like the glaciers, I crack and crumble, I redesign and rebuild, and I will continue this until I disappear altogether
Category Archives: Blog Post
Inch By Inch
To feel comfortable in this room, to feel valued and cherished, are some of the tallest mountains surrounding me. I want to be happy and loved and respected, more than anything, and the space I occupy is pushing the boundaries that hold my sanity. I am part of a community in which I thrive without individual realization of my worth. I am so much more than anyone expects me to be, even more than I myself can fathom, but it’s the actualization of my negative psyche that forces me frozen. All I see is darkness, but intellectually I know that there must be light in order for darkness to exist. One cannot be without the other, no matter how distant they may be from one another. Looking in the mirror, the reflection of my self-conscious physical form, is overtaken by the knowledge that when you peel back the layers surrounding what it is that I feel I should be, my purest self resides- and that self is everything I hope to illustrate to the world. I am pulling her out of the darkness inch by inch.
Certainly Anxious
This is the most afraid I’ve ever been of love, of this intangible object that I cannot protect with my physical being. It can escape into the hands of cruelty and humor, leaving me alone to wander through the wilderness of life, lost without any sense of direction. I leave soon, and my love may stay. And if I stay, then my love leaves. Wherever we go, the other must follow, or chance losing the one we hold closest to our hearts. I, more than ever, am terrified of losing my other half, my better half. My entire existence has brought me to this exact moment in time, when I have to choose between what I want and who I want, because I will likely get one or neither, and in the slight possibility that I get both, he will still be far away. My mind circles itself, searching for some answer to the question, “What should I be doing with my time and my life?” There is no echo of a thought towards an answer, and I am left trotting around my own psyche, confusing my compass and drenching my body in the sweat of anxiety. If there is an answer, let it come willingly, since force seems to deny me what I most desire: certainty.
One More Inhale
I can feel my puttering heartbeat in my lips. They pulsate as I press your shirt to my face, hoping to breathe in a little bit more of you.
Jack Daniels
There’s a sadness that washes over my torn, worn, used body. I’ve been through the depths of my own soul, explored by way of bottle and glass, the intoxication of which I cannot recognize. The clarity of expression is astonishing, though. I feel like the lyrics and melody flow through my head and pierce the deepest, most hidden parcels of my soul, uncovering thoughts that I, myself, have never had the courage or necessity to discover. Now that you’re gone, far out of reach, and my company consists of a man named Jack and a handful of blurred delights, I cannot forgive myself for the despair that I have set upon you by way of worry. Your purity and sensitivity, at least relative to the grotesque world surrounding me, brings back memories of childhood pleasures, the strength of a father, passion of a mother, and a more intense love for a baby brother than I ever dreamt I could find again. My memories unlock those parts of myself long hidden from the light of the cruel and dark world that I have chosen to be a pawn of. Worries, stress, and disappointment cloud judgment of my self worth, and have led me to believe the worst of myself, but you changed that. You brought forth the light, the greatness of a “could be,” and the possibility of a life that I am truly proud of, one that I can cherish and reap the nectar from each and every time a drop comes dripping. Don’t let me forget the taste of my favorite thing. Don’t let me off my tracks, those guiding lights in the darkness that becomes you at this age, with all of the people to change you and the opportunities to fault. I have too long allowed myself to dream without action, expecting products of work without the time, but no longer. It’s time to get out of my skin and act on the world stage as a character made of my most honest self.
Beauty of Life
Sometimes the beauty of life is the love we find, or maybe the fact that we lose that love so often we become numb to every other sensation. It’s as if the world has created a feeling to prevent us from becoming so powerful that it can no longer keep us at bay. Nature has trapped us in a primal realm by withholding the ability to think about ourselves in a wholly selfish manner. There is a reason, a scratch on the record that keeps us in time with the rest of the universe, and it is not those who overcome this obstacle that persevere through the ages, but rather the people who accept the challenge and make it out alive with the object of their undying affections. Shakespeare, Picasso, Mozart, they all made it out. None of them without blemishes, and some on their own, but each and every artist recognized their truest love, and today we can submerge ourselves into their works because of the pure passion that they evoke. We search for that one thing our entire lives, and in today’s impatient society, most people settle for what they think is their passion because it pays the bills, but there is that inspiring action, person, or object that we all crave the moment we first recognize it as the source of our love. That feeling is what nature has tricked us into believing that we need on our most basic levels.
