I feel like my life is falling apart right before my eyes. I am pissed off all the time, and nothing seems to go my way. The person whom I started to depend upon makes me the angriest I have ever been. I feel as if I am being taken on an emotional roller coaster— That isnt fair. I am starting to remember why I never trusted people. Why I shut people out. It was so much easier than this. This being in the middle of fine and heartbroken. I am ready to break my own will and heart if it means never feeling this way again. I remember why I became so bitter and misanthropic in high school. 

The face melts off the base.

Writhing, in restrictive pain. 

Will it ever be over?

Will the pain ever end? 

Yet the brain is keeping the puddled face at bay

Creating a division

between thoughts and incision

keeping the mind muddled. 

The right eye is blurry. 

The left eye is pristine.

But the pain is real

and the brain is trying to make a deal

between the steel spike in my eye.

Ocular migraines make life terrible.

Rising through the pain and haze.

It seems as if I have been plagued

With a case of Wonderlust:

The need to travel and explore the world.

I want to be whirled and twirled into the unknown.

I want to be in wonderful places.

Drinking tea—

With unfamiliar faces—

In unknown places—

I want to venture into the unknown—

Lose my money

My mind

Changing the paradigm of myself

To better fit the cultures I live in.

Dancing and moving in patters of different beats

Learning the culture of the streets.

It seems as if I have been plagued

With a case of Wonderlust:

The need to travel and explore the world.

I want to be whirled and twirled into the unknown. 

Are you a devil? Human? Siren? 

Could you exist more than in my mind? 

My dearest angel, 

You could be all this and more— 

You could have fallen— 

Gotten back up—

Angel, you could be purer than snow. 

Yet, what are you doing with the beast below? 

What are you doing with the repentance above?

My dearest Angel… 

Will I ever know? 

Or will you continue to haunt my thoughts? 

Will you keep me comfort when I am alone? 

My dearest Angel… 

Who are you? 

Where are you from?

Are you a devil? Human? Siren? 

Could you exist more than in my mind? 

I know so many people whom rely solely on logic. While I do agree that logic is needed in life to balance out the whimsy and the material goods in life. But, when  people try to prove things to me with ‘logic’ alone— I wonder where their heart is. Has our world turned so cold that we cannot see that we need the whimsy to balance logic? We need to fritter away our time so we know what it feels like to lose it. But, we all need to be doing things productively to need time to fit in leisure. Am I the only one who not only wants to be beautiful but also smart? We make fun of the nerds whom never indulge in vanity. Yet, we make fun of the vain whom never indulge in a book. We also make fun of the normal people who are just trying to find themselves in this ocean of lost identity and cell reception. Humans find themselves just to lose it to technology or wanting to fit in. We live for such extremes that we forget about the simple pleasures. We forget that love is an emotion to be felt at the right time. Not a neglected dog waiting to be called upon when it is convenient for you. Hope is not food to rely on for your whole life, you got to take chances. Sorrow is not something that needs to be all consuming. Emotions are not something that need to eat you or something that you purge because you are allergic. We need both because we are human. 

But, what does it mean to be human? Some are vain. Some are logical. Some are a mixture of both. But, if you die for vanity; or inversely, you die for logic… No one will remember you. It isnt radical view-points or personality traits that makes people beautiful to others, it is the way their mouth moves when saying something brilliant. The furrow of your brow when a rebuttal happens— But, of course we can find simplistic enjoyment in beauty of a physical nature or of a mental capacity. We just can’t keep leaning on one thing. The only way to grow is the challenge yourself.

Humans are like trees, while we are rooted to the ground: we can grow, and grow, and grow, until we reach our full potential. Or we can be uprooted and falter, either way, we have to be careful of the roots we intertwine with and who we hide with our shade.

I had forgotten how absolutely terrible it is to be exhausted— of course, not the normal exhaustion… But, where your brain spaces out, your body aches, and it is just hard to function on a normal level.

Today, communication has failed. When people talk to me I feel unresponsive  because I cannot get out of my head. I am lethargic, quiet, and distant.  I dont mean to be… I just cant work my mouth. Even the ever easy tasks of calling and texting people havent gone well. I cant seem to even say, “hello.” I feel as if this simple response isnt a normal one for me. So, I just wont text or call. 

I was up all night last night. I am up all day. I do not understand why I am this way. Maybe today will be more of a promise..

As children, most of us are taught that we fail. We will fall—stutter—stumble: it is normal and fine. I was not a child who bought into this fallacy. I was told by my father that failure was the worst thing in life, and since I was the worst thing in his… I was automatically a failure.

Scarred, I grew up with the absolute fear of failure. I never did anything I could fail at: sports, writing, testing, or anything else. I used to flee anytime I was not doing something well. I made excuses, “Oh! I am just not good at sports, so I wont play.” “I have bad knees.” “I just am a bad test taker.” I found something to hide behind. Not all of these things are failures. Not all of these things are bad. Sometimes, you arent good at sports. Sometimes, you just cant test because you psyche yourself out. I used to run from failure. I hid behind school. I found acting and excelled at it. But, anytime I hit a bump in the road… I would shut down and act as if my life was over.

