Amnesia

She woke up in the woods and couldn’t remember a thing. She vaguely remembered who she was but didn’t remember what she believed in. She woke up to a world where she had made many mistakes, she couldn’t remember but she could feel it. What she didn’t get was how those mistakes were designed for her to understand life a little bit better, in a different way. She had to let go of the concepts ‘the others’ had brainwashed into her mind. She was young but not terribly so. She was strong, but sometimes not strong enough. She knew better but forgot that she did.

After finding her way out of the woods, she was in a place full of people. She was no longer alone but felt terribly lonely. She wanted to float away and be back in the woods where it was only her and nature.

The people around her had lives, full ones it seemed. The people around her knew what they were doing, or so it seemed. Everyone pretended, or so it seemed. But what she didn’t yet know is that the only ones who really have it together are the ones that don’t care if they do or not. They are the ones that knew better than to show off.

She woke up and started to remember. She woke up and knew that not knowing was OK. That her mistakes weren’t life threatening. All she could do was remind herself over and over again what it’s all about. All she could do sometimes was eat the fresh fruit, nourish herself with kind words and walk freely through wherever she seemed to be. Yes, sometimes it was too small but it was also lovely.

Everyday she forgot. Everyday she had to remember. Some days the joy took over and other days the struggle was uphill. Some days she woke up after a nightmare and others after a beautiful dream. Some days it took her minutes to find her way, others almost the entire day. Reading helped, writing saved her. Singing made her float and capturing images opened her eyes.

It’s fine to feel as though it’s too much, so long as you keep going even when you really don’t want to. So long as you don’t give up, that’s fine. Others might not seem to swim against the current as much but that’s not you. You are you and you’re supposed to make the most of it. You’re not suppose to question as much as you do, just enough. You’re supposed to remember because some never even wake up. Some remain, never to be truly seen. Others wake up only to get lost and never be found. Be grateful. Stay strong and know that even when you feel alone, you’re not. There has to be someone else in this very big world that feels the same way. And if you’re lucky, you’ll find those restless souls and keep each other company for a while. Just try to remember, close your eyes and remember.

One I can call my own

I’ve seen many trees. Apple trees, pineapple trees, avocado trees, paper trees, green trees, created trees, shape shifting trees. They all have a special kind of energy. They all welcome me in for a second, sometimes a minute. Except the dark tree; the dark tree is withering and used to be an old friend, it no longer likes me in its shadows. Why? Because I like the light.

After leaving the darkness, I had to start over. Many trees have been cut down. When I think I finally found stability in a tree and its branches, I find it wasn’t so and I must move on and start all over again. Will it ever end? It doesn’t matter. Wondering about these things makes me sad and there is no point to that. All you can do is move forward and keep walking the path, whatever that may be.

Just because others have found trees, doesn’t mean I should too. Just because others are different, doesn’t mean it’ll last. Just because the darkness used to be home doesn’t mean it’ll be that way forever. It gets confusing. I’m just looking for a tree that will shape me, love me. I’m just looking for a tree that colors me and fills me with all the good things its leaves and height has to offer.

I don’t want to wander under the sun for much longer. I don’t want to feel lost. I want to choose the path that leads me to the perfect tree that also happens to be next to an enchanting lake. That way, I can have my cake and eat it too. I want a strong tree that doesn’t make me question a thing, one where all the pretty flowers bloom around it and I can be wild and free.

Is that too much to ask?

The more I think I see a tree in the distance, the less it’s an actual tree. It’s just a man made structure that seems interesting but isn’t real. It no longer hurts, it just gets tiring at times. Being under the sun won’t kill you but it’ll certainly dehydrate you and eventually make you hallucinate. It is what it is. There’s no point in going against it. Fight the fight.

I do have an angel, 20 bucks and a mind of my own and some old cookies in my pocket. I hope it’s enough to get me there. I hope it carries me through. Also, the fairies are with me. I can feel words and almost wake up anywhere my soul longs to be. Sometimes I can’t find a comfortable place to rest. Nothing feels better than a tree but that’s OK. The longer it takes, the more I’ll appreciate it.

Give me beauty. Give me love. Give me peace and give me trust. I never want to lose myself. Give me passion and give me just a little bit more. A place I can call my own, a tree to rest my soul in. A tree that will grow faster than I can. One that understands and one that will never lead me astray. One I can call my own.

Projection

She made a horrible mistake. She doesn’t know how she got here and she’s lost. She lost her home and her head. Not sure why, but she did. She was lost and because of it, she hurt herself. Pain was caused because she thought she knew better than this.

He never made a mistake. He doesn’t know why but he never took a chance on life. He had a home and never left the nest. He wasn’t sure why but he never did it, the living thing.

