Blank and Broken Pages

What do you do when

the world seems so cold that

even writing can’t provide warmth.

Your being shivers as you try to

cover yourself with the tiny flame

that normally is an inferno;

your hands type along the keys

but they are slow and weak.

Your eyes are soft, your heart motionless,

and mind blank. Who has this power?

How do you conquer? Or is this

just the way that it is going to be?

Don’t Kiss Me, I’m Dying

Forget me not’s in plastic cups

You bring to your lips

To run down your esophagus

Like it is a drain and your body

The ocean where the rest of

Your being will soon drown.

 

A river of death but I am not sad.

This is the choice of the sinister

Twisted head figure that scurries

From bar to bar grasping

For that one last drink. Blacked-out

 

Is how you would rather be, but please

Don’t try to convince me

That this being is free.

The tide is stronger than it seems

And you are already caught in a riptide.

Bodies balance atop the bountiful seas,

Buoyant and battling a demon

 

Brought to you by the local liquor

Store. Blame the man. He surely put that

Drink in your hand. I repeat verbatim.

You sink voiceless. Only your eyes scream

And your skin sags but your mind is too dazed

To notice the water lifting you towards the sky.

If only you’d open your eyes and look up;

 

The sky is so peaceful and the birds still fly

Despite you feeling like you’re dying.

I won’t say “it gets better”,

Things never “happen for a reason”.

I speak to you in clichés because that

Is how the world will lie to you.

Don’t believe in bumper sticker talk,

 

Billboard promises, and talk show tales.

The news carries nothing new. To begin

Life anew it all starts with you. And yet

Here I am pretending to be speaking to

Someone else when I know all to well

That the “you’ in this poem is me,

And the feeling of dying comes

Before I take the bottle and only

 

Worsens after the twentieth sip.

I pace in my bedroom mumbling,

Crying, silently sobbing, sipping,

Gulping, drinking, bleeding from

The inside then purposefully

On the outside. This is life.

This is depression. This is the glorious,

Romanticized disease that carries

Me across the ocean after I’ve jumped

From the canoe, hoping to drown.

This. Is. it.

A Mind at Ease

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 cloth sits. 

This mind is a stale reject.

A Rose dress screaming 

At a wall because it’s yellow. 

This mind creates life

And destroys 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. 

Which does this mind prefer? 

They see the outer shell

Of this mind. 

A pale orange, 

Light blue, 

Peachy, thunder storm

And earthquakes 

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 the window. 

It’s a cut and dripping blood

Kind of mind. Blonde curls

On the floor with an idea

Mind but a voiceless exhale. 

Mind over reality. 

What is reality. 

Does it have a mind?

A bisexual, torn skin, 

Screaming lungs, 

Laughing eyes, 

Twirling dress,

One day driven 

Kind of mind?

What’s in a mind? 

Nonsense and disorder, 

For this mind. A create your

Reality and fuck the tradition 

Kind of mind. A mind of 

Sunflowers 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?

In a World of Sunbeams I am a Walking Shadow

Confidence is what I desire. Being able to fit into a new setting with as much power and glow that I seem to fit naturally; a perfect piece to any puzzle. But instead I fight with myself. I may begin with as much life and sheen as any other; however, soon I begin to unravel and crumble back into the weak self that I try so much to coat with all the bells and whistles that come with confidence, only to have them later hit the floor.

I managed to work up the courage to go into that job interview; shining bright as the sun; personable, bright, beaming, and radiant. It wasn’t until I got home later that night that I began to unravel and fold back into myself. The interview went well (probably better than I’m imagining it to have gone) and have been asked to come back for an evaluation period to see how easily I pick up information and work with the staff. I was elated to be asked to come back because it means I am one step closer to having a job in the field I wish to have my  own business one day.