You see, my mother has NEVER been disappointed in me. She has always told me to do my best. On the other hand, my father has a wicked harsh tongue. Every little mistake was a reason to yell at me. He would always tell me that the fact I was born made me a failure. The fact that I messed up was because I was a mistake. Great way to grow up… right?

Today, I learned that  failure is not bad. It is a chance for growth. A point where you can evaluate what you are good at or bad at. Then create a strategy and attack it. I failed a portion of my class today. I cried for about three hours today. I went through the normal cycle— comforting mom, comforting step-mom, hilarious sister, and an unaccepted, unloving dad. My father ripped me into a million microscopic pieces for about an hour. Despite the fact that I had more friends and family telling me that I was going to be okay, and it was fine. I only listened to him. I felt as if I was never going to be able to right my wrong. I cried for hours and hours on end. Until I fell asleep and had a beautiful dream. I realized that just because I mess-up… Does not mean my life won’t be amazing. One hiccup will not end me or my life. Failure happens. I have great friends who still love me, and still support me. I have a family who loves me. I have a chance for rebirth and re-evaluation. 

It is time to move on, not back. 

Stairs mismatched from olden precision.

The craggy slate rocks

murmur old visions.

Lowly humming

and cheering mortal morale.

From times when crimson covered flesh was exalted.

They profoundly pronounce proud victory.

Fleshy men now Gods under a costal blue sky.

The stones and steps still keep alive

ancient stories unforgotten by the past.

My shadow now stands beside me on the rocks

A similar friend, I knew nothing about.

Mother’s sea-salt dusted arms

protecting me from my former.

Civilized shoes: lost.  

While my pure refined

feet exposed to the pumice.

My Mother’s vert stringy hair

Cushions me with a warm embrace.

Her love whispered to me in the delicate wind

blowing my city-faded chestnut hair free.

As I ascended the opaque vintage grey stepping-stones

Mother threw pieces of ore peppered jewelry in font of my eyes

Dusty they now were, from years of joyful neglect

Her beauty captured here perfectly.

Freeing my hinged soul

I stopped…

To gander at earlier rotations set on the stones,

Grandeur of the Warriors past laced with honor and failure.

Now releasing their glory stories to me

I absorbed with every pore

The past that stood before me

I soared the immortal steps

Obtaining:

Release-

Discovery-

Whimsical flight-

The glistening stairs of the olden days:

Where they were glorious.

The dulled-down stairs of current times:

Where we are carefree.

Collectively, we are the irregular mismatched rocks 

     When children open the pages of books it seems like a daunting task. Reading to the teenager is either a blessing or an arduous undertaking. Adults—if they ever have a moment to read—read to find something they love or will be inspired by. But, books have a magical quality that builds imagination and creativity. They teach us what our society values; and how to accept others. Novels are tiny pieces of magic: which are wrapped and bounded to transport us on a journey. Books are all-powerful and this, I believe.

            Think back to any moment you read a great book as a child. The words seemed to wondrously leap off the page and float into your daydreams. The books we read as children laid the foundations for the wistful dreams we have today. We learn that no matter how obtainable, selfish, or trivial a dream is, it is still a beautiful thing that no one can take away from you. They give us a sense of identity and understanding because characters in books have personalities. These characters which the author slaved over to imperfectly make perfect; we identify with. Within these characters we find acceptance as kids, teenagers, and adults. The simple idea that deems: ‘it is okay to not be alright, because eventually everything will be.’ Books have given the masses the ability to dream and, the ability to find security in ourselves.

            For the most part books also define generations. When the books are examined we find the ethics and morals that as a society are valued— of course some books are not counted because they have sparkly vampires and no substance— But, for the most part we can find the past and present in books. As humans, we write about our opinions of the world around us. When times are prosperous we write blithe literature. When time are turbulent we write somber anger filled literature.  

I am a very moody person:

Sometimes I am verbose 

Sometimes I am silent. 

I find comfort in silence,

the absence of noise speaks louder than words. 

People think something is wrong,

when really I am just examining. 

One of the free things in life is understanding. 

Taking everything in…

And breathe acceptance out. 

I am too thin…

But I dont have a thigh gap. 

I am fat

Yet I dont have an ounce on my body. 

The mirror lies; 

The eyes deceive. 

It seems like this is the way most girls are. 

So am I any different? 

I too aspire to be someone else:

someone I see on Tumblr/Google/Campus. 

I want to be as radiant as the sun. 

And as mysterious as the darkness. 

I want to be thin as a pole. 

Yet I crave fitness. 

To be honest, 

I doodle, I dont draw. 

I scribble, not write. 

I ramble, not speak

I feel, not communicate 

I tell the truth, not a lie. 

Maybe I am what I see in the mirror:

An ordinary girl with dark circles, 

stretch marks, 

long arms, 

stringy hair, 

and brown eyes that I desperately want to be hazel. 

Maybe I am more than the mirror: 

Beautifully brilliant, 

quirky, 

protective, 

caring, 

youthful. 

I guess, I am a very calm person:

Sometimes I am silent.

Sometimes I am verbose. 

I find comfort in noise,

the presence of noise creates more than words.