I’d like to say

I have been loved. I have been hated. I have felt successful and a complete failure. I want more and I truly want less. I feel as though I have this whole living thing pegged until I have a day that reminds me how little I can know. Regrets are something I do not believe in, and yet, they haunt me. I have heard sweet words and bitterness has also tried to tear me apart.

My best friend said he’d be there no matter what. Time passed and he doesn’t want to see me anymore. The man I loved couldn’t seem to say he loved me back. He made me feel endlessly loved but society programmed me to want to hear words that shouldn’t even exist. Sometimes I want what I know isn’t right. Sometimes I read and smile because of who I have become. I feel proud to have held my ground. And sometimes I feel lonely and I feel like crying. I make others laugh and it makes me realize how wonderful I am. I cry.

I want to sing but I still haven’t written my own songs. I have a melody that carries me through although I still sometimes feel utterly silent. I have come a long way and know how far I am capable of going. But what if you don’t make it? My oldest brother loves to remind me. I trip on a stone only to find that the road ahead seems as long as the one left behind. Someone holds my hand whilst another blindfolds me. I can feel you but I can’t see you.

I would like to say that I’d wish life were easier but I would probably be lying. I would like to say I know what I believe in but sometimes I forget. I’d like to say that I try to avoid drama but it brings my heart alive when it tries to die on me. I can be more than just one thing. I’d like to be more like my mother and I wouldn’t be lying whatsoever. I’d like to say I didn’t know my father but I did. I’d like to say I haven’t pushed love away but I couldn’t keep a straight face.

I know what I know and I am who I am. Some people seem to have figured it out early on, I’m not really one of them and I accept that fact. I hope dearly to become a story. Not only an interesting storyteller but an inspiring one as well.

I might be as imperfect as the day is long but I would like to say that I have become a combination of colors, shapes and shifting shadows of light that cannot seem to figure out completely how to be.

I’d like to say more than what words were ever able to create. But for now this shall suffice. And even what I have to say will pass and so shall the moments, as quickly as I am capable of changing my mind.

I’m not in love

We live to breathe. We live to strive. We live to seek. We live to find. Sometimes we even live to love. Today is the day of independence; the day where solitude is celebrated and questioned. No, I’m not in love. We try to survive. We know not what will come and yet we’re here. I’m not in love.

I don’t know much but I know that I am not in love. It makes me feel somewhat lost. It makes me feel somewhat inspired. At times it feels it’s by chance. At times it feels it’s by choice.

Should I be ashamed by such a statement? Should I be looking for someone to love? I don’t know.

As many other endeavors, I don’t know. But I do know that of all the things I currently do not know much about, this is the one I know the least of. This is that one thing that I have to stop myself from writing constantly about. I think it is a combination of nature and nurture.

I am well aware of its nature and how we are born with some sort of innate right to be loved. But I do feel influenced at times. I feel influenced by all this mass media that is trying to run me over. I feel as though I should either want it or die. I don’t want to die. I want to live. I want to live with or without you. I want to be happy with or without you.

On nights like tonight I want not to want you. I want not to wonder. I only crave that which is and could be but not that which isn’t.

We should question everything. We should want not only what we think we want but also what we should want. Control isn’t ideal but it is useful. I want to stay true to myself and yet know the difference between what is real and unreal. You are real but wanting to control your timing seems unreal and selfish.

I am here and I am not in love. Sometimes I can cope and sometimes I feel as though I am the lead character in the opera of my life and that my heart cannot seem to beat without you. Fascinating opposites seduce me as usual.

But tonight I am not in love and it pains me yet it frees me. What this all means still intrigues me and I will continue to search and witness its attraction for as long as I shall live. It will and can come but until it does, I will wonder and I will be intrigued by its mystery and absence; by its passion and constraint.

It is puzzled and it shall make sense somehow; even if it kills me, even if it rains.

Punch the smoke

The demons are out to get me. I can feel them chasing me through my thoughts. I try to punch away the bloody smoke and I semi succeed. The closer I get to what I desire dearly, the thicker the smoke. It’s out to get me. It wants me to stop whatever it is I’m doing. It wants me to stop believing in what I know is true. I know who sent it too. The bloody one knows how to catch you. If your weakness is a mountain you cannot seem to climb, a mountain is what will present itself as soon as you start to have an idea of what you want.

The smoke is elusive and tries to escape me because it knows what uncertainty does to me. Having no proof of the smoke makes it that much harder to punch. And yet, here I am…trying to punch away the blood, which I cannot grasp.

