Tag: Life

TJM

You are everywhere but with me when we’re together.

I grieve you even when we’re facing each other,

so aware of your nomadic thoughts,

your eyes, each a ghost town my gaze travels through without ever meeting a friendly face.

 

It’s so weird,

to know someone your whole life and feel like strangers.

To wonder why someone so close to you is always distant,

I wish I knew what it felt like to be a pit stop in your racing mind,

to occupy any psychological real estate.

I hope it’s happy wherever you are.

Happy Merry Blessed Everything

Merry Christmas!  Merry happy blessed everything.  Truly.  As the year draws to a close, my mind ventures along the same pilgrimage everyone’s does– where did I go this year?  Was it good?  Was I good, and how can I be better?  I’ve been so many women in 360 days.  I began 2016 as a damsel in distress– contorting myself into a a series of uncomfortable positions to fit into Cleveland, into a city that was never really meant to be more than a launchpad in my life.  My mettle matched my desires when I got brave enough to leave.  I got a new job, and returned to a place where I could flourish.  No one is going to do life for you.  I’ve doled this advise out countless times, but I hadn’t heeded it in a while.  There’s this misled section of me that hopes fate or life or some celestial force will intervene in so many aspects.  But all the good in my life is the fruit of being unprepared, un-calculated, and bravely throwing myself into the arena anyway.

With that, for the first time in my life, I actively dated.  Not much came from this endeavor, but I did it.  I maturely negotiated conflict with another mature party.  I advocated for my needs without an apology.  I invested in my health.  I indulged.  2016 was a year I did things, as opposed to having events befall me.

In the fall, I got lazy.  Comforted lulled me out of my bravery.  I got into my groove at work, regularly went to the gym, hung out with my friends– content in my established routine.  I dislike myself slouching. I don’t like myself asleep.  I want to grow and challenge, and I know I am far too hard on myself.  But courage tingles on my taste buds like a craving I haven’t indulged in a while.

Jump starting my resolutions (which I normally avoid because I find them cheesy), I went to a counselor recently.  Therapy and I never worked before.  I don’t think I’ll revisit this counselor.  However, even after my experience with her, I was open to exploring therapy in the future.  I appreciated the insights she offered, even if we aren’t compatible.  Growth is shit failing and still pursuing the vision and hope.  I’m doing that.

I did that with dating.  In addition to putting myself out there, I was vulnerable and authentic with men.  Finally setting fire to the standards and games and goals and barriers, I (toward the end of 2016) allowed myself the freedom to interact as two people.  Connection is a liberation I hope to explore more within the next year.

I’m scared.  I’m scared I’m not enough, that I’m too poor, too fat, not pretty, not smart.  Those fears won’t dissolve anytime soon.  But my courage can be louder.  Being whole comes with the bad stuff, but allows the good stuff to speak.  I will close this holiday (and this year) in a messy way.  I probably won’t get skinny in 2017.  That’s not the goal.  But I will experience more, fall on my face, get up, be hurt and heal, and make it one hell of a year.  Cheers to that.  Happy merry blessed everything.

 

Ambiguous Friend

Your eyes,

Like a lighthouse,

drew me to you.

I am, all too often,

adrift in self love as substitute.

I have sunken myself in pride before.

Your lantern eyes compelled me to shores I dared not touch.

 

A sailor expects paradise after a grueling journey.

I, a lover.

But ours is not a love with lips and hands and passion.

I resented the fire you shared with everyone but me,

Miserly with your affection,

Chills for all the things you said but never did.

 

So I left your coastline,

more willing to drown myself that call your name lifesaver.

I learned to swim,

let the water hug my body in all the ways you wouldn’t.

 

You are not paradise,

Nor the denouement of my hopes.

A lighthouse is not home.

And you aren’t the lover I once wanted you to be,

Rather, refuge, guidance, safety.

I see you

And exhale.

With profound love and gratitude,

I exhale.

 

 

Involuntary

Even when I don’t want to–

when I want anything else but you,

Any name but yours–

I see my hands reaching for you.

My entire body is an arrow to yours.

Craving your terrain and the way my hands sink into it like teeth.

 

You are the falsest of norths,

A hometown I am ashamed to claim, and yet, refuse to leave,

A direction made entirely of memory.

I beg my heart to pick another rhythm.

Pick palpitations over this purgatory.

It refuses.

So

Here I am,

like so many times before,

ensnared in the desolate paths of you.

 

 

What I Gave Up– Sacrifices of Privilege

Submerged in student debt, I traded my desire for privileged peeves my entitled ego cannot vent in anything other than verse.

I picked my path,

Do not make excuses or apologies for how I exist,

And yet, I am wrestling myself to release my wild.

Here is how this woman has banished her wilderness:

  1. I chose comfort over creativity, complacency over courage.
  2. I am my own axis, and what if I cannot keep myself spinning?  There is no one to rev my momentum, no pushes or pulls into progress.  I am my own inertia.
  3. What if I’m not good enough at what I love?
  4. I had to feed myself.
  5. I’ve creatively starved myself
  6. I am in debt.
  7. Debt substitutes for excuse in my mind, fills in for fear, is the explanation for all the things I do not possess the courage to command.
  8. My soul is art.
  9. My ego is convention.
  10. Deep down, I don’t believe I deserve the life I know I am capable of living.

I lament all the things I have the power to change,

All the talent I have, and all the gall I lack to do something with it.

I am a tragedy of privilege.

Fleeing the fear of normalcy,

Of wondering how many substitutes I can swallow before my life becomes sub par.

How do I not settle?

Not sink into something short of self?

I feel the tracks to regret beneath my feet,

I feel the intersection splitting where my heels used to meet.

In my rumbling, riveter gut, I know the answer.

I know it in my bones,

The ones with my grandmother in the marrow,

“Revolution.  Set yourself on fire and make soil from the ashes.”