Writing is Hard

Currently trying to write something for a specific purpose. I find it so hard to be overly mushy sometimes. Other times, it comes so naturally. 

What I have thus far: 

sometimes, it’s morning. and i’ve forgotten to brush my hair again. or how to tie my shoes or what my name sounds like. and that i don’t believe in anything anymore. and that’s when i realize that i’m losing little pieces of myself to you. and the tip of my tongue is cleansed with the taste of fresh paint from the renovating you’ve done with my mind.

It sounds a bit negative to me. It’s obviously suppose to be the opposite. Hmfph. 

Swan

It’s been said that swans form monogamous pair bonds as early as 20 months that last for a lifetime. These bonds are supposedly maintained year round, at all costs – it’s very unusual for these bonds to break.

     When I was a single girl I had felt loved but had never myself been in love. In my previous relationship I had convinced myself that I felt something on the same level for him as he did for me. But I was skeptical.

     My ideals for love were very skewed. To me, love revolved, and included manipulation tactics; lying, secrets, and deceptive behaviour. I felt it imminent to convince the person I was with that I was worth loving. It’s been since that I’ve realized, thanks to the wonderful man in my life now, that it’s necessary to love yourself first before anyone else can do so.

     After that duplicitous relationship, when I felt myself ready to  ‘find someone new’, I was constantly disappointed and felt lost in all men had to offer me. I had this obsessive compulsion to compare the guys that I would meet to the only guy I knew who had loved me at all. This was discouraging because no matter whom these guys were or what they had to offer, they never seemed to measure up. Not even close.

     I was hesitant that with each person I would feel any sort of connection with, that they had met their ‘one true soul-mate’ already; their swan. I truly believed that if they had been in a serious relationship prior to me coming along then it was futile to start anything because it would be inhumane to go against nature’s natural selection.

     The thought of every person belonging to only ‘one person’ discouraged me to outsource myself (at the time I was really quite scared to be alone) because I was so sure that I was stuck with the one person who had previously loved me. I was his swan – even though he wasn’t mine. It just so happened that him and I were poison to one another. We’re both good people deep down, we deserve good people, but we didn’t belong together. The thought of settling with him became my utmost priority for the longest time. I used the only strategy I knew how to make us work – manipulation. Needless to say, it failed.

After months of the renowned “on again off again” waltz, we officially separated – without any sort of contact. Though I was devastated, that separation was what I needed to come to enlightenment with myself. I was on my own for seven months before I thought about getting back out there and meeting people. I was still very wary of men and their intentions, but I knew I was finished hurting people.

Then it happened. Miraculously and unintentionally, I met my boyfriend now. By taking it slow and being nothing but honest with him I came to truly trust him. The concept of trust was so foreign and intimidating to me, but his support made me feel safe. He taught me to truly love myself and to accept all of my blemishes – big or small. His faith and love in me is my safety rope. Month after month, coming to learn about his previous relationships and love acquisitions, I never for one moment thought that I wasn’t right for him.

Whether he is my swan and I his is still yet to be determined because my view on love has changed drastically. Before I thought of it as an ideal, a fantasy. Now it’s just a part of who I am and what I have to offer. I feel loved every second of every day and I don’t have the need to fight for it either. No tricks. It’s just a part of my life and though it may be scary to most, it’s the most calming feeling to me.

This OR That

Help me.

I’m at a standstill. I’m trying to make the impossible decision as to which book to begin writing first. 

A sci-fi/YF book, or a book based on a certain 3 years of my life where I faked being a completely different person. 

I know which ever book I do decide to publish first it’ll likely tie me to that one particular genre and I don’t want to be known as that ‘so and so’ author. 

Suggestions/comments/concerns are welcomed. 

My eyes are rivers today.

Time / Capsule

I’ve been gone for a really long time. Not in the figurative sense, but the literal one. I’ve been so bogged down by work and school that I’ve neglected a lot of things – writing, is one of them. 

I know I usually use this site as a virtual journal to post my thoughts and feelings, but I wrote something recently that I’m proud of and want to share. I’ve been writing a lot of poetry lately, and I don’t hate it. That’s something major for me. 

Time Capsule 

I carry with me

a paper crane
folded from woven light
that glistens softly in the darkness

various and sundry
jewels 
embraced by silver and gold
and pewter and brass,
with their friends the pearls alongside,
spheres that carry with them memories
and meditations
and prayers, 
and wishes for what lies ahead 

a crisp outfit
worn only once
as perfect
as if hung on a mannequin 

and this is all wrapped up in feathers and down
and cotton and silk, 
an elaborate guise for something so trivial 

as bone meets dust
and mundane meets mundane
and the crawlers and unseens
make their home in mine. 

Dig me up;
I hold a thousand secrets, 
a thousand questions unasked, 
a thousand memories that never will be. 

Shake me by my shoulders
rattle my bones
until the morbid xylophone symphony quiets
and I am but powder in your fingers. 

I find it funny
that you place coins
and keepsakes
and hopes for a safe passage
in the last vehicle I will ever know, 
you lock away the physical with the corporeal 
and then years down the line
you will still want to know what lies beneath your shoes, 
that grim possibility that I may still be breathing, 
and recover your precious stones and valuables
and that necklace you placed around my neck with a kiss, 
my crown of thorns that I will carry beneath the grass. 

You will never lose that instinct 
to sit on my grave
like the pack rat that you are, 
curl up with your pups and your naked tails
somber dragons that hoard nothing more than shards, 
and wonder what is below
if it will ever come back up. 

