Hard, Red, Rectangles And A Sledge Hammer

It's only now that I realize the walls of my world are made out of bricks, because they meet the description I found on Wikipedia. And as they fall they don't dance like leafs in the fall. No. They fall like any other rock, but what's really lucky is they leave little (by little I mean unforgettable) scars as they scrape your arms on the flight to the ground.

I tried to tell you, that I was unsure of the whole thing. But you didn't have time and I was too teary eyed and choked up to explain my thoughts, but you didn't care I'm sure. So when the day comes when I am on my own and choose a different path, please save me your disapproval and remember the time I asked you questions and you didn't have the answer, and neither did he, or she or anyone.... Not because the question was not thoughtful, more because I knew that you and every last one of these robots don't care to ask why, or wonder the other things there are to learn from other people.

How can you say that you are right because of a feeling? That's ludicrous, think about what you're saying. I know this is true because the butterfly's in my stomach said so. I get it . I really do. Love is for adults but this whole thing we can know for sure at the age of eight. I forgot how logical all of this is. Sorry for second guessing it.

I think i'm going to leave and find my answers on my own with people who wonder what I wonder, and think the way I think. And I hope you find a hallmark card that says 'happy damnation!' or 'Congrats you made it!' In bright red letters, because I'm obviously going to hell for wanting to find the truth, to really know the truth for myself. Sorry I can't take your word for it.

God doesn't damn the wonderers. If he dose then by all means, I hope I get a spot next to the fire.

Remember the walls falling? I thought bricks were sturdy, what could be making them fly. And that's when I realize, I'm swinging a sledge hammer at everything I used to love.

I hate it here.

Yours,

Peter Van Houten

Because Everyone Needs a Shout Out

This is for the three girls that sit next to me in German, nobody cares about how many coast of nail polish you have to put on.

This is for the lady that almost hit me in the Walmart parking lot, SCREW YOU.

This is for the people who cheat, one word Karma, its coming.

This is for the boy I love, don't change.

This is for my parents, i'm sorry i'm not the daughter you wanted me to be.

This is for my best-friend, I am here for you, even when you think i'm not.

This is for the writers on my hero list, you give me inspiration.

This is for my sister, you can do better, and he knows it.

This is for the heart-breakers.

This is for the drunks.

This is for god.

This is for the poets.

This is for the writers.

This is for the tourists.

This is for Paris.

This is for you.

This is for me.

This is for the box I refuse to think inside.

This is for creativity.

Yours,

Peter Van Houten

we don't know any better. and breathing is a must.

Someday I think i'll understand why we care so much, why we love, why we hurt, and why we do it over and over until were numb. I think we already know though, we just don't like the answer....

    Eventually we will understand..... right?

you actually don't want to know, you just want to be.

    Why do i ask questions i don't want the answer to?

Because they taught you to.

    Dose it get easier?

HA.

    Will the pain ever disappear?

You know the answer.

    Will the distance get harder?

Don't ask me stupid questions.

    Why do we listen when they tell us to put the crayons away?

We don't know any better. 

    What are we going to do about it?

Breath. Because breathing is a must.

Yours,

Peter Van Houten

Just Because I Can....

Just because I can, I'll let you in on a secret... I'm in love. plain and simple. I proud to say that i'm past the raging teenage hormonal love that the sophomores deal with, and I am in love with this boy. He loves me to, he's told me so. But he lives far away, and I don't know how long this whole 'I Love You' thing can last. I just wanted to tell you because I could.

Just because I can, I'll tell you that I don't feel old enough to be a senior. I feel like I should probably be picking out my snack for lunch, not the collage for my future. I don't know who else is in that boat, if so comment below, we can bond over our lack of maturity. It really feels like i'm the only one being dragged behind the bus. If you wanted to know, its not fun. I just wanted to tell you because I could.

Just because I can, I'll tell you that i have to shame in telling the truth. f you cant be blunt when its necessary then you're screwed. so try your best.

Just because I can, I'll tell you that God is tricking us.

Just because I can, I'm going to tell you that I hate living in Utah. any place would be better.

Just because I can, I'll say that I haven't forgiven you. you know who you are. #whatatool

Just because I can I'm going to end this. You're Welcome.


