Get started.
Don't just sit there. Don't wait until you're ready, the light is green. You don't need to know the language you think you do, the dance will be fine without talking. There has never been a better time than right now, so go.
You have everything at hand, stop waiting for the supplies to roll in. You are your best army and the only way you'll get better is if you keep on keeping on.
Listen to the words with as much meaning as possible, but don't dare wait to give yourself purpose. Are you hearing this? I mean, are you really hearing this? Come on, tell me what you've got.
So far we've learned that you have a useless past and you have thoughts about the future. So who and what are you, really? Let me explain that unless you are doing what you are saying, you are a liar. So here, jump up and do this, it can't hurt.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Sunday, January 18, 2009
You Don't Even Have To Wait*
We are walking without crutches and without bandages.
You are going to see these wounds as they are and you will take notice of how I can heal them. We are moving at lightning speed to a greater understanding and my arms are waving through the air to feel the push and pull of the tides. Look at me, I am walking on my own. Feel free to get out your camera and talk about it in a sweet voice, but I am not doing this for you. I have had a taste of freedom and I am ready to feel the rush of wind in my hair once again. Keep your pills and your support beams for your other friends, I am something else in the running. I will be showing off my new bruises and scars in no time.
I will move faster than anyone has before.
I will take you by force.
We are walking without a crutch.
We are moving without your bandages.
I wear these faults as battle scars and I am not afraid.
*Placeholder of a better title. From "Let the Drummer Kick" by Citizen Cope.
Inspired by a phone conversation with a close friend.
You are going to see these wounds as they are and you will take notice of how I can heal them. We are moving at lightning speed to a greater understanding and my arms are waving through the air to feel the push and pull of the tides. Look at me, I am walking on my own. Feel free to get out your camera and talk about it in a sweet voice, but I am not doing this for you. I have had a taste of freedom and I am ready to feel the rush of wind in my hair once again. Keep your pills and your support beams for your other friends, I am something else in the running. I will be showing off my new bruises and scars in no time.
I will move faster than anyone has before.
I will take you by force.
We are walking without a crutch.
We are moving without your bandages.
I wear these faults as battle scars and I am not afraid.
*Placeholder of a better title. From "Let the Drummer Kick" by Citizen Cope.
Inspired by a phone conversation with a close friend.
Monday, December 29, 2008
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Idea.
I feel like I'm a "writer" simply because I can't quiet the voices in my head.
Because I can't shut the fuck up.
Weird thought, right?
Because I can't shut the fuck up.
Weird thought, right?
Friday, December 19, 2008
Goldfish
It's an unspeakable feeling that comes from the depths. We can't articulate it any other way than the simplest of words and we know those won't suffice.
This goes beyond the body yearning for another one to be close.
Beyond worry or doubt or fear.
Like a steady beat, it rings true all the time.
Even after an angry word or a step in the wrong direction.
Every time I tell you, I feel like you immediately forget
and you then walk all over me
oblivious to every step.
My dear, you could not ruin me if you tried. (Even tears dry up.)
But for now, I'll tell you the simple delusional truth:
I love you and there's nothing I can do about it.
This goes beyond the body yearning for another one to be close.
Beyond worry or doubt or fear.
Like a steady beat, it rings true all the time.
Even after an angry word or a step in the wrong direction.
Every time I tell you, I feel like you immediately forget
and you then walk all over me
oblivious to every step.
My dear, you could not ruin me if you tried. (Even tears dry up.)
But for now, I'll tell you the simple delusional truth:
I love you and there's nothing I can do about it.
Glory
It seems that love is an overly abused word these days.
The phrase "I love you" could mean, "I really appreciate this" or "You make me happy" for whatever reason. I love you for doing this, I love you when you do that, this thing that you do makes me realize that I adore you...so on and so forth.
I am beginning to overflow. I love you in so many ways and for so many reasons that I can't possibly name them all. I can't just love you because I appreciate your actions, or even because you have hidden talents that I get to see--these are things that make me enjoy you, like a good meal or a nice day. I love you and I can't figure out how or why and I really don't want to at all. I don't want to feel I need to explain that to anyone, but sometimes I do.
Under dark clouds, even here in this stormy wreckage I can love you. I won't lie, there is a struggle to see what I mean by it and even where I stand. But in the end, I don't lose a thing here. The winds are going to blow and I like stinging rain just as much as any other person, but I'll bear it for the sake of reaching the eye of this hurricane.
