Don't stay put

Goodness I see the potential
For you to become what I have not
For you to win what I have lost
For you to remember what I forgot

For every word, letter, and phone call, I thank you. It seems that thanking you is all I can do, though I hanker for the day when I can do much more. When I can see you live your dreams and help you, if you ever need it. Though I doubt it. Your will, at times, is far stronger than mine. Stubborn even, I am sure, but still soft, malleable, clay-like in its rawness.

I have blinked and the time has flown.
I have learned and have come to know
That time won’t leave us left alone
Always together though not at “home”
Or the home that used to be our own
Now given to dust-covered pillowcases
Old threads and ratty shoelaces
Half-chewed by our animal friend
Who couldn’t remain with us in the end
A sad state he left us in
and in which we will not remain.

Revisions, Revisions and the Art of Revising the Revised.

I gladly released it from my hands this morning.
In fact, I sent it away with a warm welcome,
A glimmer of hope, and a post-marked price of $2.73.

Destination known, Atlanta.
Sender, nervous aka Clammy hands.
Future unknown: nowhere, maybe?

So in the back of your mind you revise your life plan,
With fallback options including plans A, B, C, and BFE.

Oh weary soul,
When will you stop planning and re-planning for tomorrow
You are going to waste all of your time, leaving no time for now.

On sitting in Starbucks looking into Moravian mirrors.

These glass walls seem liberating. They lie. They tease. They show you where you could be if you weren’t currently tied down to this chair, tied to this life. These never ending tasks weigh heavy on you, and you are tired. This constant stream drains the delight from it, squeezing it dry. And this is not what you wanted it to become. But still you rest content to see your hands form something, although not as you imagined, it remains beneficial. And you will always welcome this growth, though it comes slow.

You look constantly forward, waiting for the moment to become more. When will you dare glance in the mirror to see who you are now, and what you have already become? Hide. Go ahead, try. Turn off all the lights. But here it won’t matter. This glass prison lets only light in and forces you to see you. Maybe now you will remove the black cloth. The mourning period is over, it is time to move on, to see what this tragedy has made you.

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.

Romping about through invisible snow still leaves me feet soaking wet

Strap them on, the boots for blistery weather. No matter how much you prepare the flurries still seep in, and you find your socks steadily growing damp. So you trek back to the house, change them, and head back out. This time the outcome is the same. The subtle chill in the cracks between your toes brings this to your attention. Again you return and change. By the end, you have found that you have travelled back and sought change more than a dozen times now.

This time you double up, two pairs masterfully attached to your limbs by blue waterproof duct tape. And although this time it takes a little bit longer, after a while, your waterlogged socks make a squishy noise with every step you take. What more will it take? Should I stay inside, ignoring the call of nature? Should I stay in, alone, and sustain myself with a well-built fire? You ponder this for a while with your elbows resting on your knees and your head propped up by your hands as you sit teetering on the edge of your blanket-laden bed.

A knock comes to your door and you think to yourself, “Who else would be out in this weather?” As you make your way across your living room the sunshine peeking in through a crack in the pulled-shut drapes catches your attention. You gently crack the door open and peer outside, the postal man stands on your door step dressed in his finest pair of postal shorts and a short sleeved shirt. He has a bright yellow smiley face pin attached too his lapel. He looks at you bewildered by the presence of your winter clothes layered one upon the other. He chuckles to himself as he informs you kindly that the temperature today is a lovely sun-filled 73 degrees, “and well isn’t it nice?” You play if off of course, informing him that you "just got these and wanted to try them on" because you are ecstatic about an up coming ski trip in a few months. You lied and he believed you.

You have always lied, and for the most part they have always believed you. The truth is you have never set foot outside of your front door. You have never been out in nature, you have never even tried. You have just lied and lied and lied, until you finally believed it yourself. When will you stop? When will you realize the snow had never come and that it has always been a mild 73 degrees? And as this realization sets in you slowly work open the package with no return address that the postman has delivered. You smile to yourself as you pull out a set of flip flops from underneath the packing peanuts. You slip them on and for once in your life you give it a chance. And as you swing the door wide and step outside, you feel truly alive for the first time in your life. And this time, there is no turning back.

Boxing Shadows in a Windowless Room

Goodness gracious. You sit right across from me and still you remain out of my grasp. Am I this unfortunate in finding this thing? This love? But still I can’t say I know you, I can’t say I know what your heart feels, what your mind thinks, what you want to become. But I will say, if you will tell me I will be able to either put these lost feelings to rest or I will give you my whole heart entirely. Don’t you see love is risky? Love makes us vulnerable, opens us up to possible feelings of pain. But that risk is nothing if you go all in, if you set all your chips on the table to find that in the end you and you alone remain with the best possible "hand." And this game, this game you play called love has just been won by the five cards sitting unmoved in your hand. And those cards turn into fingers that connect to a hand that joins you to the arm of the person you love. And in this you find what you have been looking for. In this you find that risk doesn’t always end in loss. In this you find the reality of true love. That it is unwavering, steadfast, not easily shaken, deeper than the shallowness of feelings, stronger than the force that rages against it, and more than you could have ever asked it to be. This is love at its core. This is what melts the hardest hearts of stone. This is what fills the emptiest emptiness. This is what changes the world.

Growing up was easy. Growing out of my comfort zone is becoming really difficult.

Tomorrow school starts.
One word description: Daunting
How I feel: Afraid
What I want to do: Run away
What I will do: Face it, make mistakes, grow, become what I've always wanted to be, and love every second of it.

