I wish I could put my hand in my bowl of life disasters and hold one up in the air and say “hey I’m glad I got to experience this”. As in – ‘what we go through now, molds us into what we become’. I get it. I understand all of that, in theory it’s plausible. It’s just how many nails do you have to pry out of your limbs and face, over and over again to finally feel like your place in life is hanging where it needs to be.
Everyone falls, everyone fails. Perfection is just not how we are built. Inside or out. It’s knowing when your life begins to turn toxic that you have to decide what to distance yourself from, how soon, and how far.
There are a lot of gutless people out there. A lot of weakness and lies waiting to be served. And an even more amount of half-truths that people have to wake up next to every single fucking day. And why, why even fucking do it. Let’s manipulate and coerce so we can ultimately take over the love that we want. If that love deserves to be there, then you will find it there. The moment you demand it, is the moment that it is already gone.
I don’t understand. And I have no sympathy for certain behavior. I don’t expect to place myself around it, or tolerate it ever again.
“Until you’ve lost everything, you’ll never be able to truly love anything.”
Remember those sandwiches you passed out? Delicious.
The air is thick this month. As usual it’s a flood of everything at once. Like film going in fast forward then slowing down at half speed. It’s the grain along the sides of the frame that remind you again of things that slip like razors underneath your skin. They are just there. I miss the cold beach.
I’m okay with a quiet, dark, arctic rest of the year. I’m tired of the waves. Consistency is king when you are tying the sutures. It’s the keystone of the arch. And we all know that, so let’s just keep our feet in the water. Ok.
Just give me a year of no spinning disasters. And a photo of that. Thanks.
“The thing with broken clocks is you can always tell exactly when they stopped ticking. With people, it isn’t so easy and sometimes you can’t even tell they’re broken.” – Anonymous
I remember what it felt like for the roots to pull out of the ground. I remember what it effectively meant when someones face lit up for the first time. I know how important it becomes to trust in an idea that you hope and live with daily. That there is reason to any kind of fleeting whirlwind of behavior. But really there is not. It becomes rogue. And even though you may scribble notes to keep in your pocket as a reminder of what you are walking from – it’s just not ever enough. I grieve often enough for things that happened ten years ago, just as much as I grieve for something that struck two days ago. In my projection its really all the same. The same rewritten monologue rebooted for your new-found ambitions, and willingness to try again. You smirk, you fall off, and shy away darling – but be sure and check the liner notes to the soundtrack you play in your head. You’ll find it. It makes the run fast, and forces that run far.
I’ve seen faces turn from familiar, to people I have never even seen before. Shrug it away easy while everyone’s watching (because everyone in that town is), watching in the toxic, abhorrent, behavior they wear. It makes me sick to see and touch the back side of your painting – because it isn’t you at all. Maybe you just never had time to finish it, even if you could. It’s all broken, and I just don’t feel like I am capable of falling anymore. I am broken too.
Nothing is real, nothing is ever what you think it is to be. All eyes in that place are just holes in a dead skin suit that people walk around in. Even as I see you root for it, I see you root yourself into a well. And the people in that well, have tricked themselves into thinking that’s what everyone wants, even as it’s dry. Like tieing rocks to your ankles and reminding yourself that you have to swim.
Its deaf, sickening and dark – and five years from now you will find something that actually made it out, and then finally understand the clarity in the coals. Because I see it, it’s penetrating, and fierce. And you were always worth more than that to me. More than that place, and every type that broods there. But hey, what do I know…
It makes me smile to be surprised with the good words. Even though we occasionally map out what we think our heads want to hear. I’m glad to feel the electricity when it’s on. I crave it when it’s not. I hate the walls and gaps and long stretches of pummeling that just happen. That’s just how it goes. Grief challenges you to not only hold your breath during the storm, but also to fall softly.
Anxiety is the fucking beast and doesn’t have any rules, often charging forward at his on pace. The reins tangle and before you know it you are lip biting your own decisions. If only we were so perfect to prevent that.
Sometimes your own heart has to do the punching.
If you go too far into the atmosphere, you will fall apart.
Change is vital. Direction is essential. And our desire is the fuel for both of these. If we ever drift from what is healthy to the psyche – you will either find the momentum to parade your sentiments hard enough on through the razor wire, or you will find the barbs that ultimately rip, tear, and bind you back unto the floor.
It’s these restraints at 3am that inevitably tourniquet your limbs until they become blue, and then release briefly – just so that you remember you are still alive.
“Be with someone that requires you to grow, makes you forget your problems, holds your hand, likes to kiss, appreciates art, and adores you.” – Unknown
“Ten years from now, make sure you can say that you chose your life, you didn’t settle for it.” – Mandy Hale