Stories · writing

Pressurized Sentiment

Sometimes being an adult feels like an elongated version of deciding what to play when you’re a kid

Run around until dusk and your only concerns are when lunch or dinner is.

I liked that because it was a lot simpler

You didn’t have a lot of options so you just sort of experienced whatever was in your path

I remember waking up without a plan and just being excited to get out and “explore” even though I could easily run around our neighborhood with my eyes shut,

But I always found something new. A family of rabbits, a conversation with a mockingbird, stashing a makeshift time capsule in the safe crook of a tree.

I really don’t like how far away that feels, sometimes. I get caught up in this day-to-day

Worrying over every word I say

Am I creative or am I just fueled by consumption of media

Am I smart or do I just parrot words that I hear

What part of me is me and what parts are a conglomerate of everything else?

And do I live for myself?

Hard to tell.

I have yet to sort it all out.

Poems · writing

Write My Poetry

Fear of failure I’m close to giving up

Untethered froM reality

The vowels they compound and we—

I’m lost when I’ve fallen into you

Authenticity,

Your electricity

You enrage and enlighten me

Frightening prospects and the sound of your name

Risking a cliche I’m too afraid to say it casts lightning

All the same.

Drunk on my inhibitions,

These admissions,

They’d never let me in.

My ticket was stamped for yesterday and there is no way to see the show, now.

Did I mention feeling exposed? Yes.

Surviving on instinct,

I’m sure I’m meant to act this way, why not?

Who can ever tell, anyway, between what’s real,

What is blocked.

Configurations.

I’ll wait for the circus to come to town

Write to me then, when the madness comes back around


I’ve been a little disjointed lately, and I’m sure this reflects that. Doesn’t that suck? When you feel like you’ve got a grip on yourself and your brain goes “hahahaha nope. You’ve gotta do it again.”? Oh well. It’s fiiiine! It’s fine. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

Poems · writing

Peaceful Observance

I want to fall asleep in the sun

Full of warmth and comfort

Impeded by no one

I want to feel the breeze on my skin

Surrounded by flowers,

Pollen-headed bees tumble lazily in.

I want to watch their slow dance,

Entranced by their diligence, their inability to wear pants,

And on the tops of their silly-heads

Two little antennae bumble about

Looking around for the next bloom to sniff out

(Do bumblebees have noses?)

There are questions I suppose(s) that will abound,

Human nature itself is sort of tumbling around.

And in grief, I think, we know this,

Though when that familiar friend leaves for the summer

We pretend not to notice

He was never there.

Without a care, I lie among the roses,

Prick my fingers on the thorns

I will never pick them.

I watch the bumblebees tumble around

Poems · writing

Exhale

There is no point,

Most of the time.

Even when life is lovely, I can’t always

Bear it.

Who’s the winner?

Maybe winter, in its deathly state.

Who, but a season cloaked in mortality can put a value on life.

What joy, though, must the flowers feel

What relief as petals thaw

And breath is drawn at last.

writing

Thoughts on: Pain

So, pain. It’s relative. I mean, everything is, but for some reason when someone is going through a lot, our tendency is to say stuff like, “Hey well, at least you have your health!” Or, “It’ll get better, just be grateful it’s not worse”, things like that.

This is…kinda shitty. Yes, thank you for reminding me I have both arms. Yes, I know the world doesn’t revolve around my pain, I know I’m not unique in that, I know.

What would be more productive, though, is acknowledging the fact that people experience all different levels and all different kinds of hardship.

Someone has a falling out with a friend? Their feelings are valid. Someone else loses a pet? Those feelings are valid, too, and no one gets to decide how long or short any kind of grieving period is. We as people love solutions. Cut and dry ways to “fix” things, but that’s just not how humans work. You can only get so far with that kind of problem solving, which is why I love and hate self help books.

I love them, because there are so many kinds for so many people. I also hate them because, more often than not, they’re prescribed as a kind of “fix-all”, like those all-in-one cold medicines. “Cures all symptoms. Fast relief!” Like, sure, my nose is clear, but I’ve also been staring at this wall for the last twenty minutes wondering what flavor Pepsi is.

Figuring yourself out is…never ending. People are different, and there is no single solution for hard times. It’s trial and error, and something that worked last time might not work for whatever you’re going through now.

Something I heard from a lady earlier tonight really stuck with me, though, and (at least for now) her advice has changed my perspective in my own troubles.

It’s basically that, when you’re saddled with a lot of pain, and you find yourself asking “why”, hoping, praying for better circumstances or some kind of change, it’s better to look at yourself.

Most of the time we don’t have a choice over what goes on in our lives, and that can be really devastating, that lack of control. So her thing was, “there’s a reason for everything”.

Okay, alright, I can feel the eye rolls. Just hold on, geez!

There’s a reason for everything, and sometimes the thing you need to focus on changing is not actually the circumstances, but you. All suffering is not in vain, so since you can rarely change something you don’t like, it only makes sense to focus on improving yourself.

When things are all good, when you’re happy? It’s hard to change. Definitely not impossible, but it’s hard to find motivation. You don’t want to fuck it up by going around making tweaks to yourself and whatever. You want to enjoy the happiness you have.

So once you’re thrown into chaos, your heart kind of clenches up and (I know I personally do this) you throw a pity party for yourself. That does just about nothing, though. By all means, be sad. Pain is relative, remember, but once you start looking for solutions, maybe look to yourself first instead of your situation.

And, obviously, if your situation is that you’re choking in a restaurant or something, that’s not the time to be doing any soul searching. Get to a hospital, you maniac, stop writing things down in your Feelings journal.

But yeah so, if things in your life are out of control, and you feel like nothing matters, you’re right!

Okay, kidding, sorry. Two jokes in a row. Bad form.

It’s kind of true, though. You don’t have control over how people receive your words, and sometimes you don’t have any way to fix things going on in your life. The only thing you really have control over is you.

You decide how you receive pain and what you’re going to do with it. Take advantage of whatever shit has been thrown your way and use it to become a truer version of yourself! It probably won’t change your situation(s), but at least you’ll know yourself a little better.

Obviously, this is a universal solution, being able to change yourself through pain, so you’re welcome for this discovery of mine.

What?? Are you seriously going to just accept that after everything I said? God. You need more help than I do. Fortunately, I know of a self help book that did wonders for a friend of mine I can recommend to you…

Old stuff · Poems · writing

Kalopsia

I wish the storm would blow you my way, in its violent winds you like to play, until a frozen gust throws you away. You’re never the same the next morning.

Ice creeps with cold abandon, it flows through the frozen earth. Rooted to the ground, it oozes up the trees until every autumn leaf is gone.

The lotus frowns and then cries out, the isolation overwhelms her. A cold stillness settles through the trees only to be broken by the thawing of the spring.

Baring shoulders, softened heat, grey cold nights make way for days bathed in a golden light. Sun rays drip from the trees like rain, burning as that water stings cold.

Walking oblivious to any bird’s song, more interested by the cracks in the street, waking as they travel along, bobbing to anything but the master’s beat.

Sycamore honey bees will do anything to please, beckoning the summer in by falling to their knees.

The summer rages wild and hot, with no room for reflection until its enemy the autumn breeze starts to pay attention.

Crisping leaves and forgiving winds bring the lotus back again. She takes her toll and we’ll never know if she’ll survive the winter.

[2015]