Dang, You Guys Are Awesome

My post, What’s in a Name, garnered more appreciation and interaction from all of you than I imagined when I penned it. And I think that’s so stinking cool.

Seriously, thank you.

Like many of you, I have intimate knowledge of depression, hopelessness, loneliness, weariness, and the struggle required to make it through one more day. The thing about social media is that it can be a vehicle for so much deception. We can post photos that we’ve specifically curated to portray a life that seems dazzling, but reality often tells a different story. Because of my struggle with debilitating depression, I love to try and find beauty within the darkness since it’s incredibly difficult to experience true beauty and joy in your spirit when you’re locked in a battle with demons. Often times, I turn to my blog and the community on here to lift my spirits when I’m too tired to continue the fight.

So, again, I just wanted to say you guys are a cool bunch and I appreciate you ♥️

Also, check out this funny video that made me shriek when I saw it 😂 This makes me feel ooollllldddddddd 😂😩 (tell me if you understand what this convo was about.)

I Cannot Say

What was the last thing you searched for online? Why were you looking for it?

If I revealed the last thing I searched for online, it would be the name of the person I was stalking.

The why is obvious—I wanted to know if this person posted anything on their social media accounts that would give me a bit of insight into something I was curious about.

Why do we stalk people from the shadows?

I will be the first to confess that it gives me a thrill. As open as I can be on my blog, I can be just as closed off in real life—but the downside of that is that it’s hard to let people in and it can get really lonely sometimes. My experience these past several years with letting people in has, without fail, ended in disaster. I don’t know if it’s the generation that we currently live in that makes people fickle, or if it’s due to my sheltered upbringing, or my expectations are way off—or a combination of any of these options—but the end result has always been incredibly disappointing.

I read somewhere recently that everyone being online gives people the illusion of options so no one wants to be loyal and committed anymore. It really resonated with me and makes so much sense. The emotional nakedness that comes with face-to-face interactions, especially in todays hookup culture, is harder for most people than being physically naked with a stranger they just met.

Third base now means posting someone on your Instagram story!

First base is sex.

Crazy. Completely and utterly bonkers. I genuinely don’t like this bandwagon we’re all on and I want to get off.

But back to my stalking. As much as I hate it, I also secretly enjoy the thrill. But along with this, I am totally aware of how toxic it is and I’m looking forward to the day that I will no longer have the urge to stalk anyone because of how in love with my own life I will be.

And I’m taking that one to the bank.

A Funeral of Years

I cut my teeth on the gap-toothed effervescent glow of innocence

where weeds and wishes grew in wild abandon

in that back yard that seemed to stretch forever.

With pockets full of daydreams, we exchanged small miracles for shiny nickels,

and braided lilting melodies of joy

into the flower crowns we wore.

Running with wild abandon into the future that shined so startlingly bright,

we never thought to look back at the innocence we shucked with every leap we took.

I lost that little girl somewhere in the sands of time and after many years of searching, I realized I’d attended my own funeral when I abandoned her.

Unworthy

Who will give us permission to ask for the things we believe we are unworthy of?

In the Grip of a Narcissist

A narcissist will make you question if you are worthy of love. They will almost make you hate yourself because they can turn your natural need for their attention against you, making it a shameful thing, making you ashamed of yourself for being so weak and pitiful. You start hating being inside your own mind, inside your own skin. You start becoming intimate with loathing.

Losses

It’s so interesting how quickly we lose ourselves. It’s as if we don’t believe in the weight we hold with how swiftly we find ourselves shuffled underneath the weight of someone’s opinion, or rejection, or even if it’s an impossible thing, it still feels like rejection. When you make the choice to heal and to start gathering all of your scattered pieces, it feels like getting to know yourself all over again, and what a lovely thing that is. I stumble upon bits and pieces of myself with a surprised exclamation every time. “Oh, I DO love to write poetry, and I can write to my hearts content! I have a blog, and that IS an excellent thing, and I can enjoy it as much as I want. Oh yes, I remember now, I do love my inquisitive nature and I can find joy in pursuing all of my hobbies again. And no one can take that from me.” It’s a shame how quickly we snuff ourselves out when someone fails to recognize our inherent gifts and we die a sort of death. But the beauty is that we can always choose to come alive again, and each time feels a little more magical than the last.

Fly away, black raven

With every word I free, I tear
pieces of my soul
from your double fisted grip that
in turns
caressed me and
acquainted me with bitter loss.
You, who stood silhouetted
against everything I wantonly desired.
Dark, Machiavellian symphony
with lilting melodies of aching tenderness.
With blood red lips
I whisper desperate
prayers.

Eons

The depth of my longing for you 

destroys me.

How do you kill so beautifully?

What madness 

have you lit inside my veins, etching 

my walls and stars with ruin?

I am become the ages

filled with echoes of unfulfilled

desire. 

Prettier Than a Broken Heart

If I could write to you of sorrow, if I could explain this devastation,
I’d use words like utterly, and calamity, and grief.

But the words refuse my bidding, choosing to cloak themselves in darkness and half formed thoughts instead.

They shuffle off their course like drunken sailors, lose their way somewhere between half-hearted and dejected.

With quivering chins and sagging limbs, I’ve not the strength to make them dance
to fool a broken heart into being
prettier than it ever is.

Incongruous

A trellis of verdant roses
creeps slowly
up the knobby ridges of my spine
Clinging fast to empty spaces
where the heart’s grandeur, like brilliant stars, would shine
Every night I traverse this Rorschach devastation
To die of grief in the light of day
Leaving fodder for the wild roses
plucked at will by all who pass this way

*One of my favorite poets is Robert Frost, and to this day I still love to recite his Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening poem every time we get the first snow of the winter. I was reading his Desert Places poem and was inspired to write something similar to his style of poetry (even though I actually dislike rhyming poems if they’re written by anyone other than Robert Frost.) I drew on my own experiences for this poem, as I’m sure Robert drew on his for his poems.