It is very hard looking around and seeing so many people in pain, trapped in their suffering, in maladaptive mentalities, and poor habits. I remember that being me like it was yesterday because in many ways it was. The metaphorical yesterday. Not long ago when my life was in shambles and I had no idea how to put it back together. I see my friends, my lovers suffering and I know there is nothing I can do but beer present. Yet I wish I could save everyone. I wish I could exhume everyone from the muck of their sorrows.
This blog has once more become a private sanctuary. I’m glad for it. Exposure is lovely. Solitude is better. Even still I worry for my privacy. For my ability to speak without consequence. Hence the physical journal that no one sees. The one in which I haven’t written a heartfelt thing in months. I have shied from it. I’m tired. Wishing I could sleep. Wishing that artistry wasn’t such a struggle. Wishing this world supported my craft on a socioeconomic level. Wishing what I did for money didn’t secretly ruin my sense of self while seeming to empower it. I live in a catch 22. Paradox is my middle name. Sadness haunts me when I cannot hear it. Body image issues hang like shadows over my being. A yearning to be what I can never be. A yearning to turn the clock back to a time before high school. Somewhere amidst the blossoming of my true self. To a time when I could have changed my fate. But what I am. The life I lead. Appear to me fated. Inevitable. Unchangeable. Fixed. Static. So again acceptance forces its way into my mouth. Forces its way into the meat of me. The core that demands peace. That is made of it. That is shrouded in illusory tapestries of misplaced suffering. So here I am. Alive. And that must be good enough. That must be sufficient. For I’ve no other option but death. And death is no option at all. Because it will come of its own accord at some point. There is no rush and there is no uncertainty about it. Only the necessity to live well and rightly and bear whatever the universe has seen fit to lay upon my plate.
It was music that coaxed the Shaman from his crypt. It was music that reignited his soul. It was Anna who brought it to him.
The grey sky looks blue when you’re yellow.
I hope the rain cradles you
And makes you new.
I go to sleep in the eye of gods.
When they blink I fall awake w stars.
I carry things I shouldn’t.
Living things and dead
In a suitcase made of my heart’s innermost lining.
On a full moon
The things make me sick.
They swell up like
Old memories become new
And carve at my stomach
The way my mother carved avocados.
Sometimes someone comes into your life and sets your soul on fire and then they leave and it’s not because they’re bad or they don’t love you or something else. They just came in to shake loose everything that kept you stuck. They came in to wake you up. And at some point, letting go and finding gratitude for that becomes the very thing they were meant to give to you all along.