She bled and had red in her hands.

His hands were perfectly clean, so he decided to make her bleed instead. He had too much pain hidden within so he didn’t know what else to do but make her bleed too. She thought she let him in because he understood. But it turns out he only made her bleed more. He didn’t do it on purpose, but he did do it.

Because he had a paralyzing fear to live, he gave her a brand new scar. Because his pain was unbearable, he projected himself unto her.

They thought they were the same, but they were not. She was light, he was darkness; she was life, he was death. They played happily together for a while until their opposite sides called them back. It was time to go home for supper.

It was time for her to step into the light fully. It was time for him to hide in his cave where he felt safe. Little did he know; his demons were hiding in the darkness. What will happen to him? She would never know.

They make us suffer, the hurters. They feel entitled to hurt others because they’ve been so badly hurt. They make those who are the closest, bleed. They might never change but distance between what’s right and wrong should become obvious.

Don’t play with her blood, don’t mess with her head. You might love her but if you can’t love her right, let her heart remain pure all on its own. You might need somewhere to project your heartbreaking story, but her heart is not the place.

I will let you go because your part in my story is over. And I hope you find a way to stop internally bleeding and start projecting a happier story. One with a bit more light in it.

Longing

I always want more. I always long for someone, for something. I don’t know if this is my destiny but it’s how I feel. I’ve been trying to feel good and feel like I’ve somewhat succeeded. I don’t know how to stop longing for him. The problem with longing is how much we miss out. I almost missed meeting a great guy because I was longing for more, wondering and desiring the dream in my head. I want to be happy, I want to fly. I always wonder. I wonder about what could have been and what is. I am open to learning though, that saves me from myself. I never completely believe whatever I believe in. I am open to suggestions if it’ll make me happier.

I want to be zen. I want to be healthy and have a great body. I want balance and I want things to make just enough sense to be joyous. I want to be desired and loved. I long for him. I also think of him longing for me and I smile. He’s far away and I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again.

I long for a moment where there’s nothing more to long for. I do admire passion and know longing can be full of it. I have an artist’s soul and want people to feel even if it isn’t perfect. I don’t want to hide how I feel and be free.

There’s no conclusion but that I’ll sit in this tiny chair, reading a book and long for you. I’ll sing and hope that someday, somehow you’ll listen. I’ll sit here, waiting, smiling, crying and longing only for you and for me and what we could have been together.

If you could be a dreamer…

What would you dream about? What would you really be? Because this world we live in has so many expectations of what we should be, we forget to even know what we’d want to be if we could be anything.

I thought it’d be easy for me to know and then it wasn’t. I started thinking about money, success, recognition and all those things that don’t really matter and aren’t really me. Who have I become? I guess the ghosts of wrong paths followed have led me astray. But there is always a way back. It does not matter if we’re hurt, lost, older, tired. There’s no reason why we can’t go home and start again. If we don’t what else would we do?

I’m finding my way back. I no longer ask why. I simply carry on. Stopping my life to wonder about the whys is exactly what got me lost in the first place.

I want to know who I really am, why I’m here and simply accept and embrace it. I want to live the life I claim to believe in. I don’t know if that’s being too much of a dreamer, but so be it. It might not all make sense at the moment but who am I to say it won’t make absolute sense in the future? Who am I not to believe in beautiful and bright things?

I will be a writer and so I shall write. I will be a storyteller and so I shall create stories. I want to be a singer and so I shall sing. After trying so many wrong paths, the right one might just be around the corner, I can feel it getting closer. The quieter I get and the less noise surrounds me, the easier I can hear the fairies leading the way.

I might have been left here silent and alone but that’s only because I possess all the weapons and the loudest voice. It’s all here, inside. If the real world vanishes, what would I be? I’d be a dreamer, a writer, a singer, a creator, and a supporter. I don’t know how to be anything but just that.

So wish me luck. I’m no longer afraid and no longer willing to feed the monster of fear who’s never truly satisfied until it swallows me whole. All I can do is try.

Be sure you know what you’d be if you could be anything. And little by little try to make your reality as close as possible to your dreams. Just know. Because even if you’re still very far, you can at least escape to that place in your head; it can carry you through, it can save you, it can make you.

Spaces in between

I’m filling spaces that are empty. I’m truly trying to change my ways. When you rid yourself of what doesn’t serve you or when it’s taken care for you and certain things vanish, space is left.

It used to be a mourning of what was lost, what was taken, but it should have been a celebration.

The spaces are supposed to be there, they were created for a reason, maybe even on purpose.

I’m learning how to enjoy the spaces in between the learning and the living. This is not a lesson, simply a feeling; a necessity for space and a break. Living and feeling the way I do almost requires it.