Keep watch, 
keep watch I tell you. 
Rob my wooden home. 

But you will find nothing of value, 
it has all gone, 
taken by the earth
reclaimed and recycled and refreshed and breathed back out. 

Instead
keep watch
with your soul
for I am nothing more than mist
and you will hear me
not in the quaking beneath your shoes, 
the thoughts beneath your feet,
or the fibers that fade to grey upon my recumbent form, 
but in the whisper of a breeze
that stirs the weeds
on the other side of the world.

 

 

Urges.

I have an insatiable urge to lie. I haven’t had this feeling in nearly a year. Maybe longer. I just feel as though I have to talk, but I don’t want it to lead anywhere. For that to happen, I fib.

Back when I would lie constantly, I would trick the person into thinking they were having a genuine conversation with me so they wouldn’t feel as though they were having a conversation for nothing. From that, I would get my kicks out of telling stories. Made up stories.

I’m so glad I’m home alone tonight and not really talking to anyone. I don’t want this feeling to tempt me into lying. I do not want to go down that path again.

I cannot understand why I feel this way. I had an amazing day. I feel great too. I wonder if I’m the only one to experience these kinds of things?

Stranger.

It dawned on me today that I do not know my mother anymore. If someone were to ask me a question about what she’s doing now, where she is, what her interests or passions are, if she’s proud of me, etc. – I wouldn’t have the faintest idea. I would simply shrug my shoulders and hang my head low.

It still hurts me to this day that she chose not to be in my life anymore. It hurts me to know that she chose him over her three girls. It’s still very unbelievable because growing up  she was the best mom any person could ask for. She was nurturing, warm, caring, supportive, present, and she never disappointed. Now all she is is absent. She chose to leave instead of stay.

I wish I had answers to the questions that engulf my mind everyday. What went awry? Why did I do? What is she doing now? Is she happy? Is she thinking about me this very second? Does she miss me? Does she ever cry herself to sleep like I do? I know I will never receive proper answers to any of these. I must learn how to find closure in a situation such as this. I must find forgiveness.

Hmph..

New.

Last night I went to an open mic. It was my third open mic ever. There were some musical performances (that which included my wonderfully talented boyfriend) and then there were some poets doing readings. It puts me in a state of awe to see these people voice their vulnerabilities and their talents. Now, I was not a performer. I could never have the guts to do what these people do. I can just show up and respect them on an entirely different level.

With all that being said – I came home, a bit inspired and a lot exhausted. This morning when I woke up, I thought of the talent from last night and decided to write a little something myself. I suppose this is where it left me.

Finding Your Lullaby.

this is for you.
     for all of you.

for those who are but are not.

for those who believe love is just a chemical reaction.

for those who are nothing but static on the mainstream radio.

for those who will never know forever.

for those who live in the highs and lows of the roller-coaster ocean breeze.

for those who hurt themselves because they’re afraid of hurting anyone else.

for those whose cries have been drowned by the summer rain.

for those who have been mistaken for God.

for those who battle a thousand soldiers themselves just to find out who they really are.

for those who are nothing but natural disasters.

for those who sink somewhere between electric blue oceans and shimmering rainbows of euphoria.

for those whose insanity makes poetry – and those whose poetry drives them insane.

for those who are weighed down by gravity.

for those who have found equilibrium in a heart that is caught in a chain reaction of passionate apathy.

for those who wait for the classroom telephone to ring their eulogy.

for those who think God is just another love song.

for those who are nothing but needle eyes and inkless words.

for those who open the windows when it’s raining, just to hear the whole world cry.

for those who leave and never return.

for those who forget it all on the ride home. 

for those who love – and those who are loved. 

for you. 

stand up.
     stand up against yourself.
and breathe.
     breathe it all out. 
because tonight,
     no one has to bleed
     to feel alive.

 

 

 

 

Inflection.

Since my previous two posts I’ve had what I would consider multifarious forms of a panic attack. I had the shortness of breath, the trembling, sense of impending death, various forms of discomfort (physical AND social), dizziness, that sense of going ‘insane’, and so forth. My nerves were shot. My heart felt smothered, and I literally believed no one understood me and could help me. I turned to several people, and though they all tried to help, they couldn’t. I felt this heaviness weighing down on me – collapsing me. I wanted it to stop and many different thoughts went through my head. Many horrible thoughts. 

…But I’m coming out of it. 

It’s several hours later; and though I still feel that density bestowed upon me by the panic gods, the important fact that I continue to come back to is that I will come out of it. 

Now that my head is semi cleared, I look down at my arm and feel sickened that I failed. Sickened that I must cover it up for school and my father – my dirty little secret. I’m partly ashamed of myself. I say “partly” because I’m a bit proud that I can sit here, in the desinence stages of my panic/anxiety attack and reflect on how I felt and why I felt it. That’s more than what most people can do, right? 

On the flip side, I feel awfully embarrassed. I owe so many people apologies – heartfelt ones with clear answers as to why I reacted the way that I did. Why I felt as though my world were flipped upside down without any moment’s notice. I feel I owe those people reasons as to why I involved them in my discomfort. 

After going through something this dramatic I’m so overly aware that I cannot go back. I cannot be back inside my head the moment I realized it was happening and stop myself. I always feel like I damaged every single one of my relationships with people – I feel that I failed them. I know that they’re disappointed in me and that is something that irks me to the very core. 

21 Days

I lasted 21 days. 

“Hi. I am a girl and I’m a cut-aholic.”