Anthony Drew
Bio
Hello. I'm 20, and I want to write for as long as I can.
Stories (3/0)
Tuesday, 3/8/22
“I’m a liar. I once told you multiple things I stood by and held a different angle, one that laughed bitterly at the previous stance. I took solace in never returning to the past, yet I’ve actively ventured for it. I say I conquered my sadness while falling back into the pits. And I once said I had settled in my depression and let it simmer. All of it was a lie. Truth is, I didn’t intend to deceive and unrip entanglements of who I deeply was and the fog I am now. I simply never understood the uncertain patterns that is my existence — the peaks of picturing a tomorrow, glaring up at the clear, blue sky and smiling to the gasping nothingness of consistently walking backwards.
By Anthony Drew2 years ago in Journal
Why We Don’t Deserve Love
There comes a feeling when you try to love. A being taller than yourself; personified by touches or exhales. A cold pinch after you tell someone you’ll stay, or maybe, an oncoming breeze of fear when you reply back to a person’s affection. Every emotion is complex and indifferent depending on yourself and the ones who think you deserve love. However, if you’re like me and many others, one statement will unite and mutate us from people trying to stay afloat to shutters of distance that beg others to leave: “I don’t deserve it.” — and why is that? Why do we bottle our life to seclusion and limits? Why do we come back to these words? For me, I’ve always allowed myself to love others. It was a given when aligned by two 20-somethings, mastering the warm acts of passion and care. Creative youths that never went anywhere after I was born. Rather, they stayed, lost in distance, and I examined both worlds as their passion turned into selfishness, and care became less frequent. Through my phases of crooked teeth and blistering acne, I made an oath at some hour at some night to accept that I can love anyone, no matter how broken they may seem. To accept someone who may be infectious, brittle, cold. And hopefully I could bury those feelings away with them and find a better version.
By Anthony Drew2 years ago in Humans
After Buffalo
A few days ago, on a Saturday afternoon, in the community of Buffalo, NY — ten people died. An 18-year-old man began livestreaming his mass destruction as he gunned down multiple innocents inside a neighborly supermarket. And a part of me falls back to that feeling. That feeling of feeling everything. The heavy anger, depression, numbness... Scenarios bubble from the ashes of another crime. A familiar one. All of it intertwines and shadows in the same face until much of the chaos turns your eyes to patterns, to examine the culprit and his howling vengeance. He tells you through a thick screen that his problem is our problem — his reasons are justified because you learn how to exist in the mirrored serenity. Because his existence is our existence. And that’s where much of the problem lies, I suppose. I am no scholar among racial injustice, but I am a human who sees that my mirror is broken to many. To tell me why these things happen is awfully mysterious and cold. To tell an ant why fire is casted onto his hill — I’m terribly clueless. But I can try to answer.
By Anthony Drew2 years ago in The Swamp
