Some days my head is so loud and the world is so quiet.
I prefer it that way you know.
Only hearing my own chaos while secluded from the rest of yours.
My mind races faster than my brain can find the proper manila folder.
Emotions try to manage this office and they should quiet rightly be fired.
I want more than anything on these days,
to find someone to bring into my world.
Only a few exist out there that qualify.
Only a few that would enjoy the space I think.
My mind is a maze.
It's very easy to get lost, sidetracked, backtracked, soundtracked, Lion King. Nathan Lane. Mulberry Lane. Pillsbury dough-boy, biscuits have too many calories.
But back to the point.
Emotions gushing from my heart hot off the press.
They are not to be trusted. The editors have their own agenda.
I need a secondary source of thought sandbags.
I need to feel your flow criss-cross mine.
It's lonely alone in my head.
This playground feels like it's quarantined.
Friday, November 21, 2014
Friday, October 31, 2014
Dirty Dark
Haunted.
Cobwebs stuck to a splintered soul.
Locked up tight and dark.
Foreign matter, intrusive, invasive, spreading like mold in a damp shallow grave.
Intertwined in my DNA.
To my grave you'll go along with the fire.
The fire. Desire. The fire burns all the air.
Consumed by your smoke. Your ash tastes like sweet lips.
Smother me in comforting vines.
The more thorns the better, bleed my skin raw.
Once again as always, you've left me a mess.
Cobwebs stuck to a splintered soul.
Locked up tight and dark.
Foreign matter, intrusive, invasive, spreading like mold in a damp shallow grave.
Intertwined in my DNA.
To my grave you'll go along with the fire.
The fire. Desire. The fire burns all the air.
Consumed by your smoke. Your ash tastes like sweet lips.
Smother me in comforting vines.
The more thorns the better, bleed my skin raw.
Once again as always, you've left me a mess.
Thursday, May 15, 2014
Kitchen & Tulips
"That there, that's not me."
Anyone that has known me before this stifled version of myself has been sneakily living out my life for me, knows that I have a fire that burns quite hot. I have passion, I have rage, and I have love.
I wish I could say exactly when I became afraid of myself. "As sleep does, it came slowly, then all at once."
I was determined not be the person that made so many mistakes, that offended so many people. And my biggest mistake to date, was assuming that parts of me could take credit for representing all of me. I have been body-snatched. I go through the motions of being polite, respectful and appropriate for the sake of everyone else. I would get so furious at myself for letting the old me occasionally slip through the barricades. Usually the security guard of my true self would get a little lazy in the aftermath of a few intoxicants. After a thorough reprimand, good behavior was reinstated throughout the land.
FUCK GOOD BEHAVIOR.
I am a goddamn lion. You can't dress a lion up like a fucking turtle and expect that shit to fly.
To get raw for a change...(sarcasm emoticon here), I have been having a shit-tastic couple years. Voluntarily stepping away from toxic people and simultaneously mourning the metaphoric death of these discredited staples of my life-long existence can really put a damper on your day-to-day. Being afraid of my own intensity has left me about as interesting as belly button lint.
Now that I am in...dun dun DUN...therapy, I have a refreshed perspective. I can no longer shun myself for being true to myself. I can no longer pretend to be a socially acceptable, ever courteous, well mannered shell of the personality that is welded to my entire sense of being.
Getting older is truly a mind-fuck in most aspects. I do not appreciate several unwanted slaps with the gravity-stick, the party tolerance of a grandmother, or the habitual disdain for those even a half decade younger than I. However, I do welcome this necessary fear of consequences that tends to escort maturity. You always must be careful when playing with fire and I think, I hope, that I have passed this LONG, BORING, UNEVENTFUL safety course appropriately titled "Self Deprecation 101".