I felt accomplished and yet when I arrived back at my apartment and realized what just happened and let all the emotions sink in, instantly I began to panic. The simple decision of what I was going to wear on that day put me in a frenzy and near a full blown panic attack. I am proud of myself for not letting these crazed emotions take control of me, and yet, I still can’t wrap my head around the idea that I CAN actually get through all of this and these feelings of doubt and fear are not necessary. In fact, if anything I am over prepared. I have studied the menu and have practically everything memorized except for the alcohol menu, and despite not having previously worked in a cafe or have made all of the espresso drinks, I have the measurements and ingredients memorized. So what am I worried about?! Why can’t I just own my confidence and let everything fall into place as it will? I’m prepared. I’m smart. I have so much more potential than what I am showing myself. I just hope I can find this confidence somewhere deep within me and fight back against those shadows that tend to cover and shade my body and mind, and instead let the small sun grow from my soul and shine through my skin. Just please shine, sun, before Thursday.

And So He Did.

He sits on the battered wooden bridge, a sip left in the beer bottle in his hand and an open six pack sitting by his side with two empty bottles on the other. The air is crisp with a scent of cedar blowing in the wind. His feet dangle off the bridge, Converse laces untied and pointing towards the wild river below, that’s a hell of a drop, he thought to himself, I wonder what it would feel like to fall from up here? He took the last swig of his beer before clanking it into the others. But why fall when you can fly? And so he did.

A Few Things I’ve Learned About Myself Through Blogging

Hello fellow bloggers and happy Sunday!

Maybe it’s because it’s Sunday, or maybe it’s because it’s the first time in awhile it’s been somewhat warm here in Baltimore that encouraged me to look back on how far I’ve grown since I began this journey. Whatever the reason is, I’ve decided to write this blog post to share with you all about my experience thus far.

Like most college students, I am consumed by the tremendous amount of work that I am required to complete to show my worthiness of being a working citizen after I spend thousands of dollars to receive a degree. I mean, I like writing about the millions of Sherlock Holmes adaptations as the next person (like,  I actually really enjoyed that assignment) so hopefully that will propel me full speed ahead to an awesome career once I graduate.

Also like many college students, when all the work for the day has been completed I instantly shlumped into the couch and became one with the cushions with a bag of cinnamon apple chips laying on my chest while I watch The Big Bang Theory marathon that seems to be a never ending thing in the tv world. Whenever I was not busy with piles of homework I became the laziest human being. The pile of unread books in my bedroom started collecting dust and never decreased in size, my laptop was only opened to complete assignments or to watch Netflix, and my creativity was completely blocked off as I reached for the remote instead of a pen.

I became a ghost of myself, moving through life without any color oozing from my hands or mind as it once had, and as I wished it would.

I started this blogging adventure last summer (very slowly at first) and I’ll be honest, my posts were boring and didn’t represent me in any way. I was told by a neighbor that I should start a blog to work on my writing skills and to get my feet wet in various topics. So I did.

I was so enthralled by the idea of being a blogger that I seemed to write on autopilot and didn’t tap into what I found interesting, instead I only focused on what I felt was meant to be discussed. Yes, some of my earlier posts were not so terrible, however, they felt meaningless among all the other topics I have nestled inside me.

After some time I began putting more time into my posts and writing about what I love instead of what some might expect. I began to lighten up and shook off the molds I’ve grown accustomed to, and let me tell you, it felt AMAZING!!

My parents may have lost a few years from reading a few of my posts where I cuss or talk about eccentric topics they had no clue blew through my mind, sorry mom and dad (they don’t read my blog anymore), but at least now I have some kind of mental release.

From devoting myself to the world of blogging, I learned that I am an introverted person. I hold so many emotions in my body and never release them to anyone because I feel like they shouldn’t have to worry about my problems when they have plenty of their own. This blog has become my therapist, to say the least. Although I try my best not to rant, the poetry I post speaks high volumes of my inner conscience. It’s amazing how a simple 16 line poem can speak years of mental breakdowns and sleepless nights.

I’ve learned that I do have an opinion and the power to voice my opinion. Many times I hid behind the words of other people who are louder than me, using them as a shield so I didn’t have to speak or be judged. This has been one of the largest mountains I’ve had to climb throughout my life. I know I had an opinion, everyone does, I just never spoke up when I had the opportunity. Our opinions are all worthy of being heard, even when we are the outcast, speak up and let yourself standout.