I see a man’s face, a familiar face and he stands beneath the smoke. He tells me how this smoky vision might be as good as it gets. The evidence doesn’t help my case but maybe all he needs is to put on his glasses, he has needed them always. Maybe he forgot about his glasses, or maybe he didn’t. I don’t know.

The never-ending friend stands on the other side of the smoke. He told me he understood and now I can only hear his voice and all he can sum up to say is everything he thinks is wrong with me.

The demons hide behind whatever they choose to. They are sent especially when you have made up your mind who to be and how to see. And if your vision seems to be remotely different from almost everybody, brace yourself. I haven’t made my peace with how this whole thing works but all I can do is recognize it and try to live through, with and in spite of it.

I do know that there are those moments of clarity where the smoke gives me enough space to breathe in peace. Those moments are beautiful and the very confusing smoke leaves me alone, it almost disappears completely.

I can’t really see the happy ending today because the smoke it trying to catch me but I am punching it away with all the strength in my heart. But in spite of my lack of vision, I do have those pretty instincts that soothe that restless soul of mine. Oh, and an angel…there’s always an angel flying around in my head.

Pretty little stories

As lonely as it can get without another body, I’d take your story before I’d take you. You can become instantly unnecessary as soon as I become my own. I can see myself from the outside and it suddenly becomes easier, impressionably livable.

Your flaws are held against you. They make you cause pain. Your actions are sadly obvious. Completely unaware of what you’ve done. Yes, you can hurt but you don’t necessarily leave a mark. Whatever you had to say wasn’t worth including in the story because it wasn’t epic enough.

I can live without you but I can’t live without me. I can breathe underwater but I can’t take you with me. You don’t know what it takes to swim in the depths. The mermaids wait for no one and are willing to show themselves only to those who believe. They can guide you towards a world only a few get to see.

As uneasy as the others say I should feel, I’d never stay; not for long, not at all. You are now powerless against me. The more words I learn, the less I need yours. The more I understand, the less I need to.

Your presence is no longer required. Your chapter in the book was in the middle. It existed but is no longer necessary to write, to create. I must continue to swim and explore the story I can feel and touch with my imagination.

There is a story to tell. This one will only welcome those secure enough to contribute to the storyline. We get caught in reality too often; we forget why the stories are more important than us…they don’t age; maybe only in wisdom but never in time.

There is a story to tell and nobody matters more than the plot. It’s unique and it’s timeless.

We might age but what we get to tell remains for those who stay. We needn’t forget our responsibility to say, that which shouldn’t be forgotten. The mundane is easily taken into account when it only fills the gaps from one picture to the next. The moments worth capturing are the stories that will remain not only in our subconscious but in whichever form we choose to express our pretty little stories.

Lost

I lost you. He lost me. Not because he didn’t care, or so I like to think. I didn’t lose him because I tried too hard, or so I like to think. I lost the spark that was once on fire. The fire didn’t know how to hide from the wind.

The black dress she swore she would never stop wearing got lost. Where did it go? Nobody knows. He cannot seem to find the tie he left on the bed but was stolen by someone who thought knew better than him.

Why do we lose things? I know it’s not about dwelling on the past but what if it what was found was meant to be? How do you get over something so real? I don’t have the answer for this one.

I cannot get over the talent that I’ve witnessed. How can something marvelous end? She thought that if she kept singing, he’d keep playing the guitar. But the voice has been paused and the guitar is hidden away in a dark closet somewhere. They played games together and created magic one last time before it was all lost; maybe for a while, maybe forever, nobody truly knows.

I lose it, the voice I had. It will find its way back but for now, it’s lost. And I can’t seem to find true love as if it’s hiding from me forever but hopefully just for a while. The loneliness has been found, then lost and terribly fleeting.

But some things are bigger than you and me. Some things are made to change the world and nothing should matter more than that. The message shouldn’t be lost, the purpose. If you’re lucky enough to know why you’re here, don’t lose it. I don’t know why or how we lose but so long as we don’t lose what matters most and find a way to leave this world better than it was before we came, not all is lost.

Wrinkles

I can see where you’ve been happy. I can see where you have been serious and anxious. I can see where you’ve lived and where you’ve died. I can see where you have loved and where you’ve cried. I can see the map of you in your face and in your skin. Your beautiful face holds the frame of the perfect picture. We encourage the living but punish the tracks that are left. They’re trying to abolish our freedom of expression.

The years accumulated have been programmed to make you feel expired, done.

But what about the mistakes that have led you to greatness? What if there would be no recollection of who we’ve become. I wonder where these rules came from? I wonder if they were created so that we can get creative enough to break them.

