Dizzy is an Emotion

Goodness, how long its been since I’ve last posted on here. As a way to kind of resurrect this blog I will post a poem below that I wrote for my poetry class last semester. This assignment entailed using a chosen word 26 times throughout the poem in varying ways as to sound lyrical instead of redundant. I’ve since edited this poem to where it sounds a tad more fluid despite the urgency the poem possesses, however, you will certainly be able to pick out the word I chose to repeat.
This poetry class through which this poem was brought to life, was one that I consider as a turning point for my writing. If you have read any of my previous work that I posted on this blog, you might agree that they were either bland or extremely similar and typical. My professor whom I absolutely love, gave me some great advice: poetry does not need to be beautiful, have a message, or leave a satisfying taste in your mouth. Sometimes ugly poetry is what we best relate to. Poetry that steps out of bounds and uses words in ways that leaves you confused, but in that confusion somehow we find understanding.

Without further ado, my crazy, cooky poem:

Dizzy is an Emotion

What’s in a mind?
An old cassette wheel
Winding and rewinding
The faults and tragedies
Of our past?
A cloud hovering in white
Space as static
Churns and binds
Scratching for
Release?

This mind is a game of
Sudoku I can never win.
It’s a child holding
A bottle of pop
He has shaken.
With a desire to ease
His thirst, he only
Holds the bottle and refrains
From twisting the cap
With his chubby fingers
Slick with fry grease.

It’s a blue sky kind of mind.
A black bird in a world of doves
As the trees echo through their branches:
“Blackbird, fly.”
But fly this mind does not.
It’s a wooden rocking chair
Bolted to the ground
From which an old woman
In tattered clothes sits.

This mind is a stale reject.
A rose dress screaming
At a wall because it’s yellow.
This mind destroys life
And creates nonsense.
Like waves, but never the ocean.
Like a clear mind your fingers
Have smudged.

Three guys and a girl
Walk into a bar.
How fuzzy is your mind?
Drugs and laughter
Expand the mind
But alcohol and gossip
Restrict its flow
Because this is a
Dripping stream
Next to a river
Kind of mind.
Which does this mind prefer?

They see the outer shell
Of this mind.
A pale orange,
Light blue,
Peachy, thunderstorm
And earthquake
Kind of mind.
With pages and pages
Torn, rewritten, erased,
Scribbled out, burned,
And sent through a shredder
But only to still remain
On the shelf you’ve last
Set them. Next
To the vase and window.

It’s a cut and dripping blood
Kind of mind. Blonde curls
On the floor next to an idea
Mind, but only a voiceless exhale.
Mind over reality.
Does it have a mind?
A bisexual, torn skin,
Screaming lungs,
Laughing eyes,
Twirling dress,
One day at a time
Kind of mind?

What’s in a mind?
Nonsense and disorder,
For this mind. A paint
Your reality and fuck the tradition
Kind of mind. A mind of sun-
Flowers and summer rain.
A quilted bed of snow mind.
A hushed midnight sigh mind.
A mind at ease.

Living With Sham in a World of Greatness

We all strive for greatness,

but in my greatness

I am shameful.

Shame,

the drug my body

has fallen upon

and has lived.

In shame

I dream.

I dream of a better tomorrow,

I work and rework

my inner self,

and pretend my life

can get better.

Greatness,

what I may have achieved

but refuse to see,

the chalkboard

whipped clean

when it was already beautiful.

I, many times

have earned my right

to be happy. Every day.

But I won’t let myself see it.

So, what is greatness.

How do the ones

who never allow themselves

to see it,

earn it?

A Child’s Room

Don’t look upstairs, mom. The young girl in her dark tattered dress scattered up the wooden steps. Each wooden board screamed under her tiptoed feet, her dress spun and swayed with delicate threads pulling away from its form. She fluttered into her room, threads following behind with the curly hairs on her head slowly raising towards her bedroom ceiling. She quickly, but quietly, shut the cracked and chipped wooden door before her wonderland erupted.

She turned around in her room like a fairy in the forest. She danced and squirmed, her hair raising higher and higher with the loose threads of her dress while stars glide from wall to wall. Water trickled down from the sky above her. Her toes burry themselves into the sand below her tender feet just before a gust of wind blows her dress as the stars rain down like the water and find the threads of her dress. She giggles when she begins to fly. Her dress a bubble filled with air, the stars directing her up and towards the open sky. The rain washed her face and dirty dress clean and the cries and yelling downstairs slowly become silent.

