Tuesday, June 10, 2014

The cage itself is a seatbelt.

She even breathes tiny.
Her body seems to have swallowed lightening and thunder,
Rippling through her plateaus and undulous hills
Heavy sighs to fill her once massive, and gracious, (but now smaller, and more comfortable) home.
I see her every day. Laughing and singing; the electricity seeping through her, its as if she was made to glow.
She used to see him every where.
Call out to him until his face wasn’t really his anymore. Almost blurry, like the cloud it should have been when he decided to delete her face from his memory. All those years ago.
She used to cry for him, even when he was mean to her, or threw her things across the room, or made comments that drover her up the wall with desire. Leaving her there, empty. Ridiculed and lame. Dazed and confused.
She used to.
Her hair doesn’t dance in the wind for him anymore; no it cuts the air in fury, she walks like fire.
Her hips won’t swing to catch his eyes; undoubtedly they might never have.
Her quips won’t be wasted upon the lesser grateful living, nor will he get to hear her voice. Ever again. He has thrown away any such right.
Because, she has a sweet voice, you see?
Every ounce of her soul pours into it, she feels God in every vibrating note. and she aims to bring His joy to the world for all those who will take time to listen.
Low and soft,’
Deep and sultry.
She was made to heal.
She was sick, but now she thrives.
Where there was once ash, gardens will grow. You hold no power over her anymore.
She was sick but now she shines. Her fingertips hum with an energy for life. Unstoppable, because she knows with every fiber of her being that she is every bit as lovable as any one else on earth.
Some days are harder than others, but take heart.
A Queen conquers.
And when one does, everyone knows to bow. Head to ground.


I would love to speak to her one day.

Saturday, May 24, 2014

Hypocrite

Sometimes I still think you're singing to me
Brass knuckles inching closer to your face
I really love telling you I told you so
Well what did you think was gonna happen sweet girl?
Your ending isn't happy and your mouth is filled with shaking teeth
Spit them out.
Spit them out.
One by one
covered in the strawberries you stole from hungry mouths.
But I haven't learned my lesson either,
people don't take bloated hearts seriously
I'll swoop in again and save you,
even if it means drowning in bruises.
I was supposed to be something by now. I was supposed to be onto bigger and better things by now. I was supposed to have a quirky, and eccentric yet meaningful quote on my cap that inspired others on my heels.
 But no.
Now I am angry.
and Jealous.
and Petty.
Bitter and riddled with disease.
I can't even show my thighs anymore.

Observation on Tuesday, May 13, 2014

A few days ago a man came in with a family member.He was deaf and mute. He had never heard or spoken a single word in his life. He wasn't able to speak sign language well, because I assume they never really taught him. I tried my best to help them with their order and to help the gentleman understand his choices of food and drinks, and then they were on their way. As I was making my rounds and collecting plates and trash, I found him sitting alone in his own little world. He was immersed in the world of Marvel comics. He was staring so longingly at them, and to say I couldn't relate would have been a lie. He was looking at them, they way you would look at something or someone that was so precious to you and is within arm's reach, you're just not allowed to have it or touch it/ them. It seemed like he ached for a world that was more than this bland and bleak reality. One in which a person really could be anything they wanted if they had the means or tried hard enough.
    Sometimes I think this world is a little darker than those of the comic book realm. It's too intense and there is such an influx of information that forces me onto my knees. The trees are swaying and the sun is kind, but everyone I know is so damn sad. "

"This is a filthy, beautiful, goddamn world."

Today a woman came in. She looked frail in body but sturdy and godlike in the eyes. She spoke with a tiny mouselike voice and looked a little paranoid. Everyone does nowadays though. She purchased a book entitled "How to Calm Your Nerves." She had on a hospital bracelet that told me she needed to learn how to do so and quick. Brand new from the looks of it. I finished the transaction and told her the usual pleasantries of retail, but how I wish she would take me with her. How I wish I could have read that book cover to cover with her. I have been trying to change. I have been trying to maintain eye contact and hold conversations. I have been trying to look at my own reflection without retching.
I have been trying to look at myself without anger. To look upon myself with kindness has become one of the hardest things to do in my life. To live in a mundane world which renders my imagination useless and me as a helpless human being is revolting and it hurts.