I look at myself in the mirror and shame tries to take over. I should have found someone by now someone who understands. I take another look and a new line has drawn itself into my forehead. Should the first gray hair show itself before true love? I don’t know right from wrong.

All the secrets you’ve been trying to hide, unfold through your eyes into my soul. I don’t know why you’d want to erase the memories of you; the memories of me.

I hope someday I get to touch your face, imperfect at its best. I hope you appreciate the lines that have been left and know that I have smiled, I have cried, and have gone through Heaven and Hell to get here. I cried 1000 oceans only to find a single smile. And that one expression makes the hurt worth the fight.

I can see that you’ve lived and I can see all the no’s you went through to finally get that anticipated yes.

Never rid yourself of who you were, who you are and who you could become. It’s all a part of the learning and the growing; even if it takes a lifetime of marks to really understand.

Untouchable

I’m standing alone in an open field and close my eyes. I picture everything that could have been and for less than a second it doesn’t matter. But then, as usual, it comes rushing in. All the things I still cannot seem to touch. They’re there in my mind but remain unseen. I feel unfair to crave more than what I have. I feel inadequate when I feel as though I’ve failed to choose. It should be as easy as breathing and yet, it isn’t. I feel uneasy when I feel the responsibility of the words I could say to touch somebody else’s world. I might not have taken the crowded street, but I did take one single road and I have walked through it against all odds. I only have $20 to show for myself and I’m not quite sure if that’s enough to make it through.

Am I using my mind incorrectly that I have not yet attracted it all? Or am I just inhumanly impatient? I don’t know. But I do know I must carry on. I must pretend to touch whatever my heart desires.

What has she done? How did she get to have it all? Does she even know what she has found? Is my eagerness what’s pushing it away? I don’t know. I’m almost as afraid to do what I love as I am of not getting to do it.

Should I learn more or should I unlearn that which has been taught but misleading nonetheless?

Some things have shown themselves to me and I am grateful that they have. I have seen true beauty. I have tried to be as beautiful as I possibly can, too hard maybe. Today I wore no make up and didn’t do my hair. It was a bit liberating and I want to do it more often. I want to be a soul. I want to be beautiful and I want to have it all, especially love. I don’t know how I’ll get there, but I’ll never give up. I cannot let old patters dictate what I can and cannot touch. I will hold in my hands all the invisible gold dust. I just have to know that I can and will touch, feel and do everything and more. And someday, somehow, somebody will feel happier and less lonely because I was here. Maybe they won’t be able to touch me but I will touch them with my words, with a melody or an image that’ll comfort them just enough to carry on.

I desire terribly to be one of the fortunate I desperately admire. To walk in the shoes of the singers, the writers, the creators, the image capturers, the artists that have found a way to communicate beauty through expression. I’m sitting here by myself and wondering how to get it done. I try to grab the pen and it spills ink all over the page. All I can do is start over and keep trying until it works again. Keep singing until the voice is strong enough to be heard. Try impossibly until I get to touch and breathe this newfound dream that eludes and haunts my dark and bright moments.

That girl

She has convinced herself that she doesn’t need him. But on days like today, she misses him dearly. Maybe the programs in her head are winning. She should know better than this. Instead of writing about it, she should be focusing on becoming better but is not. Here she is feeling fragile, sorry for herself and in a loneliness she cannot get out of.

 Today I’m that girl. That girl that feels like she needs the guy; that girl that decides to go to the party just to see if he’ll be there. I’m that girl that only cares about having him hold her and wipe off all the tears that have been shed by all the heartaches. I’m the girl that is jealous of the guy that doesn’t even care about her. Yes, today I’m weak and unlike anyone I’d like to recognize.

 But so what? I feel like nowadays there is too much pressure to be a strong, independent amazing woman. Don’t get me wrong; I’m all about girl power. But sometimes we’re as sensitive as the softest lullaby. All we want is to be held and taken care of. We were created to be loved and pretending that it doesn’t matter seems unnatural and painful.

 It’s this moment that takes me to the future of when I’ll marry you and not be able to believe that you actually exist. I cry because the moment in my head is so touching and then I am pulled back to reality and it makes me terribly sad because you’re not yet here. And even worse, the fear of not finding you takes my breath away. I talk to an angel and she assures me you exist and will show up. I hope, I truly do.

 Yes, I’m that girl and I don’t know much but I know that all I can do is embrace it. Most friends have either settled or given up, I don’t want to do either. I don’t want to settle and I don’t want give up. I don’t know under which category I’ll fall. I’ll probably have to create my own category as usual. As cool as that sounds, it’s tiring. It’s exhausting to have to create your own world, your own love because the ones that already exist simply make no sense.

