I don't think they make stopper plugs for this.

Left foot up. This thing is harder to raise in me than to put down, to quell with an unrefined manner of violent battering.
Right foot down. It is easier to cast this thing to the ground than to continue carrying this unbearable weight.
Right hand up. It comes to my forehead under my command, this effort is strenuous. The sweat has no end, no relief exists. Dehydration at this point might be a good thing. Maybe then I could save my shirt from the possible threat of arm-pit stains. Maybe I can preserve it’s perfect whiteness.
Left hand down. My shoe has slipped off the back of my ankle. It was clearly an accident, but since he stepped on it, my heel has felt constant pain. (In fact, my heart feels just the same, mildly bruised.) A pinch of blood seeps through my sock, yet I remain unaware. I will discover it later I am sure.
Sometimes not knowing is easier. Sometimes there isn’t enough to be gained in the falsities sold to you, in the lies disguised as truth, in the breaking that comes unloose.
Run, Run and gather it up. Your soul is leaking.

Silent moments in foreign places

The garden was the start. Just as the flower begins underground wrapped in the warmth of the heat-filled earth, so I began, just a seedling, just a thought of all the things I could become. I've searched for years with no resolution, with all the resolve I could muster. I will find it in myself I said, but now I begin to wonder. I wonder if the seed by itself is enough. Can it grow without water, without sun, without earth? Can love grow without sustenance, passion, and work?
It’s quiet here. I like that. The trees barely rustle, the birds chip, but they leave me to my thoughts. In fact, they add to them. The nature of the thing is its nature itself unselfish, always giving, unrestrained. I seek it in earnest and find it not. Have I done wrong by it? Were my words too harsh? Will it not return to me? I said it because I like to lie to myself, to hide my need for this thing, this beautiful thing, this belonging.
But still the pebbles on the ground seem soft in comparison to my soul, hardened and calloused-over by the “reality” of the world. When will I realize the “reality” is no reality at all? When will I rebel against the traditional social norms set before me? Would he forgive me if I did?
It sounds like rain, it’s time to run and hide again.

Believe in what you once renounced. Hold tight to lost dreams and make them real again.

You have fought. You have given up. You have found yourself in this in-between, this unsure, waste-filled place. But still, giving up is not an option. Giving up happens far too often, and you are unwilling, UNWILLING to end up like they did. This thing it weighs on you, it beats your soul down, it holds your heart hostage, and you are unable to find yourself, among the disdainful, among the hateful, among the dead.

Beat fast heart, feel alive. You will only live once, you will only feel alive if you wish it into reality. Only you can make this change, only you can fight against the judgment of others and say eff them. I will be who I will be and that is what I will be, regardless.

You love and you love hard. You cry and you hide it. You will stay this way, and you will feel ashamed. Why does your heart have to be so shadowed-over, so hidden, so heartless. When will you face Him? When will you face them? When will you say what you really feel? When will you finally call him near and tell him all the things that you really want to tell him?

You doubt so many things; you believe in so many more. You hurt, you hurt, and you never tell a soul. You fool.

And as you read words you don’t understand, as you fight this battle hand-to-hand, as you see past this public demand for more than you planned to give, you discover more of yourself. You discover that you are so much weaker than you thought; you are so much stronger than you ought to be in some regards, just all the wrong ones. Stubborn soul, for some reason you can never find this balance. For some reason you will never have this solace. Wander, wander far. Never return, never descansar.

Four in the morning comes a little early, but this makes you feel young again.

...Not that you ever felt old, just that you may have started to grow that mentality of the old, of the same-old-same, the mundane life of “adulthood.” You fight against the norm. You beat your fists against the wall, determined to take this “expectation” face to face, to stare it down. It will become as nothing.
You will become what you want to be.
You will become what you should become.
This has become more than just you. You are just one piece in this billion- plus piece puzzle of humanity, to this world, vast, torn-down, broken.

And as you look on the past, you see all the pieces of your life fit. They just came together, seemingly effortless. But this, oh this won’t be.
You will fight.
You will carve your will into existence.
You will claw your way to this end.
Resignation is unquestionable. Positive self-formation is inevitable.
Now, it is your turn to fit. Now, it is your turn to stand out.