Two separate storm systems, two independent galaxies dancing in, around, with one another. In your lightning, you will hear my thunder and I cannot keep the volume turned down any longer. I want to fight you. I want to throttle you awake and shout until your space shatters. Even in this bleak vacuum, I feel you shine brighter than any full moon.
Love is not about sharing someone's sorrow or rescuing them. Or it may be to a degree, but the story doesn't end there. Caring that much about a person doesn't give you an excuse to make someone else responsible for making you feel better, that's still your own job. Being cared for does give you the right to not worry about feeling bad. Just that can be comfort enough.
What am I saying? I love you, yeah (yeah yeah..) and I know that doesn't put a magical band aid on anything. It doesn't for me, and I don't see how it would. I shouldn't be writing this in hopes you'll read it or even in lieu of talking to you. What I'm saying is, 1-I am not done with this topic, and I'll probably harp on it until I feel better, 2-I'm going to grow a pair and actually talk to you about this, 3-I'm terrified too, 4-you already know all of this, 5- *anxiety*
Truth.
Fact.
Non-fiction.
I love you.
andican'tgetyououtofmyheadandiwantyoutolovemetooandiamembarrassedforyouinwritingthisandiwanttotakeyoueverywhereandshowyoueverythingandiwantyoutoseetoseetoseetoseewellallofme
and that may be the most terrifying thought of all.
ps-everytime i dream of you i hear the same song. :x
"This war is crazy, I won't let you down..."
The phrase "I love you" could mean, "I really appreciate this" or "You make me happy" for whatever reason. I love you for doing this, I love you when you do that, this thing that you do makes me realize that I adore you...so on and so forth.
I am beginning to overflow. I love you in so many ways and for so many reasons that I can't possibly name them all. I can't just love you because I appreciate your actions, or even because you have hidden talents that I get to see--these are things that make me enjoy you, like a good meal or a nice day. I love you and I can't figure out how or why and I really don't want to at all. I don't want to feel I need to explain that to anyone, but sometimes I do.
Under dark clouds, even here in this stormy wreckage I can love you. I won't lie, there is a struggle to see what I mean by it and even where I stand. But in the end, I don't lose a thing here. The winds are going to blow and I like stinging rain just as much as any other person, but I'll bear it for the sake of reaching the eye of this hurricane.
Two separate storm systems, two independent galaxies dancing in, around, with one another. In your lightning, you will hear my thunder and I cannot keep the volume turned down any longer. I want to fight you. I want to throttle you awake and shout until your space shatters. Even in this bleak vacuum, I feel you shine brighter than any full moon.
Love is not about sharing someone's sorrow or rescuing them. Or it may be to a degree, but the story doesn't end there. Caring that much about a person doesn't give you an excuse to make someone else responsible for making you feel better, that's still your own job. Being cared for does give you the right to not worry about feeling bad. Just that can be comfort enough.
What am I saying? I love you, yeah (yeah yeah..) and I know that doesn't put a magical band aid on anything. It doesn't for me, and I don't see how it would. I shouldn't be writing this in hopes you'll read it or even in lieu of talking to you. What I'm saying is, 1-I am not done with this topic, and I'll probably harp on it until I feel better, 2-I'm going to grow a pair and actually talk to you about this, 3-I'm terrified too, 4-you already know all of this, 5- *anxiety*
Truth.
Fact.
Non-fiction.
I love you.
andican'tgetyououtofmyheadandiwantyoutolovemetooandiamembarrassedforyouinwritingthisandiwanttotakeyoueverywhereandshowyoueverythingandiwantyoutoseetoseetoseetoseewellallofme
and that may be the most terrifying thought of all.
ps-everytime i dream of you i hear the same song. :x
"This war is crazy, I won't let you down..."
Monday, December 15, 2008
Reflection
He is my Ganesh
And together we are painting the walls blue.
The color of clarity.
Instead of knocking down the walls entirely,
but still recreating the sky no one else can see.
This is about the brevity of sainthood,
or the fear of happiness.
Because the questions we're asking aren't:
"What could you lose?"
or "what will you gain?"
But more of a quiet: "What could you possibly be missing?"
I need not so much a smile
as I need a gentle nod.
Just enough reassurance to move forward
without the push of a stroked ego.
And together we are painting the walls blue.
The color of clarity.
Instead of knocking down the walls entirely,
but still recreating the sky no one else can see.
This is about the brevity of sainthood,
or the fear of happiness.
Because the questions we're asking aren't:
"What could you lose?"
or "what will you gain?"
But more of a quiet: "What could you possibly be missing?"
I need not so much a smile
as I need a gentle nod.
Just enough reassurance to move forward
without the push of a stroked ego.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