Today I am that girl that wishes it wasn’t so hard and that love would be as obvious as night and day. 

The chosen one

There are four manlike creatures in front of me. I am obviously in a place that looks like Wonderland and feels like heaven. The weather is kind and I’m almost as beautiful as I’d like to be. I’m sitting on a beautiful bench but I cannot seem to be able to move my feet. I want to talk to them all but I cannot move. They all see me and sometimes come talk to me. When they do, I usually say the right thing but then, as usual, the wrong thing happens to slips through the cracks. The blonde one is very handsome and when he does not sit next to me, the other female creatures catch him. He knows how popular he can be and I’m not sure he knows I can see him out and about. I’m sitting in a bench that has the perfect view. I can see what they are all doing. I love being by myself but then I get lonely and want their company. The blonde isn’t right but because they all want him, the desire grows. You’d think I’d know better by now, but I guess the lesson didn’t fully sink in.

Then there’s the brunette. He’s a puzzle. He can see me more clearly and might have less female creatures pursuing him…but he’s a puzzle. Because he has more years hiding under his hair, he’s more strategic. I don’t know where I was when all the game playing and strategic planning was taught, must have skipped school that day. I like this dark haired one but I’m not sure exactly what’s happening.

The other two guys are a blur. I cannot seem to be able to describe them because they only exist in the future. If the two guys that seem to exist in the present cease to come visit me, the two future manlike creatures will become completely visible and real. I don’t know why but I feel utterly frustrated when they don’t choose to be with me. Not only do I want to be the chosen one but I want to be the only one they can see. Growing up I never truly felt chosen by the opposite sex. Yes, I think I still have that issue growing in the garden where my bench happens to be. I want one of them to join me and never want to leave my side.

But in spite of who joins me or not, I shouldn’t be focusing on what they’re doing or not. I shouldn’t care as much. What I should be focusing all my energy on is getting my feet to work again and choose for myself. Get up and decide who’s worthy of my time and attention. I might not be the chosen one, but I’m the chooser. Being the chooser should be the ultimate goal. Why do we wait for that other person to choose us? Why should I be OK with waiting for one of them to join me? Why do we wait for the approval that should be given by no one but ourselves? I’m fed up with the insecurities and the games. Yes, they exist and you can be a part of it as much as you’d like. But never give any of your worth to anybody else. It’s difficult not to care but waiting to be saved or chosen is worse. Once you get right again and find a way to get your beautiful feet to function properly; walk, run and then fly. Once you do, it won’t matter if you’re chosen. You’ll instantly become one of the even more precious ones that can choose to be whomever they want, be with whomever they please and live the life you’ve chosen and never knew you always wanted. And I truly believe that’s the right choice.

But it is

He left and he keeps leaving. Yes, it’s a different guy but it feels the same. It hurt and it feels as though it shouldn’t have happened, but it did. They should all care more, but they don’t. I should get as much as I give, but I don’t. I got the gig and then I lost it, once and again. Today was one of those days. A day where one more thing is taken, gone. It isn’t as bad as it seems, I’m just allowing myself to suffer. Here I am crying and it doesn’t really make it better; it just makes me feel worse. It’s fine to feel whatever I feel but I am utterly tired of sadness. Sadness has the lowest vibration and it brings me down. But sometimes there it is, trying to pull me down. Its pull shouldn’t be so strong, but it is.

I want to scream. I want to rid myself of the negative emotions, the drama. It’s important to remember how it’s not as hard as it feels. I feel everything. I touch the walls when I walk; I feel the air I breathe in and out. I look into people’s eyes and I can feel them. I look up all the time, the clouds almost always smile at me, and the rain likes me too. Being able to feel the way I do is a privilege, one I do not take it for granted. The plants soothe my soul with their green kindness; not to mention when my heart’s desire touches my skin or my fragile heart, you could kill me then and there. The emotional overload takes a hold of reason. That’s why I have the hardest time letting go; I feel the song that I sing, the person walking beside me. I cannot succeed at being indifferent because it all matters to me. It feels this hard because the intensity the emotions hold is beyond almost anyone’s imagination. It shouldn’t be as much, but it is.

It shouldn’t be this hard, but it is. It shouldn’t be such a constant struggle, but it is. Or is it? As long as we go on with or without the emotion overload, we can make it, we can live. Yes, it is this hard sometimes and what matters most is whether we carry on or not. It does feel this hard sometimes but so what? Giving up seems absurd and unreasonable. The longer I take getting up, the harder it will get. It is what it is and what you decide to do in spite of any obstacle will make or break you. It’s your choice and no one else’s.