That said, I have had it with being my own security guard, my own warden, my own judge, juror and executioner. I am delightful. I am a handful. I am kind and I am a fucking bitch. I am loyal, I am honest, and I am over this lull. It's hard to accept yourself, with a voice constantly telling you that you're shit. It's a struggle for me and for many people. To be your own worst enemy is no way to live this short life.
So here I make my stand, to the abstract internet audience, or lack there of. I make a stand to myself, to my friends, and to the ones who have stood by my side as I walked around in my own shadow, consequently covering them as well. I make my stand because if I don't, I fear I will lose this fire, this element of life. Now or never, take it or leave it. I'd rather roar so loud it hurts than tuck my head in my own shell and just shit around my cage.
Anyone that has known me before this stifled version of myself has been sneakily living out my life for me, knows that I have a fire that burns quite hot. I have passion, I have rage, and I have love.
I wish I could say exactly when I became afraid of myself. "As sleep does, it came slowly, then all at once."
I was determined not be the person that made so many mistakes, that offended so many people. And my biggest mistake to date, was assuming that parts of me could take credit for representing all of me. I have been body-snatched. I go through the motions of being polite, respectful and appropriate for the sake of everyone else. I would get so furious at myself for letting the old me occasionally slip through the barricades. Usually the security guard of my true self would get a little lazy in the aftermath of a few intoxicants. After a thorough reprimand, good behavior was reinstated throughout the land.
FUCK GOOD BEHAVIOR.
I am a goddamn lion. You can't dress a lion up like a fucking turtle and expect that shit to fly.
To get raw for a change...(sarcasm emoticon here), I have been having a shit-tastic couple years. Voluntarily stepping away from toxic people and simultaneously mourning the metaphoric death of these discredited staples of my life-long existence can really put a damper on your day-to-day. Being afraid of my own intensity has left me about as interesting as belly button lint.
Now that I am in...dun dun DUN...therapy, I have a refreshed perspective. I can no longer shun myself for being true to myself. I can no longer pretend to be a socially acceptable, ever courteous, well mannered shell of the personality that is welded to my entire sense of being.
Getting older is truly a mind-fuck in most aspects. I do not appreciate several unwanted slaps with the gravity-stick, the party tolerance of a grandmother, or the habitual disdain for those even a half decade younger than I. However, I do welcome this necessary fear of consequences that tends to escort maturity. You always must be careful when playing with fire and I think, I hope, that I have passed this LONG, BORING, UNEVENTFUL safety course appropriately titled "Self Deprecation 101".
That said, I have had it with being my own security guard, my own warden, my own judge, juror and executioner. I am delightful. I am a handful. I am kind and I am a fucking bitch. I am loyal, I am honest, and I am over this lull. It's hard to accept yourself, with a voice constantly telling you that you're shit. It's a struggle for me and for many people. To be your own worst enemy is no way to live this short life.
So here I make my stand, to the abstract internet audience, or lack there of. I make a stand to myself, to my friends, and to the ones who have stood by my side as I walked around in my own shadow, consequently covering them as well. I make my stand because if I don't, I fear I will lose this fire, this element of life. Now or never, take it or leave it. I'd rather roar so loud it hurts than tuck my head in my own shell and just shit around my cage.
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
Here.
I had another very real dream like always. It was at some gathering that could have been a birthday party, or family dinner. Someone found old videos of me and put them up on the screen. The first one (which of course does not exist is this reality) was of me talking to my ex-stepdad. It was a very loving and adoring clip, portraying innocent happiness and affection. I guess I was about 11 or 12. The next video was of me giving a speech to a large crowd. The subject or the audience is not important. But I was funny, I was confident. The one thing that stands out the most about these videos is: that is simply not me anymore. I had fire behind my eyes. I had an open heart towards the world. I had spirit and spunk.
I am very aware that as you age, you get a bigger picture of the world. Cynicism tends to attach to you and become an ever-present companion. At least in my case, but I know I am in the majority here. When I examine my past and search for the clues that lead to the end of the rainbow, or in this situation...the lack thereof, it is not hard to see the stain on my shirt.