It was easy to feel victimized when so many things didn’t work out the way I expected them to. I don’t know when or how I became entitled. We have no right to demand anything from life. All we can do with it is play our part the best way we can, enjoy the spaces in between roles and be grateful for the rest.

I am utterly tired of thinking anything or anyone should be better. I’m tired of being disappointed. I’m tired of having a lot of space between what is and what I think it should be.

All I can do is try, have faith and be happy.

I’m done fighting whatever is not there. If I fight, it’ll be for the right reasons and only if it’s truly necessary. I’m always caught in the middle and in between worlds and all I need is space and clarity to do what is right. Hopefully I’ll end up where I’m supposed to and know it all had a purpose; the good, the bad and all those tiny little spaces in between. All those spaces of uncertainty.

Where’s the sense?

Everything is felt when I breathe. Everything you do is remembered. You let me go, it felt as though you let me go easily. You forgot about me. I moved on but haven’t really forgotten.

Mistakes have been made; mistakes are trying to define me. They haunt me whenever I have free time. Regrets love to show up and ruin my good fortune of forgetting.

In my youth, I had no idea. I don’t know how I could have been so clueless. I don’t know how I could not have known better.

Love’s absence has become as much a part of me as my jet black hair. My hair has made happier though, freer.

Hopelessness is trying to take over. It takes away my voice, my vision, almost my passion. It reminds me how little I’ve accomplished even if it seems to be plenty to an outsider.

I’m afraid horrible thinking habits will become an unbreakable pattern.

As I form these words, I feel confused. Confused by being uncertain for so long. I know it’s not so, but almost everyone floating around me seems to know more than what I was told. They get to live a life and I feel paused.

I always try to write a positive twist in, but today I’m not sure. I’m also good at making things darker than they actually are and I’m not sure I will do that either. The urge to give up seems easier, more logical. I wish my restless heart could give up on that which does not seem to be given to me. I wish I could give to my heart, it truly means well.

I wish to never become utterly hopeless. It can always get worse, I could officially be depressed. I could officially let the darkness settle in and take a seat in my crazy, overactive brain.

Friends left, family left, he left, expectations left, even I left myself. I’m trying to come back but haven’t found a way to do that anymore. I have tried to make the right choices but I guess I thought I’d be somewhere else than where I am.

The end of the year slaps me in the face. It always tries to make me over think and I don’t appreciate it. I never truly feel as though I’ve succeeded. When will it end? When will it make more sense? When will the expectations match some sort of reality? Should I let go? Should I hold on? Should I be hopeless or hopeful? I honestly do not know anymore.

I want to not care, I want nothing. I want you but I don’t want to want you. I feel tired. I’m very tired. I guess something will unfold, good or bad. In the meantime, I’ll remain. I’ll breathe. All I can do is wait, breathe and maybe something will make some sense. Some sort of sense.

Ask enough

We don’t ask enough. I’ve been wanting to sing. I don’t play an instrument yet, so I must depend on musicians. I haven’t completely used my ability to ask. I haven’t asked enough where to find these instrument players.

I want to become a better writer, so I must write. If I feel there’s something to discover, I should ask and explore. It’s easy to remain silent, motionless, stuck. If we could only ask others or even ourselves what we must know, we’d move forward; we’d get answers. I get stuck in the mud easily. I get stuck in the grass too. I am trying to stay away from tricky surfaces that try to pull me in. I shouldn’t wonder why it has been difficult, I should just ask myself what I should be doing and go ahead and do it.

Life is easier when you ask. If we do not ask what we deeply are curious about, what’s the point? We’ll never know. And even if we sometimes do not like the answer, we will have the satisfaction to have asked. It’s better to know.

Regrets are my kryptonite. I waste valuable time thinking of what could have been. I throw time in the trash when I’m wondering if I’m good enough or not. It doesn’t matter. All I have to do is make good art, as Neil Gaiman so obviously states. And if you cannot believe you are wise enough or even good enough, pretend you are.

If you don’t know, ask. If you want to create, create. Life won’t stop for you and you should be grateful it doesn’t. It was created in a unique way. It’s not our job to question it but to do what we were put here to do no matter what unfolds around us. Mistakes will be made, embrace them. Break free from what has been programmed but isn’t so.

I’ve been a confused little child for a long time. Sometimes I forget about being lost and create pretty little things. Then I remember and feel insecure once more.

But now, I’m done.

I ask you to ask yourself what you feel is right. I ask you to follow your calling. It’s ok to leave whatever isn’t for you behind. If it isn’t for you, maybe it belongs to someone else. I still struggle. I’m getting closer to the beautiful mountain at the end of the tunnel but it’s important to always ask yourself if the decisions you are making get you closer or further away from where you want to be.

