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.