I’ve learned that there is always room for growth and my writing will only improve as I continue down this road. Every writer has anxiety about not being liked, something that will inevitably happen but is no reason for us to stop writing. I am never going to stop writing. The likes or shares or comments we get on our posts are no indication of how we are as humans or even as writers. I’ve dealt with the constant anxiety of being considered a poor writer, and maybe I am, but I won’t be forever. I will improve and I will continue to write despite still being indecisive where a comma should go or what words I should take out.

This has been such a positive experience for me and I am so glad I decided down this path. My confidence has grown and so have my writing skills. I’m not a perfect writer, I know that, but that is not what I am working towards because I know if I do I’ll just be let down when I see the road is never ending and with no clear destination. I’m just going to keep on moving and will never stop. The view is too spectacular to turn around and to head backwards.

 

 

Writer’s Block (a poem)

I cut, and tear, and rip into my skin

To reveal the colors I bleed within.

The staleness of blue,

The stiffness of grey,

My tender wounds,

From my creative dismay.

 

Cut into my body and read what you see:

The words of my past, and present, and dreams.

Watch them flow and drip from my skin

As they drain from my soul

Hoping to begin again.

 

For what is blood

But the movement of life,

Flowing through veins

So easily cut with a knife?

 

Like a claw I am cracked

By whomever holds the mallet.

An outpour of words-

Taking flight as birds

Soring from this palace.

 

The simplicity of life

Is no simple fate.

Growing and changing

And dealing with hate.

 

For no other do I turn

Than to you for help

But you clutter my mind

And tighten the belt

 

That pulls in tighter and tighter,

Straining my words,

That collect in my mind;

Those poor flightless birds.

 

I come to the end

When my body begins to bleed,

The colors of doubt, and anxiety, and need.

From my body words flow

But never to meet paper.

A powerless fate

Of a worthless endeavor.

The Birth of Deviance

Everyone has their own insecurities they deal with from day to day. They’re these invisible beings that follow us around and silently whisper in our ears our mistakes, inabilities, and least favorite parts of ourselves just in case we’ve forgotten.

I picture a crowd of people dressed in work suits, faces pale and clothes black and white, standing behind me as I go through the events of the day with a common goal of keeping me in line. Their faces remain cold and stale as they one by one walk behind me, bend close to the side of my face and whisper so nobody can hear but me: There’s no point in trying. You’ll never be that important.

The crowd keeps their distance with their faces pointed in my direction, ready to quickly step forward and address the possible situation where I am destined to screw something up. They remind me about my body and how imperfect I am. Nobody wants a girl with your shape. You look terrible, don’t even try to stand out even more than you already do. All you should do is blend in.

It doesn’t matter who I’m with or where I am, they will always be there beside me ready to give their feedback and to keep me still. They may be invisible and a figment of my imagination but they are very real. You may never see them. You may never come to understand why I view them as business people standing in a tight cluster behind me, hands by their sides, faces drained and emotionless, bodies plain and lackluster.

I imagine them walking with slow strides a few feet away as I stroll down the street. When I come across an obstacle (be it an instance of random communication with someone on the sidewalk or looking into a glass window where my reflection stares back at me) they’re always right behind me as a reminder of conformity and to keep me from breaking my insecurities.

Standing out means you will be even more of a freak. Your family is already disappointed in you. You never do anything right by their standards. You’re a disgrace and don’t deserve to be happy. Just stop trying to be yourself, you’ll get nowhere.

No matter if I’m dancing, singing, drawing, writing, blogging, acting, or simply talking, I can feel their presence while one of them slowly steps towards me, their silent breath against my ear and their menacing words that rope around my neck like a noose and tighten until any thought of the action I was about to take part in is cut off as breathless air. But their job isn’t to kill me. They don’t wish to see me fade away into oblivion, that would be too easy. They keep my anxiety level high and my inner thoughts low, just enough to where I feel lost and alone in a world where people are very present and willing to offer a helping hand. They just want to see me suffer.

But what is it about conformity? We all become one another, clones with similar thoughts and behaviors. We will come to love each other for our similarities but will never come to love ourselves for our differences. It’s a strange idea that our goal in life is to fit in, but it’s even more difficult to break free from the ‘norm’ and be someone different.

The shadow like business people that follow me may never go away. Their faces may never break a smile and their foggy demeanor may never shift, but maybe their cluster will loosen just enough to where I can just slip by.