Like a Child Learning to Ride a Bike

Remember that time you bought me flowers? It was the first time you ever expressed your admiration towards me. Every flower petal was perfectly in place and you said it was no big deal and I deserve it. You told me you loved me and I believed you. Your heart shined through your light blue button-down and your smile softened as you waited for my reply. Like a child standing in front of their class, butterflies fluttered in my stomach as I stuttered through my response. A response that lead you to cradle me in your arms and kiss me with lips as soft as silk.

Remember that time you told me you wanted to marry me? We were laying side by side when you took off your necklace and put it in my hands. Your eyes slowly glided from my hands to my face, undressing my body in an imaginative gaze until their found their place, sinking into my green eyes. A valley of wonder and promise. You spoke with tender words, as your hand tightened around mine with the necklace tangled in my fingers, then told me you loved me. You waited for some kind of reply, and like a child dancing in the rain, I gave my response. A response that lead you to cradle me in your arms and kiss me with lips as soft as steam.

Remember that time we sat for hours in your car? You remained motionless, your palms tightly clasped in your lap with your face lowered and eyes streaming with anger. Maybe it was something I said. Something you said. Something we both didn’t say. I left you car with eyes swollen and bloodshot, but later that night you texted me and said you loved me. You waited over an hour for me to reply, and like a child talking to its mother, I gave my response. A response that lead you to buy me flowers, with petals tender yet torn, you cradled me in your arms and kissed me with lips as soft as morning light.

Remember that time when the bed felt cold? Words were sharp and emotions were tender. You were resting beside me, body heavy as stone as an ocean churned between us. I rolled over to face you, and with your back as your barrier, you formed a wall to keep me out and my sorries away. I closed me eyes and wished this would disappear, but when they reopened your room was a blur, distorted between a watery haze. I whispered “I love you” and waited for your reply, but like a child lost in the woods, the tree did not respond. No longer would I be cradled in your arms and kissed with soft and tender lips. I got up to leave that night and you didn’t even stir. Your body remained motionless, breath steady, and eyes hazy. I turned to face you as I stood holding my jacket when the ocean sent a wave of clarity to wipe away my tears. You may once have told me you loved me, but the flowers you have given me have since wilted and died, and much like a child baring cuts and bruises, I learn from my mistakes and decided to move forward.

To Be Continued…

…and the amateur blogger is moving forward.

Spontaneously, and probably well overdue, I have decided to create another blog to feature my long lost loves: photography, adventure, personal stories and insight, while still featuring a bit of writing.

If you, my magnificent followers (yes, I am being a suck up on purpose) are interested in following my other blog… well… then do it!!

The blog is called The Girl in the Boots, a name that came to me in the most obvious of ways. My style is a reflection of my simplistic being, strange personality, dark sense of reality, and frayed, yet lasting spirit.

Life is an adventure to wander through and these tattered boots have guided and protected my thus far. So, lets see where they lead me next.

Step Two: Remove the Bandaid

Hello readers! Due to a recent turn of events (actually, quite a few of them) I have been unable and unwilling to write on my blog. Emotions have eaten me alive that last few weeks and I did not want that to show through my blog posts which sometimes tend to be somewhat depressive already. Anywho, I am proud to announce that step two of my Ten Steps to Getting your Sh*t Together has gone into effect!!

In case you have absolutely no clue what I am talking about, my Ten Steps list is a previous post I created that is supposed to help me get out of this rut I’ve been in for years. Now that I have realized that I am able to create myself and that I deserve all the happiness in the world, I have began a journey of enlightening myself even further to get this sad girl out in the world as a new self made and happy being.

Step two of my list was one i knew I needed to get done fast because of how easily I can reason with storing things I no longer need. I wouldn’t call myself a hoarder but clothes horse seems reasonable. I’m the person that will go shopping as a way to cover up emotions. When I feel sad or depressed I go to shopping centers and wander around. There’s something about being surrounded by colorful and fun fabrics that brings a smile to my face, and being able to buy them and call them mine, it’s like I am purchasing my own bit of happiness. After a recent breakdown, I realized these clothes I have accumulated are a kind of bandaid that has been covering up a much deeper wound, and the only way to get this wound to heal is to rip off the bandaid and let it breathe.