I’ve only ever seen it a few times in all my twenty years of existence. My great-grandfather, Loyd, died when I was only two years old, but I remember how sad my grandmother remained ten years after. She lit up when she met Earl; he made her feel young and restless and in absolute love again. He promised her that he’d stay with her for the rest of his life, a promise few keep nowadays, but he stuck with her until the very end, when he passed one evening laying by my grandmother’s side. I know it was love and not just companionship because there is happiness with my grandmother even now, years later. Their love remains. While they drink their coffee, my mother and father sit and watch us open our presents each Christmas morning. Every year it’s the exact same cups, the exact same chairs, and the exact same expressions, but they never seem to tire of it. At this time each year, they exchange a singular look, usually when all four of us are opening a gift in unison, and the smiles on their lips and the crinkles by their eyes make me believe that they are truly happy. Through it all, their love persists. My love is something different though; it is transitioning, blossoming from a simple feeling into a way of life. I wake up every morning craving the affections of my dear, dreaming of the time when we won’t be bound by distance, but rather free to enjoy the company of one another without resistance of any kind. My love, well, it fights. We fight. We defy the norm and have held onto that initial feeling, and because we push against the current, my love will conquer all the evils set forth to harm or break it. My love will survive.
The complexity of life and the struggle for love are not lost on me, even in my young age. I have seen it perfected and I have seen it broken by the very things that we are faced with every day of our lives. The way to make it out alive, and with your one true love, be it art or music or a boy you met in a deli, is to not travel through these trials and tribulations alone, but to stay strong and accept the weaknesses you may find in yourself or others, to be able to stand in the rain and enjoy the world that created us so many years ago, the same world that could take us away at any moment. Standing strong with someone is a much more difficult action than leaving, but I’ve stood in the same spot now for what seems like forever, and I can tell you that there is no other place in all of this extensive world that I would rather be. I am with my love. He is the passion that I carry everywhere I go and the place that I return to when I get lost. I am content to the very core of my being because I am loved, and that it is the truest form of life’s beauty.
Surface
The space I occupy is desolate. My mind and my soul are missed, two separate spheres that cannot connect on the basis of biology and a lack of balance. I am left with the brain and the heart, the physical representations of the spiritual interdependence I can visualize floating away. Who are we if not our spiritual selves? Empty shells, bodies that can’t fill themselves with love and emotion as if they are grasping for a breath but shallowly inhale, never enough to make it through. Heartbreak will do that to a girl, push everything out so you can deal with the most basic issues, but it means you lose a little bit of yourself for every day that you’re missing that wholeness. We’re all drowning in life, and it’s the moments where you reach the surface that allow you to get through the moments when you want to embrace the despair. My ocean is vast, and often it is empty, leaving me alone with my thoughts, but I’ll find someone who is caught in the same current. Perhaps I can find the willpower within myself to drag each aching limb toward the oxygen of relief above, because we all must do it on our own at some point, even if it’s just during our last submerged moments. No matter what, I will no longer live a solitary life, and I will find solace in the struggle to the surface.
From A Drop Wrinkles A Wave
He can sit across from me without speaking, make eye contact without escaping from the moment, connect without wandering away from me. Somehow, in the perfect symmetry of our lives, we’ve touched at the center of our complex. Our core being joined by the untouchable, unimaginable force of the world, of this illusion called fate. The dwindling of any light outside of ourselves, forces us to focus in on what might be our ultimate demise, but releasing ourselves to the potential of a coincidence. From a drop wrinkles a wave, floating above the expectation and into what will be our reality, the singular, undeniable, shocking reality of a life united by a simple question of accompaniment. I give into this, whatever “this” may be, because for the second that I may lock eyes with him, the man sitting across from me in a somehow perfect quiet, life seems as if it’s in order. This was not an act of free will, but the universe’s joke on two individuals perfectly suited for loneliness until their spheres collided, creating an implosion of darkness and emanating a brilliance of immeasurable quality. All of this is done without the sound of action.
Facing the Door
I can feel you in the room with me. I can feel the space that you’ve invaded in my memory. I can feel you on the other side of the bed, laying on your right side, always facing the door. I can feel you snoring, and it makes me laugh a little when you stop because you wake yourself up. I can feel the emptiness of the distance between us. I always feel the painful loss, but in fleeting moments such as this, I feel like you’re back in my life. I wonder if you feel it too.
Glass Houses
I stare out from my box of glass, the only place I’ve ever called home. Roll me like dice, and see how I land on my feet. Spin me, and notice how I’m facing forward. No matter how my life is manipulated around me, I will always manage to make myself right with it. My family, my friends, my relationships, everybody decides how my life will go because I allow them to dictate my destiny. For the first time in my life, I am completely frozen in place, nobody can turn me or flip me how they like. I move how I like to, at least that’s what I’m trying to do. I’ve never made my life my own, and as terrifying as that may be, it’s something we all have to do. However, don’t think I will come out of this completely freed, because my past holds me down like a leash around my neck. I may be out of my glass cage, but those blue eyes keep me frozen in thin air, never quite capable of flying on my own.
Lulling Behind 