Serious? Funny? Whatever!

It has taken me quite a few years to figure myself out. And while I won't know everything about me until I finish my biography (and NO ONE wants to read that), I have uncovered clues to my worldly troubles.

I live on the double edge sword of being serious and funny.

There are some people who think I'm serious when I'm being funny. They don't get the joke; they don't understand the punchline; they don't get my humor. Their lack of understanding makes them believe I am serious and not joking. They take offense when they should be laughing. To these people I am an ass.

There are others who cannot take me seriously because I am funny. These people have seen me be serious, but no matter how hard they look, their short sightedness only see me as funny. To these people, I am a clown.

Then there is yet another group that continually flip flop. They fall under both categories and pick and choose at the worst possible times. When I speak to these people, I flip a coin – heads they will think I'm serious – tails, I'm funny. But I'm only allowed to flip the coin AFTER I speak. To these people, I'm an ass clown.

This explains most of my problems in life so far. It explains why I am where am I at right now. It explains why ... well, let's just say I understand.

So when I write, or speak, it all comes out the same. Am I serious? Am I funny? Fuck it, you'll never understand. To you, I'm just whatever.

Not Mine

Things get into my head. Pictures, sounds, people, places and emotions. I don't know where they come from. They jump in my head at random times and sometimes they won't go away. They are trying to tell me something, but I don't know what.

It is night, on the street outside a house in what seems to be an average neighborhood. I know some of the people on this street, but tonight something is very wrong. I'm on the street because I don't want to be inside. Something is wrong inside the houses. Especially the house that's half brick, half siding. I don't want to in there again. I'm afraid. It's very bad in there. I have to get away. I have to run. But I can't. I'm too young to be outside at night on my own. I don't know who to trust.

These are not my thoughts. These are not my feelings. They belong to M.