By Joshua Blake

Life’s like a staircase – each step is a milestone – and it gets harder with each step.

I’m tired of feeling limited by my destructive conscious – as beautiful as I believe it to be. This asinine thought process has to end. On the contrary, my creative nature is due to my doubts and fears, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

If – by some miracle – I never developed a physical disability, I’d still be the same person – I would think. Maybe I wouldn’t be as depressed, doubtful, and yearning for love, but I digress.

“It’s not right what she did to you,” my friend Caroline said to me months ago. It wasn’t, she was completely right. I can’t wait for everyone to hear the song I wrote about that vile human my friend spoke of.

Is this person the cause of my sadness and anger in recent months, or did she just make it apparent to my aching soul? Is what she did helpful? Did it make me realize what I wanted and potentially needed?

The memory plays back in my head like a movie with a sadistic script and a ploy of terror – a fucked up coming-of-age ideal that was stolen from me forever.



By Joshua Blake

Maybe life isn’t all that bad. Maybe it’s hard and difficult and daunting – then again, maybe not. Perhaps my mind just goes to these conclusions hence my current state of not trying and doing nothing about it.

“You have talents that are unrecognized,” my psychiatrist told me today. We were speaking about my passion for music and playing bass, despite my physical disability.

“I feel like I have a one-up on others because of it,” I told him. “I see this as an advantage,” he reiterated. I nodded in affirmation.

I practiced playing music with my grandmother yesterday afternoon. We have a connection – musically and emotionally – that is unrivaled. Music inspires me, gives me power, and makes me feel whole.

Writing has a similar affect on me. It just feels natural.

“You have such a talent for writing, that I think it’d be insane to not do anything with it,” my father said to me after picking me up from my appointment.

I know I have talent – talent that I’m utilizing ineffectively – and I must have courage. If that’s the case, what’s my next goal to be? Setting a daily schedule? Driving? Playing music more out in public? Maybe it’s everything and I just have to choose.

I’m am adult now, right? If I have options, why do I choose option D: none of the above?

Past Memories


By Joshua Blake

Past Memories:

Past memeories haunt me everyday.
Past memories will never go away.
Bottle them up til the end of time, and I still wonder why you were never mine.

It doesn’t matter anymore?
You weren’t there when Death knocked on your door.
He told me of my sins, and I realized my life was about to begin.

You think I’m sane after all of this time?
You think I can fix my head inside of a little rhyme?
Go on ahead and step right into my shoes.
I dare you to bet on who Fate shall choose.



By Joshua Blake


My mind is quite asinine, broken even, and benign.
If the goal in life is to survive,
How come we never make it out alive?

Leave me alone, go away!
Why must my thoughts consistently sway?
I have a voice, I have a voice!
Where’s this so called friend named rejoice?

All I ask for is a little relief,
Even if it’s momentarily brisk and brief.
What was that about changing the world?
My soul feels devishly evil and curled.