I try to find the magic in everything
It is fading an alarming pace.
Adulthood is overrated and the world is beautifully bland.
Take heart.

Monday, April 28, 2014

Ramble Bramble

I don't belong to anyone. You are not and NEVER were entitled to me, and if I could see you now I would tell you (finally now after all these years) that I honestly hate you for what you've done to me. You, whose ego could choke a horse. Who were broken before you were born. You, who thought the heart could be chained and poked and prodded at. Foul loathsome human being with a mouth that spilled horrible, horrible offal at me! You who protected me, and FROM WHAT? Let every bone in my body break and jut out to carve into the Earth that I was wrong, and hating you is the only way to freedom. And I am sorry that I love the idea that was you and God give me the strength to brake the nasty fetid rope that has rubbed my wrists raw from the memory of your eyes, and hands, and most of all you.


Hating you will be loads easier than missing you. Anything to make it hurt less.
Call me petty, but what do you all care? 

I AM MINE AND MINE ALONE.
I take comfort in lying on stone.
Closure has never been so close.
Thank you.

Tuesday, April 15, 2014

Be okay.

Everyone around me seems to be suffering. Cancer is running rampant. Depression is filing through the veins of my closest and dearest, like overcrowded lines, waiting to start a riot in the crumbling waiting room that is its host. Sickness of the most acute kind lighting fields on fire with it's laugh. It's enough to drive anyone to do something irrational. We are bleeding. Quietly, running with our eyes sewn shut, looking for a way out. How do we stay so quiet? He is deaf, she is lonely. I am not the only one drowning. I feel it all so much. Lord have mercy on us, be with us in the hour of our need. The world is spinning into something much more morbid than usual, and although I am a class A pessimist, I refuse to believe this is all there is.

There is a tree. On each side of the earth.
 One for those who bleed.
One for those who rot.
One for those who are suffering and cannot will it to stop.
More will follow.

What I wouldn't give to heal you all. What I wouldn't give to wipe away all your tears. To hold you and tell you, we will all be okay. But, I don't even know if we will be to tell you the God's honest truth.
But if you should ever feel like you're stuck in purgatory again, or burning in Hell, understand this.


It isn't rare for people not to see about themselves what others see in them.
Some cases may be more drastic. You are not worthless. The people who fight for you, do so because they see greatness. They see kindness. Beauty. Strength. You are worth life, simply because you have been given it. You deserve the space you take up. The breaths you take. It is all yours and rightfully so!
God is not in the business of teasing. Everyday horrible, bad things happen to wonderful, good people. It happens for no good reason or it happens for greater things to come along down the road. Life may be ours, but there are very few things we can do to control the outcomes of certain events in life. Life is meant to be lived. Suffering is a part of the ordeal. We definitely did not sign up for this, but there it is still. I get it. It's fucking hard, especially when you feel like you're being thrown 50 steps backwards for every 3 you take forwards. But bear this in mind. You're a fucking fireball. Light up your way to happiness. Burn and set ablaze your path and make your way through life.


"Out of the night that covers me,
 black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be for my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance,
my head is bloody but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears, looms but the horror of the shade,
and yet the menace of the years finds, and shall find me unafraid.


It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate;
I am the captain of my soul."- Invictus, William Earnest Henley


but please also keep in mind darlings,

"Its ok you you know,
  to be carried now and then,
    Strength too needs a rest."- Tyler Knott Gregson


If you're reading this. Thank you, and I'm sorry. You don't know how much it means to me.

Friday, April 11, 2014

Friday April 11, 2014. 1:07 pm


Mother and father come to visit.
It's early morning and raining.
Don't let them know.
We talk for a while; exchange embraces.
Outside there is a storm brewing.
Wind starts to pick up forming small tornadoes almost.
My mother looks outside. She starts to cry.
She says: "I just don't want bad things to happen to you."

The storm is getting louder.

My father is sitting by the window in a rocking chair. Since when did I own a rocking chair?
There are now three large and open windows in my room. He just stares out the first one on the left, rocking back and forth. He is silent for once, but as always, melancholy. Poor man. I don't have the heart to lie to my mother. My poor, poor mother who must know. She always knows. Always comes to the rescue. It's my turn now.
I hug her. Soother her. Hold her. The words that come from my mouth next seem unnatural, even to me. I say:

"Oh mother. I am destined for great things. Bad things are meant to happen to people who are destined for greater things."

