oh well....

At 8:45 pm, in my bed in a foreign country I finally come to the realization of what’s really been bugging me. What’s made me freak out the boyfriend with sudden unexplained tears to which in his great wisdom he attributes to hormones. Can’t agree with him, can’t refute it either. Life does feel like a roller coaster ride for the most part. I haven’t written in forever, haven’t cared too. Been too busy being bogged down by my insignificance and the impermanence of my existence even as all this great stuff was happening in my life. It’s what we all long for, a fulfilling life, the prospect of true love, a very real possibility that all our life’s dreams could come true. It’s kinda scary when you realize don’t really know what to do with it because you don’t really know who you really are. There!!!! That’s what’s bugging me… I’m having trouble finding self, and it’s on nights like these when you regret having watched more tv in 3 weeks than anyone should watch in a lifetime(unless they don’t mind having mush in the place of grey matter) . With the reluctance of a willing addict you turn the damn thing off and for fear of your own thoughts turn to the comfort of a book…right after a short rant with run-on sentences that a much loved but a tad too grammatically correct best friend will find very irritating…….

introspection

strangers in my house

   my mind

      my life. 

undefined edges

   blurred faces

     feelings....places. 

fluid thoughts

  join together-

      an endless stream

of what used to be,

   might have been ,

      If Only...

the truth

It is the scariest thing in the world. It has the power to break hearts, it has the power to heal us. They say it can set us free. I dont know, it might depend on the truth you see, sometimes it feels like the truth just might be the death of me.  I know it can eat us from within, constantly battering our insides as if our life depends on it. The truth maybe the hardest thing to bear, but it still is the truth, sooner than later, whether kicking and screaming or having been beaten into desperate submission by the weight of it all, it's something we all have to face. And  if we are fortunate enough,we come out bruised and broken..... but alive.

Blasted possibilities

Hope is a funny thing.
Existing even when we will it not to.
In spite of reason
Or obvious evidence pointing to the contrary,
It refuses to die.
it fools you into thinking
you are done with it
you cant feel or see it anymore.

Convinced that you’ve beaten it
buried it deep into the ground
even planted grass
to cover it’s optimistic head
you say to yourself
‘hope has breathed its final breath,
hope which dare not die …..is dead.’
Finally you can rest
After all, one need not worry about the dead!

You forget that hope is a funny thing.
Till you are struck
By a kicked-in-the-gut feeling
It catches you unaware...
a hard fast blow
that leaves you reeling in shock.
You realize that while it hid, it grew
It spread its roots in your very core.
It thrived in you and you never even knew.
           Blasted possibilities!

You’d tried to avoid this exact feeling,
of losing something that you know
never quite really was yours.
But hope is a funny funny thing,
and so are blasted possibilities!

To whom it may concern.....

the only thing to come out of this long absence is an intense disgust for all things cute( stories, books, beliefs, even tissue) and a creepy desire for anything that is shocking. There is a stranger in my mind,throwing stuff around , shaking it up a little bit which might explain why i cant quite write coherently. my girlfriends think i'm in a weird place and it's just a phase. my sister keeps wondering why i'm so dysfunctional and where the disconnect with fellow humans comes from. all i do look, listen and return to operating at bare minimum. Having given you an update ,i'm returning to my cave to perhaps retrieve my scripted and much more easily read personality .Crazier stuff has happened to people so there's no need to worry. I will return........maybe.

Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink

Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain;
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink
And rise and sink and rise and sink again;

Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath,
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;
Yet many a man is making friends with death
Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.

It well may be that in a difficult hour,
Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,
Or nagged by want past resolution's power,
I might be driven to sell your love for peace,
Or trade the memory of this night for food.
It well may be. I do not think I would.

                                Edna St. Vincent Millay


*i love it when the words of another hit home.

Untitled.

And so I dance

Hoping you’ll notice

the girl behind the makeup,

you don’t have to remember

and I  shouldn’t expect you to

you get what you paid for,

I put food on my table

just another girl

hoping she’s special

so I’ll keep dancing

pretend our eyes didn’t meet

a moment’s recognition,

dismissed as an illusion

as always

The lights will go out

tomorrow there’ll be another girl

perhaps prettier

maybe more skilled

definitely not me

gotta pull a crowd

or you’re out

and so I dance tonight

with everything I’ve got

Unseen,

even as the spotlight shines on me!