Sometimes you have to come face to face with your fears.
Good thing I've been keeping my pimp hand strong. :)

As if I would be gone tomorrow.

Be still heart. You feel too much.
Be still mind. You attempt to solve the impossible.
Be still life. You run me about in circles.
Be still. Be still. Be still.

The best is yet to come. That is what they told me once. It is all ahead of you, so bright, so full of possibilities. And now I have become plopped in the middle of it unsure of the end result, uncertain of my abilities to succeed. But still I press forward as hope gently nudges me from behind.

I don’t become introspective around this time of year as many people do. I am introspective all the time. I consider this next phase a year in advance, sometimes two, sometimes ten. Always considering. Always wondering. Yet, always living, not hindered by this daunting thing. This continual ending. A continual ending that only begins an unending thing. But that is no excuse to not live now, to not consider these moments as valuable, to not use this time wisely. This breakdown is continually building me up, encouraging me to push forward, to migliorarmi.

And I will live it, without any regrets, without any disappointments, without anything but love.

I discovered it long ago, but it took me years to fully heal.

Someone once asked me how I could be so positively happy all the time. So I sat them down and told them the story that I don’t tell very many people. And as they listened in silence, I saw in their eyes the formation of two gentle pools, which quickly turned into streams running down freckled cheeks.

It wasn’t my words or how I explained my past; it was the association that brought them to that moment. And who knew they faced the same thing? Who knew they had asked the same question? Who knew they were awaiting the answer that I had discovered years ago? I sure as hell didn’t.

So I sat in silence as they began to tell me the story that they don’t tell many people, and as I listened two gentle pools began to form and the streams began their gravity-pulled path downward. And as I discovered that all sensible words of advice had left me, I decided to let them talk it all the way out. And when they had finished, my words still hid themselves, so I said nothing. Looking back on it, I didn’t have to. Everything that was needed had already been said. And in the course of one day healing came, to both my heart and theirs. I won’t forget that day our paths crossed, and these paths will remain entwined even though they have now lead to different ends.

Vulnerable honesty is refreshing, scary, the best feeling in the world.

I woke up at 4:44am. Early morning thoughts are the deepest.

Burned, Broken, Barricaded Bridge
Oh goodness, goodness...
What have you become?

This time the tension melts your calm- palms sticky, shaking, sweating.
You attempt to reinvent yourself, adapting, yet remaining inept.
You struggle, but still you grow, if only little by little.
You learn, all the things you thought you knew are minuscule, misaligned, meaningless.

This hesitation-filled two-foot space that your feet currently occupy is shrinking.
Where will you go this time?
The lone escape is a burned and broken bridge that you have barricaded up.
Afraid of those who would enter
Afraid of your own vulnerability
Afraid to lose
Afraid, afraid, afraid...
You've blocked it up and this fear has gotten the best of you.

"Rebuilding costs too much," you say, but damn it! where else will you go?
So it's time to start this slow-paced process, laying one brick at a time.
Reconstructing this bridge to your soul and heart,
Making truth rise from the ashes of the lies you've told,
Making good on your promise to live Unabandoned.

Burned, Broken, Barricaded Bridge
Oh goodness, goodness...
Look what you could become.

Oh goodness, this will kill me.

Today was like any other day. I woke up in the same bed, the same room, the same apartment. That familiar domicile that I have temporarily given the title home. I glanced out of the kitchen, and I saw the same view, the same trees, the same sky.
This familiarity is comfortable. This familiarity is mundane.

I walked along the same streets I always do. I saw the well-known faces, and made the occasional wave just to let them know that they alone stood out to me among the ever-moving throng of people.
This familiarity is repetitive. This familiarity is tiring.

I follow the same weekly schedule. Class times are predetermined. The remaining hours of the day belong to the ever-constant flow of incoming papers and tests. I look forward to the weekends when things have a greater possibility of breaking from the norm, yet oftentimes they don't.
This familiarity is predictable. This familiarity will kill me.

Do you remember the day you stood over that young boy’s grave and said to yourself, “I won’t waste it. I won’t take it for granted, like I used to. I won’t live it like everyone else- following the routine. I won’t. I won’t,” you said with determination. As the tears rolled down your cheeks, you turned your back to that plot of freshly dug earth, and you made promises to yourself. And although everything has changed, the time has finally come. It’s time to keep your word.

Call the surgeon mend the pieces...

I am breaking myself up in order to find hope within others and myself. I dream to be more, to do more, to live more. I find my life a wonderful thing; I don’t want to waste it like I have. I want to do more with it, reach more with it, and become more through it. So many thoughts race through my head. I don’t know where to begin and end, when to pause and reflect on one specific thing, or if I should let my thoughts run wild.
Unbound hearts make for the best.
When do you make that decision in your life on exactly what to believe, on what to become, on what to achieve. I want to break down these walls of doubt, oh furious things they are! They set me back and not forward. They tear me down, not raise me up. I believe, I believe, I believe in so many things, so little things. To place myself above it becomes infinitely difficult. To stay in it tears me apart. Oh such fragile things we are. We should admit it more to the people we love. What or who else do we have? I would give up everything to spend 30 more seconds with you, have one more breath in your presence, and be able to see you without blinking to see the image of you fade.
Unbound hearts make for the best.
So much in this world is nothing to me. So little is everything. Images of color fade to black and white; there is a beauty in the simplicity of things. Beauty in the reflection of the moon on the ocean, beauty in the rarely seen depths of the heart of a person, beauty in each moment good or bad.
Unbound hearts make for the best.