My father is still staring out the window. The storm forms whirlwinds and picks up leaves and rocks. Becomes bigger. They both look so sad. In retrospect, I realize now they might have known something. That they were hiding something from me. I get up, and look at my pensive father. I say:

"Daddy, get away from the window."

Daddy. It almost feels natural now.

I don't want him cold and sad anymore. He seems nearly catatonic, but then he gets up. How did they get into the house? Michael isn't even home. I close all three windows. Spacious and white and beautiful with soft thin white curtains. My room looks bigger.  I think mami is still crying. Daddy goes to look at my bookcase. He begins to inspect it. No doubt to judge my choices of reading. I ask them how they got here and they told me that they just broke in the front door. It doesn't seem to surprise me for some reason.
 Other windows in the house are open. I don't know how I know this, I just feel it. Or I hear the wind moaning from my living room. I have to close them. The storm keeps getting worse. I should be scared, but I'm not. I make my way to the living room. It's generous, with different styles of furniture in it accrued over the years. Sentiment. The walls are covered in paintings. It has antiques everywhere and sharp edges. Casings, and stiff couches. I have said it before. It feels like a museum, not a home. As I get to the living room, it too feels bigger than normal. Not only is a window open, there is a man in a big navy blue jacket holding a duffle bag trying to break in. Yellow shirt underneath. Red beanie. It all seems so real.

"What the fuck-Who the fuck are you!?" I yell.

He drops his bag and nonchalantly starts to walk away. I can almost feel the water and wind coming through the window onto my skin.

"Hey motherfucker, get back here." I yell, louder this time. I don't know where this bravery is coming from. It brings a rush of energy I haven't felt before. It's as if I'm looking for a fight? No, can't be.
The windows get bigger somehow. How bizarre. The man pulls out a gun from his coat. The big puffy navy blue one. He seems so small under it. You hear the click, and within the blink of an eye, he aims and shoots through the screening into my leg. He has no expression on his face. No fear. The shot rings loud. I am surprised. And angry. I still want to fight. There is no pain. This is not real. Reality starts to pull at the corners of this more than vague tapestry. I have to stay. What if he tries to hurt mom and dad?


Good Morning.

or


Good Afternoon.



Don't let them know.

Wednesday, April 9, 2014

Pais

  There are those that say that it doesn't bode well to dwell on the past. That doing so is detrimental to one's future because it keeps you stuck in the muck. However, I feel that sometimes it takes a certain sort of nostalgia to put things into perspective, and whether or not it's detrimental to the rest of your life is really up to you. You look back at your mistakes and the lovers you could have had; you look at the paths you've taken, and the troubles you've (thankfully) avoided and it all either soothes you, or sends you into an internal rampage so drawn out that it keeps you up at all hours night.
   These are not the first nor the last thoughts to do so with me, but I feel that there is certainly a tipping point at either end of the spectrum, and somehow I have hit both. Because of this, it seems I am now perpetually spinning in and out of restful (and necessary) slumber, and manic/anxious habits that Freud and Jung would have a field day with. I'm racked with sadness, anger and revelations. I am becoming enlightened, but who knows if it's for the better. I see and feel everything in extremity, and lately it's been exhausting.The sun shines too brightly. If being pulled in a million different directions sounds horrible, you should try feeling it sometimes.

 I'm starting this blog for me. I'm trying to save myself. I'm trying to fight off whatever demons I have and learn from them in the process of their vanquishing. Everyone seems so fluid. I want to be too. Everyone has their own personal brand of hell, I understand that. Maybe some people handle it better than others is all. But everyone seems so fluid, and I feel like I am stuck. I am a rock amongst others in the stream. Water is running over me, under me, by my sides, sometimes even through me. It moves to bigger and better places. But rocks weigh too much to move anywhere. Anyways, this will be like a small diary filled with my thoughts and writings. I'm trying to publish my poetry finally. I've had a few requests to do so, but my nerves get the better of me and I never get to it. If you'd like, you can join me on this silly little journey of mine. Buckle up, it's been a bumpy ride so far.


I will find peace.
I must find peace.