In the beginning, going through my clothes was easy and kind of fun. I went through one by one and easily tossed them into piles to either donate or keep. The donation pile grew and grew and I became skeptical that this was even going to help, but later as I began to get into my other clothing stashes, it hit me.

clothing 4.JPG

I looked at the gigantic pile of clothing on my bed and felt sick. This bandaid was larger than I thought and must have been there covering this deep wound for years. There were clothes in that pile that I have never seen before and many of them still had the tags on, and although I was ready to get rid of this pile of nonsense, I began to feel emotional from this sudden wave of vulnerability. These clothes have covered up the fact that on the inside my body is dressed in black and dark blue, a swirling mixture like a storm brewing in the sky. On the outside I am able to cover myself in bright outfits and a smile and a perky, glowing girl will shine through. getting rid of 50% of my closet means I would have less ways to hide.

clothing 6t

I will admit, I feel as though I should have donated more clothing than I did, but the mission of this journey is to allow myself to learn independence and grow, not completely lose myself in the process. My goal is to go back through these clothes and notice what I have not warn and get rid of it (especially those shoes… who wears that many pairs of shoes?!). There is no need to keep things for a make believe value when in reality they are just taking up space.

Once the clothes I have been piled up and placed in bags, I took them to a GoodWill and donated them. I took three large bags and one small bag overflowing with bright colors and gently worn fabrics. Seeing them go was easy, easier than putting them in piles at least. Once I had it in  my head that someone else can wear these clothes that I never paid too much time to, it made me feel proud of myself, but I’m still not done. Although I have let go of half of my closet, I still don’t feel like I have accomplished enough to be satisfied with myself. So, I will continue working through this list and see what I am capable of.

Let’s get this sad girl happy again and create her along the way.

Ten Steps to Getting Your Sh*T Together

It’s actually gonna happen.

Maybe you’ve read my recent post Find Myself? But, I’m Right Here where I jokingly expressed my need to finally get my life together and mentioned writing a ten steps list. Welp, it happened.

My hope is to go through this steps list (probably out of order), and even if I don’t fully get my shit together, at least have a better understanding and appreciation for myself.

As I mentioned in my recent post that kickstarted this list to actually take shape, I feel lost and at a complete disconnect with myself. With no clear description of who I am supposed to be, I’m flipping through pages of coloring books waiting to find the right page where I can finally start filling myself in (something I mention in my other blog Burning the Manual). This list probably, and almost without a doubt, will be far from solving all of my problems; however, it will challenge me to reach within my REAL self and pull out that passion and life that I have been missing.

So, here it is:

 

Ten Steps to Getting Your Sh*t Together (because let’s be honest, it’s about D*mn time)

  1. Realize it’s time to get your sh*t together.

Life F*ucked up? Feeling depressed? Ready to begin life anew and actually know who you f*ucking are? Ok cool, same here…

  1. Remove the band aid.

What is your safety blanket? Shopping? Staying in all f*ucking day? Hiding from your family and friends? All of the above and then some? RIP THAT SH*T OFF!!! We’re gonna do somethin’ crazy.

  1. Do something for others.

Simple acts go a long way. Give back to your community. Help the homeless. Donate money. Plant trees. Apologize to your neighbor for being psycho. But whatever you do, do it with purpose. Be driven.

  1. Embrace change.

Switch things up. Take a different route to work. Rearrange/redecorate your room, apartment, or house. Change your hair color, no matter how funky! Be open and ready for change because chances are, you’re gonna get hit with a lot of them and the best thing you can do is welcome them.

  1. Do something for yourself.

Read that book you have collecting dust on your nightstand. Open that bottle of wine and watch the entire season of OITNB. Get a tattoo. Go to the spa. Scream until your feel sane!

  1. Feed your soul.

Find your passion and let it fill you up until you feel like you’re gonna explode! Don’t know what you are passionate about? No worries. Experiment and be willing to try new experiences.

  1. Make a change to better your health.

Dump the Doritos and get back into cooking again. The better your body feels the better your soul will feel. Find yourself in yoga. Go for a swim. Run your worries away.

  1. Write about your experiences and emotions.

A journal is your best friend. Blog. Write. Reflect. Embrace your emotions and understand what’s feeling new, what needs to change, and what makes you feel absolutely amazing!

  1. Relax, meditate, and find a mental release.

Relax. It sounds easy but we all know that this step is one we move aside so we can address all the miniscule tasks that really can wait. Leave the speck on the window alone for a while and kick your feet up. Explore nature. Breathe. Awake your soul.

  1. Be proud of who you are.

It’s time we walk past the magazine racks and love our own beauty for what it is. Be like a flower. Bloom.