We’re All Travelers

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I feel like a traveler in my own body, the host of my spirits. The world acts separately from me for I am an observer, only here to watch and participate as merely a number in the complex. Our realities are individualized by our personal experiences and circumstances, never allowing for two people to travel on the same path. I have found myself in the body of a lost soul, someone looking for purpose in the chaos of the world we’ve created through our collective consciousness. We stand alone in a crowd of bodies, huddled together to find their purpose, but never being fulfilled by their existence- even though their awareness of its impending end resides in the dark corners of their mind, their spirits controlling its containment.

Fated Clouds

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 The clouds paint images of high tops, peaks we shall not reach until destined to do so. The fate of our lives hang in the height of those tops, capable of raining down our bodies and relieving our souls of any despair we hold within ourselves. The swirls of grey and white, moving west in the morning lights, captivate those who dare to dream up its importance.

I can float above others in my own cloud of smoke, fabricating my own clouds out of my body, but this illusion dissipates faster than the heavens. I am left incapacitated, awaiting the moment where fate intervenes and I am lifted up by something other than myself. I have lost faith in the existence of those clouds and the secrets they hold, so I choose to lose myself in the clouds I create, believing only in the things I can control. The grey creates a ring about my head, my own personal cloud of doom.

Generation Reflection

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I feel as though I’m trapped in a glass house, but one whose walls consist of mirrors, an infinite reflection onto and out of me. I feel as though time, like my faulty heart, skips a beat on a regular basis, so the world as I know it merely jumps through reality. I exist above the surface, capable of knowing who and what is around me, but selfishly focusing on the inside of this house, this cube of self-discovery that has forced my generation into a self-obsessed disaster. We may casually collide, never fully realizing the missed connections, leaving us alone and wondering why we’re all so lonely. This glass house is one of many, a shrine I’ve created for myself, just as everyone does. The glass holds us in, but we are the catalyst of these reflections, forever blaming the structure for the windows that we covered with our ever-important misery.

Tuning In

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Songs trapped between my ears and within my heart, a direct result of the content on this radio. I always forget that I have it within my power to change the channel, but instead I allow the melody of others’ mistakes to live within me.

Edit Outside, Write Within

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You are a product of your upbringing, your family and friends, the place you call home, and the past of those around you. We exist in a circle, swirling around each other, using our collective centripetal force to draw from one another the lessons found woven into our individual story lines. Remember to filter out the negative, because you are just as susceptible to the disguised demons as you are the apparent angels. Cut dark ties, releasing the tethers of time lost by the repercussions of those actions which we could’ve avoided, if only our eyes were open to the opportunities. Create your own plot-line; don’t let others dictate your contents, especially when you have the chance to choose the person you are and will become. All of us have the same opportunities to be better than those around us, we just have to learn which circle to spin within.

Sleepwalking Under Water

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Every night I find myself sleepwalking, unsure of the destination but constantly moving forward. When I close my eyes at night, I can feel my body floating below the waves of a calm pool. I am in control of my immediate surroundings, so I drown, avoiding the return to the surface. When I open my eyes at dawn, I can finally breathe, but the crisp air is filled with the toxicity of the world. All I can hope to find is that space in between my two realities, simultaneously submerged and surfacing. Time will tell, and there will be many restless nights before I can provide a home for myself, about that I feel absolution.

Private Beaches

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A temporary dream, discovered to be a trap by expectation and the ultimate demise of one’s unconditional affections. Asphyxiation of one’s desires results in the loneliness of an undiscovered island that intentionally hides in the center of waves. Crashing upon this dreamy shore are the tones of love and success, allowing only those which fit upon the rocks to break and shield these beaches from the unknown- the supposedly undesired drops of water. Temperament withholds truth, blocking out the unknown to emphasize the understood, therefore resisting the urge to grow across the foam. Open the gates of your soul, encourage prospects to bring forth positive change, and allow the world to discover the beauty long lost in your mind, in this dream from which you will eventually wake. The creation of a world wholeheartedly accepted will continue to thrive on the unknown, but the consumption of one’s fear will only hinder life’s ability to pleasantly surprise those who find themselves awake and aware.

Distorted Connection

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He hides himself in a shell of drunken slurs, representing the version of himself that he feels is safest- all things considered. One heartbreak can shatter the soul, leaving you defeated and your empathy deflated, and it is capable of creating an unfixable human being, someone who forces life in order to control what it is that you feel. He doesn’t want to feel, but when he meets someone that allows him to be authentic and real, the walls come up and the vulnerability slides under the bed. The layers of himself, those scars and their corresponding pieces of armor, are hard to crack, but he desperately needs to let someone in or he risks being alone and lonely, never fully capable of having an honest relationship that can mend his broken heart.

Intellectual Destruction

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Knowledge is power and power is freedom, but knowledge is not freedom. Rather, it is entrapment by the scientific constructs of reason. True freedom, and even that which comes from power, is only attainable through the release of one’s control over their cyclical psyche which drains them clockwise. To taste the elixir of that release only comes by one’s ability to see the world not as it is, but as they wish to see it.  The ocean is not contained by the sphere, it is ever-flowing and breaking upon new shores.  Each drop of rain contains the possibilities of infinite realities, all through the demise of intellect.

Cocoon

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I’m finally reaching the point where I am no longer in love with you. You will always hold a special place in my heart and my history, but the most important thing is that you helped me to love this version of myself. With you, I grew in ways I wasn’t sure were even possible, but I guess that’s what this time in a person’s life is meant to be: a metamorphosis. I came into this world a self-conscious, emotionally dependent cynic, but I came out of our relationship with the knowledge that I’m a strong, passionate woman who can be driven toward the prospect of greatness. The transitional period was one of discovery and hardship for me, but I wouldn’t trade a moment of it for anything in this world. Our time was so special, so precious, and even now it still means everything to me, but you have pushed yourself far enough away for me to release you. As a result, I can release myself into the world… on my own, alone but never lonely. You helped me construct my wings, but it’s time for me to leave you behind, my beautiful cocoon.