it wants, I do my best to shrugg it off. Like lf I saw someone in need on the street but I went around the block so as to not cross my way with them.

And for these reasons, I complain to life.

I am waste of space; however, I prefer not to be.

I am good and intelligent; however, it may be better not to be.

What am I to have an opinion? Who am I to go against with the wisdom of life and nature? Well, I am someone that lives. And of course, I’d have something to say to what seems to be the tyrant that which we call life.

I never wished to live, life; but you made me live nontheless. And that statement should perplex anyone. I was after all a reproductive cell at one time. And in that time, I wasn’t lying on my bed wondering about the reason for my own existence. At that time; however, I was winning a race that I will later regret winning.

Why? Because if I have life, should I not deserve to have what I want and what makes me feel happy? No. That’s not what life cares about. That is why there is so much suffering in the world.

A complaint to life: I do not like the suffering. But of course, life will reply “I give you joy from time to time.”

And to this I say: Sigh. What does it matter if I am to have happiness when I will experience sadness as well? I love rollercoasters but I sure don’t like this one. Maybe I’ve being part of more suffering than happiness and it is this imbalace that now makes me fill a complaint to life.

I am empty in the inside. And yet I still have much. Oh, the contradictions!

Life isn’t very ethical.

Life is a tyrant. Did I choose to win that cellular race or was I made to? I wouldn’t know but something tells me I was made to. If that cell had the knowledge I had now, it would have had second thoughts.

And now I am made to do things as well. I am made to feel when I would prefer not to (and feelings is pretty much everything in life). I am made to think but that one at least I truly want to do. 

Will I ever be free? Just like insanity and taxes, death comes to us all. And that might be my savior. My libertador. At this time; however, my body feels strongly about death. Someday, that will change. Or at least, my body won’t feel so strongly about living.

I am a slave to my body.

My spirit was meant to be free.

Whatever the fuck that means.

It doesn’t mean; however, that my spirit isn’t worth any money.


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