I will ask myself more often these valuable questions. And if I don’t have the answers, I’ll ask someone else. And if you ask enough, it will be revealed in the end.

Fight the fight

I have endured more than I thought I could. I can feel it all over my body…the rejection, the pain, the crossing of the lines, the not knowing why it happened. I can feel your hurt not once, but twice. You became a monster and I became a fighter. You finally left and I finally won. I wish I didn’t express myself as much as I do, but it pours out me as easily as the air I’m forced to exhale. The ones on the other side seem to repeat themselves. Their height shifts but their personality is exactly the same. Their age goes up and down but I remain the same and on the other side of the river. Their egos are throwing rocks at me when all I want is for them to join my madness. It’s not just them, it’s me. I fight because there’s a force. A force I cannot name and I cannot define but one I can feel. It has led me astray more than once and yet, I always trust it.

I fear what I write; I fear who will like this and who will hate it. I fear those who won’t read it and those who have made me write it. I fear your judgment and what the consequence of my words will be. I fear you’ll think I’m weak or that you’ll be intimidated by my strength. And in spite of the fear, I carry on. I admire those who can remain silent because they seem to get what they want and seem to avoid pain…two things I deeply desire. And yet, here I go again…holding my soul out to the world hoping it has what it takes to take it.

I’m peculiar. I cannot live with anyone and I do not want to. I am not understanding or tolerant except when it’s truly necessary. I have made crazy decisions and they have followed me around like a loyal homeless puppy that won’t go. I know I can make it on my own and am ready for the challenge.

I’m grateful. I get to live alone; I get to explore the darkness and the light. I get to write and I get to sing. I get to embrace the good and become better because of the bad. I truly try to be real. I know I’m misunderstood and taken for granted often. The scars run deep and it scares most people away. But here I am, stripping myself and showing you who I am. Here I am, finally independent and breathing. I must collect the thoughts that heal and let go of the pain. I must move on and know that the path ahead is one full of trees and beautiful creatures all hoping for me not only to make it through but to do it alive.

I have fought and will always fight for what I believe to be true. I might still get hurt and still fall, but I will keep going until the day I die. And if my fight makes this living situation even a tiny bit easier for someone else, I will consider it a victory. Being how I am might be scary and even lonely, but it’s a wonderful filter. Those who stay are worth keeping and those who leave are worth losing. It makes it easier to know. Because to fight the fight you need the right ones by your side. And sometimes you will be all you have and if that’s so, you’ll be all you need.

Scissors

It’s that time again. The time when I’ve, once again, dug a hole. It’s not as dim as it could be but I am here again. Why do I insist on this? Maybe it’s by chance or by choice. My thoughts have become more my friends…but I just don’t want to be here. It has always and will always take time to get out. What’s tricky is how much easier it is to keep digging than it is to start climbing. The difference in its efforts is massively distant. And yet, I do know how important it is to make the right choice and climb. The scissors that are in my hand and made for cutting will have to serve no dysfunctional purpose.

As expected, when down here, things haven’t turned out very well. I lost all the pictures I had. I lost the images that I thought I had so tightly held on to. But I do have the memories and can always take more pictures. I do not want to hold on to what was lost. As human as it might be, it truly is pointless. It’s so pointless, that wallowing almost shouldn’t even be allowed. But it is and we do. I cry for the pictures I lost and will never see again.

If only I would have tried harder or taken better care of them. If only. But the scissors I hold in my hand are present. Will I use them to hurt or to build? I love flaws. I love how imperfect life can be. Even when it all seems amazing, I try to look for the imperfections. Why? Because I love things that are real and perfection seems utterly and unbearably fake. So I will try to not hurt. I will not make things bleed. I will try to not expect. I will try my best, even if it kills me.

I will try to not give up even when the signs can be quite dark. I will start all over again if it’s what I’m supposed to do. So much sand has slipped through my fingers once more and that’s fine. I will get a hold of the situation again and it might all be lost again as well. That’s life. But I do know what I want to be close to and far from. People can be lovely but they can be dangerous. I am stopping the full on trust. I am trying to become as much of my own source of happiness as I can.

I still do not know how it will unfold but I hope it’s worth writing about and worth inspiring. Even now, I know how unexpected this all is and yet, I want to expect it. I want to long for nothing but what is…as if I had planned it. I want expectations to drive me and not be the end of me. I want to compare myself to no one and nothing. I want youth to be a part of my personality and have it not be related to age. We’ll see how strong my will is but I am going to bet on myself a whole deal because if I don’t, who will?