Sean Mahoney 101

I think I've slipped into depression again. Typical of me, The kid that never accepted the life expected yet still hears the doubts. while i sleep uneasily in a city that's unseasonably cold being cool never helped me in the winter, a genuine article should stay true no matter the weather. no matter the weather. I'm. losing my confidence. On a long, long path piggybacking a pissed off conscience to a destination That can either be two steps or years away, dedicated to a way of life where i'll get paid to say what's on my mind. now isn't that cool. aren't i the shit. but i forget it, unable to address that I'm one of the best. That I am THE best. because no one can do sean cody mahoney quite like sean cody mahoney can we're all doing well but some do well good impressions of others, for them, the stardom can come early. they have an audience, the person they're impersonating- and good for them, I guess I get a little jealous because for some reason, i find it really hard to be myself, or believe that myself is enough. If you ever see a man understand in my reflection is the kid that got pulled out of class because he wasn't smart enough, who would walk with his friends after school the same old route, then after they had all got home, turn around and walk a whole new way because he didn't have the guts to tell them his parents had split up. Trying to understand how he lost a fight in which he didn't even get hurt, sleeping with the coldest body in his bed, treasuring a secret until that secret left, excuse me for that last one not being in depth. depth. wordplay. my words apply to those that have trouble getting by but i preach to the choir, my own pastor. myself. I don't believe in myself enough, no confidence in my confidant, myself, my god my help never comes. and when it does it's to help someone else pull through not that i regret it- i just keep typing. sometimes i don't know whether im searching for truth or another convenient rhyme. i scrutinise every single line that comes out destroy it before anyone else WILL because I'm STILL the fool of the room the clown that knows no self worth but can smile like he's never known hurt leaving stages early because if i stay on any longer they're gonna boo me- cut out the inspiration from my eyes, i no longer feel beauty in myself. my god, my help don't come. and when it does it's only to tell me not to be so- so- so- lonely. cut the inspiration from my eyes, shave, cut my hair wear normal clothes so i can be just like all the other guys, put the flower back on the wall, it will be like being sixteen again, but without those eczema ridden red eyes, couldn't help but stand out no matter how hard i tried, they were ugly eyes, the type you wouldn't want to look at, the type people wouldn't look at, so when i got on that stage i made sure i was the one to look at. now it's all gone and im constantly trying to be on form, am i the same as the others that aren't in the norm? then im not different at all, but whether it's good or not, there's no group for me yet. myself. my god my help comes but when it does i refuse it. then it gets regretted. lord, oddness is subjective but it's like im breaking my neck for a new perspective. never been what's expected, though now nothing i do is accepted- more on that later- though hopefully none more of that in the future. not a man. a lion under shroud a bomb to the crowd.. that i am a bomb, when i get on that stage im more than a man. no. mno  noanodnsfoasdnfoidsalnfo no! I'm/ not looking for that. (hear what I'm saying I'm not making it right) a breakdown. haha. argh..

now this would be the point where i have you all but lose myself to the 'wrap-up wrapitup sean' that constantly shouts, whispering, guaranteeing me a fool, urging my eventful fail. I fall. I need to get past it. keep writing. don't edit. don't change. I've done a lot of odd things in my time, i've evolved but haven't changed. does that make sense? Iv'e watched myself do things i wouldn't want to, like it was on tv, saying to myself "glad that isn't me!" then i wake up to a hurt head and she looks disappointed, or,  satisfied, or loved, i never can tell. too busy figuring out a get-out plan. im always trying to get out before im asked to leave, too scared to really believe im accepted because to be accepted is to be wanted and all i ever do is leave people disappointed, i mean im okay for a while, we can chat about rubbish but when it comes down to it. to the nitty gritty how do you feel about life and me conversation my view becomes shrouded crowded with demons. I don't see life in black and white or all colour it's just london shades of grey, and every day the time falls into a clock that ticks towards a future i can only stop by not being what i know i will. no matter how i run my failures only make me stronger and i go on for longer and i, i , i , i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i survive. just about every time, coming out the fire burned- uglier than before but bloody learned knowing that when my time does come it's been well earned as it seems like the way life hurts most when it pulls the rug under you as soon as you think you've figured out how it works- i just keep talking others words in my order. i get better, i become geekier with wealth stronger, real country, real city. real real for the life that you wouldn't think was. i grow every single moment is mine and im going to go on that stage and shine. when it's show time. and though those times can be sparse from now on im going to experience each one like it's my last. because depression isn't my friend, she's my mistress, my wife is london and at times all i see in her is mistrust, mis placed into another artist pen that's treats her like she's only full of gay muslims in hoodies and hugh grant-type tories. but no. but no. but no. but no. I'm the one. I'm the best Sean Cody Mahoney there ever was, I'm the only Sean Mahoney that ran up west hill when he was thirteen, The only Sean Mahoney who one best boxer of the night on his very first fight, who wrote fifty poems for fifty days straight, who's taken weight and fists in the face with a smile, the same sean who got good looking over night, making every girl from school regret not treating him right, the same Sean who loved, even when no love was given back, who got drained into a withering mess only to bounce back love again, this time it being his pen, and the stage, you see, my words glisten, i get inspiration from dean atta and indigo williams, if silence is not golden then let my words glisten we're the indigo children in constant evolution sometimes i get lost in loneliness yes, sometimes i wish i had a younger mindset and more confidence in my words. but then i realise that it would be a wasted wish, foolish when i can do. so lets,

you either do or you don't
either have or you want
and if you don't have you know
so if you ever get it,
you better let it show

and just like that. i slip out a little more, the more i do the better i get at doing, what's there to prove? what's there to lose?

(tap your feet. nod your head) and

Salut(-
e).