One day it will all be okay.

I clutch tight to my pillow as sobs fill the silent air. In an empty room I’m silent, lightning flashes illuminating a few feet beyond the open window. Thunder crashes moments after, louder, softer, rolling, tempered.

A storm reminds you that the universe is alive. Sometimes we throw aside the coming grey clouds. Sometimes it rains for hours before we look out a window and see. Sometimes the thunder makes us jump out of our skin. Sometimes it reminds us that within this alive universe we are breathing, feeling and seeing everything for the very first time.

When the going gets tough..I write instead of going.

I used to just get going when the world presented problems. I’m slowly learning to just start writing. Explaining my frustrations on paper is easier than out loud. It’s simpler. Speaking words is vindictive, it makes emotions splatter like paint staining what your heart and soul meant.

It is easy to let emotions not familiar but exciting to take over and begin a control in times of panic, terror or fright. We’re all afraid of something. I freeze up at the sight of lizards. I cry when I’m frustrated or overwhelmed and often that can be due to a lizard being present. Those moments terrify, we lock up and say things unheard of in our character. It is life. We learn to forgive and heal. We learn to pick up the pieces and walk the same steps again.

I can’t look into a blissful moment and say I never hope for chaos. It is what makes us feel alive, reminds us of what we cherish and tells us to never take for granted both the chaotic and the peace. Because with all things we need to feel, sometimes that yes will take tears.

Counting Time in Repeat

I’ve written stories about you. I have walked through the empty nights alone wishing I had your hand to hold. Yet, I’ve only got haunting dreams when reality is clear. The incapable is your heart inside the jaggedly stitched chest that’s your own. It makes smiles become frowns on my face today, tomorrow and yesterday. 5 days ago you called my name. I shook my head and frowned. Then placed the phone down, leaving you with an empty room.

Nights become dark quickly and pillows squish beneath my right ear, as I lay curled up blanket upon blanket for warmth. Sleep graciously welcomes me and dreams are not pleasant but not nightmarish. The dreams I remember are empty. Neither lie under one category or another, but right in the middle. Where they probably should not bother me, but the being in the middle bothers me.

January sounds like…

A Taylor Swift song, “Sparks Fly”, “my mind forgets to remind me you are a bad idea.”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oKar-tF__ac

:) I’ll write more later. I’ve been kinda in a funk with writing. I don’t feel like sitting down and digging through emotions I know exist to write things that often we forget exist. I’m digging a song right about now but I got to get a melody or maybe just a beat and spit out some rhyme. It’s not like I’m short on time, I’ve got time to paint swirl colors and visit art stores. I’ve got time to think, time to draw but maybe it’s just time to let one hobby triumph another. I do still play music. Music is got more to it than strumming and pickin’.

It’s okay, to cry.

For two days I have walked with a little black rain cloud over my head. Not even the biggest pot of honey in the hundred acre woods could cure my heartache. It’s a heartache I have lived with for years. But three hours ago I couldn’t tell you what was on my mind. I couldn’t figure it out. I guess it’s some kind of law of the universe that when you’re exhausted and have to get up early the next day that at midnight all your problems become clear. The worse part is that this one problem I have never been able to solve, but I have been trying to for years. I feel like I am 11 years old all over again sitting in the same pew, saying the same prayer, crying the same tears. The tears that I can’t fix no matter how hard I try. But I didn’t know that at 11 years old, I didn’t know that at 18 years old and I really don’t want to face it at almost 22.

It is like a natural disaster watching a parent loose a job. You could only predict and prepare for so much because face it we only have so much time. When the future is uncertain and the backlash is unforgiving, you get sick of it. That’s where I am right now, today. I am sick of it. I am wanting to just puke. But instead I cry like I just got my heart broken by the “one” or my dog just died (given that I actually had or liked a dog enough to cry and whatever boy did that heart breaking). Yes in the middle of tears I can still crack a joke.

Sometimes I think writing is my only hope. It is my only way to cope and those tears. The tears are what yank me from my agonizing insomnia to get up and write dammit. Because if I don’t write it out it will continue to burden me. I don’t want to burden the ones I love around me with my crappy mood and sobs. It’s not fair so up I went and here I am writing. Writing out that I fucking hate this cycle that is my life and the only thing I ever want is to see it broken. I want the good to prevail in my story for once. I’m so sick of seeing evil. I’m so sick of being handed the short stick and hearing someone say, “make up for the lack of what is fair.”

And yes there is a lot of good right now, but it’s hard to see through the joke of a rain cloud above my head. It seems like a I’m the warm temperate oceans and the storm is just going to hover right over brewing until it is strike worthy. But break me down it will not. This is the last time I let this problem infect me. It wasn’t fair back then and it is not today to carry the weight of the world on my shoulders.

I’m strong and I am capable. I will fight, but I cry too. I need a hand to hold most days and sometimes I just pray that I don’t run away from what’s good for me. I’m scared more than anything. I’m scared of tomorrow. I’m terrified. Sometimes I cry myself to sleep..well it’s really like “I cry myself until I get up and write it all out.”

I look at what I have done with my life and I guess it makes up for all the crap I’ve had to go through and every sacrifice my parents had to make: And I know this one thing if I don’t know a damn other thing in the world, We’re going to be okay. We always are.

We all fight out demons, I just write my down.

I know this is metaphorical over-load, but I can’t be blunt about it. I need to be evasive. I feel like the world just wouldn’t get it if I screamed it from the mountain tops. I feel like I would only feel more alone.

And right now I feel nothing close to alone. :)

Run, baby. Run to me.

You can play a song on repeat and feel my heart beat with your hand draped upon my chest, grasping for something. Let your breath grasp you air to keep this up. Sometimes I’m a losing game of hide and seek. You can never quite find the place I’ve hidden my heart. There’s always a shortcut so I can be found. You take it.

Then break it. Scared to death, my hands shake reaching for yours to help me out of the dark corner behind a strangers house that I have been hiding in. Reaching out you simply lift me up, take me in your arms and let me know that I’m safe and forever warm.

My heart beats one last time, you forget that we all have to die.

Christmas List

This brilliant Sunday the topic of discussion around the kids I watch is Christmas Lists. They want this toy and that gadget and this electronic doo-da and that freakishly expensive gizmo. It made me think that 1. kids percption of reality and “toys” is incredibly skewed because of techonology and 2. What do should I put on my Christmas list.

The hard thing is that for me making a Christmas list means I would have to ask someone for something. I feel like I have grown past the age of ” Mommy, Daddy I want this for Christmas,” and even “Grandma, Papal can I have this or that.” While every year I recieve an email from my Aunt asking me to give her specific things I would like to get for Christmas, it still takes me a few days to send her a reply. And yes my list still includes things like water bottles and travel mugs, socks and pajamas because my Aunt is the BEST pajamam buyer in the WHOLE WORLD. Mark my word, no one else is allowed to buy me pajamas, that includes myself. Her pajamas are infinetly better and I have years of them to prove in my pajama basket and yes I still wear them.

I’ve grown out of expectations and delayed receptions of gifts and tidings. I’m just so far removed from the whole materialistic view of Christmas that I really don’t look forward to present opening anymore.

So my Christmas list this year includes the things I do want for myself:

1. A blessed life, emotionally, spiritually, and financially.

2. More service given to others for the holidays.

3. And love.

I will forever be simply pleased. I just wish everyone could embrace a little more of that and a little less of a Christmas list.

p.s. Angel Trees are coming. :) <3 they are my favorite part of the christmas wish.