I have become estranged from half of my family. My mom and dad divorced before I can remember. They each remarried shortly after and I now had TWO families. I lived with my mom, stepdad and two younger sisters. This stability lasted until 6th grade. Divorce again. This time I saw the ugly monsters that reside inside people. To see someone that you love and trust suddenly twist and roar maliciously at you and everyone else that has loved them unconditionally, that right there rips a chunk of your heart and spits it out in the dirt.
A child's heart and head can heal with a quickness that is almost miraculous. There are only so many band-aids though and once the heart has callused, it is not soon to repair. After such a beating over years of tumbling up and down these rolling hills, self-preservation mode kicks in. I must guard what is left of my heart. To put it in a not too mushy phrase: I only have a handful of fucks left to give and I must use them wisely. If a dog bites, you forgive and put your hand out again. If the dogs bites 9 out of 10 times, stop petting the damn dog.
Comparing certain family members to a dog is not my intention but the metaphor works so I'll stick with it. I have since moved away from this creature that constantly nips at my soul. This has left me heartbroken for the most part. I have undoubtedly learned that my head is the leader in this separation and my heart is just along for the ride (which hopefully keeps in tact). Separating myself from what was once half of my identity has been one of the hardest things I have ever ever ever had to do. I miss this dog because at times it was playful and cuddly. I just have to remember that I feel much happier when I'm not being bit.
This right here is enough cause to justify my cynicism, callousness, and overall withdrawal from the norm. I won't drag on any longer because I've already Debbie Downed myself as I tend to do when playing this ever present saga in my brain. Analyzing ever single iota of facts and emotions and what-ifs and hows.
I mourn for the past. I cry for the ones I've lost who are still here. I hurt for what could have been. But this is so futile. So pointless. I am here now. I am not her.
I am very aware that as you age, you get a bigger picture of the world. Cynicism tends to attach to you and become an ever-present companion. At least in my case, but I know I am in the majority here. When I examine my past and search for the clues that lead to the end of the rainbow, or in this situation...the lack thereof, it is not hard to see the stain on my shirt.
I have become estranged from half of my family. My mom and dad divorced before I can remember. They each remarried shortly after and I now had TWO families. I lived with my mom, stepdad and two younger sisters. This stability lasted until 6th grade. Divorce again. This time I saw the ugly monsters that reside inside people. To see someone that you love and trust suddenly twist and roar maliciously at you and everyone else that has loved them unconditionally, that right there rips a chunk of your heart and spits it out in the dirt.
A child's heart and head can heal with a quickness that is almost miraculous. There are only so many band-aids though and once the heart has callused, it is not soon to repair. After such a beating over years of tumbling up and down these rolling hills, self-preservation mode kicks in. I must guard what is left of my heart. To put it in a not too mushy phrase: I only have a handful of fucks left to give and I must use them wisely. If a dog bites, you forgive and put your hand out again. If the dogs bites 9 out of 10 times, stop petting the damn dog.
Comparing certain family members to a dog is not my intention but the metaphor works so I'll stick with it. I have since moved away from this creature that constantly nips at my soul. This has left me heartbroken for the most part. I have undoubtedly learned that my head is the leader in this separation and my heart is just along for the ride (which hopefully keeps in tact). Separating myself from what was once half of my identity has been one of the hardest things I have ever ever ever had to do. I miss this dog because at times it was playful and cuddly. I just have to remember that I feel much happier when I'm not being bit.
This right here is enough cause to justify my cynicism, callousness, and overall withdrawal from the norm. I won't drag on any longer because I've already Debbie Downed myself as I tend to do when playing this ever present saga in my brain. Analyzing ever single iota of facts and emotions and what-ifs and hows.
I mourn for the past. I cry for the ones I've lost who are still here. I hurt for what could have been. But this is so futile. So pointless. I am here now. I am not her.
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