Yours,

Peter Van Houten

When I Hit the Concrete

My breathing is sharp, and trying to hide it makes everything even worse. So I make the jump, then I can't feel anything but air rushing past, just waiting for my parachute to hopefully catch me, most times it doesn't and that's when I hit the concrete.

Hitting the concrete isn't always bad, sometimes its time to stop a bad fall. Sometimes your parachute gets stuck, and then there's the times you pull the parachute thing too soon and you end up on the concrete alone. Those are the worst of all, that's what makes the concrete so scary, its what makes the fall scary. but it shouldn't be scary, it should be fun. most times people only see how far from the concrete though, and so fear takes over. just try one thing for me? just once, don't be afraid of the concrete.because if you're always afraid, how will you ever find someone to fall with? the concretes just there to catch you, and it hurts enough to remind you that the person you were falling with is not for you.
Just a thought.

Yours,

Peter Van Houten

The White Crayons

We spend our whole lives waiting to age, because society told us to... and now that we are slowly reaching the climax, of our ultimate goal, adulthood. We have finally come to our senses, and realized that being an adult is going to eat our brains and claim our youth, but its too late now, we've already come too far. We've already broken every crayon except the white ones, but no one really liked the white ones from the start. When you think about it the white crayon was neglect almost as much as the last few years we had to order from the kids menu at red robin. But maybe saving the white crayon is enough to save us! maybe just maybe we can use the black paper and white crayons. But do we have faith in our creativity anymore?

Years ago I used to draw suns with shades and a sleek smile, according to Mrs.Gaunt "That's not right, the sun in the sky dose not have glasses. so neither should yours." if I were older I probably would have said 'up yours' and moved on to the next task at hand, putting faces on my flowers on the page. But no. she convinced me that I couldn't have a sun with sunglasses, what a stupid thing to say to a seven year old in art.

To be old and wise, you first have to be young and stupid.
 --Anonymous

What if I don't want to be old and wise? I get older every second, and I know the small fire of youth is slowly fading as I come to be an adult, one that obsesses with numbers and things the shouldn't really matter. I want to be young, wild and free. I want to keep my white crayon alive, even if its never going to be like I was when I had the whole box. Wild and crazy, I'll be the old person that creates and uses my imagination until the day I die, that's all I could ever hope for. To keep the white crayon alive. but not just in me, in everyone.

Yours,

Peter Van Houten

My hands are sweaty and the world is spinning the wrong way. But I'm Here.

“Try to learn to breathe deeply, really to taste food when you eat, and when you sleep, really to sleep. Try as much as possible to be wholly alive with all your might, and when you laugh, laugh like hell. And when you get angry, get good and angry. Try to be alive. You will be dead soon enough.”               ---Ernest Hemingway

I'm alive, breathing, watching, looking, and waiting. Waiting for something, I'm not sure what yet, maybe the reason I'm here, or the reason I've tried to write this post fifty times. My world is turning the wrong way, and I can’t quite explain why or how but that just proves I'm less robot than I thought. Robots don't get nervous or sweaty palms when they speak up in class, they don't second guess there answers on the act, they never make a mistake. No I am human and I am proud of my mess ups and 'blonde moments' because they are my own, every mistake I have ever made was my own idea and choice. I can get so angry I scream and so sad that I shake and cry myself to sleep, with only the sound of my own sobs to comfort me. But at least I'm not a robot and neither are you. Why? Because being a robot would mean you don't get to experience love, or heart break, robots cannot cry or pinch themselves in the middle of a nightmare, and do they dream at all? Robots don't get to choose what they want; they have to choose what’s right, the logical way every time. But that's not life no, that's not anything close to living. I've heard of 'people' that die at age 23, but they don't get buried until there 80, you know the type, the ones who decided that growing up means having no adventure at all. I hope I never do that, stop living I mean. Because the life of a robot is soulless and heartbreaking, but I guess as a robot you would never know the difference between heartbreak and bird crap. This is making the whole wizard of oz thing clearer, the tin man wanted a heart so he could know he was alive. That's deep.

Yours,

Peter Van Houten