Touch

Does it heal?

Touch?

Bring it closer and let me feel.

Touch.

Reach out to me.

I want you to feel.

The scars of a heart that are too broken to heal.

Touch.

Let it be real.

Because when I close my eyes it’s you who I want to feel.

Touch.

So I can begin to heal.

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Unemployed

I feel everything I’m not. Each new day brings feelings of hope and disappointment. I’m waiting. I’m not sure how much longer I can hold on though because I can feel my spirit slipping. Drowning in the sorrows of a broken spirit and losing sight of what the future may have. Why does this feeling seem permanent? The pain is making a home in my heart, and the baggage it brings weighs on my mind. Constantly reminded of where I am and where I am not.  I fear the change will never come. Anxiously awaiting in a constant repetition of stalemate. Every move I thought I needed to make is slowly pushing me out of the game. I sit rethinking the past 4 years and questioning if I have chosen the right path. I am here now, but I feel so lost. This gap year was supposed to help me find myself, figure out my life, but in reality it has only been causing me strife. The words I hate circle my mind, mocking my story as I write it at night. Alone, abandoned, confused, and now damaged. Useless I feel as the days begin to embed the words on my body. Numb to this life, all this strife, and the constant need to take flight. But my wings are clipped and the cage is evident. No songs of joy to be sung just words of encouragement to put down the gun. But the gun isn’t here. It’s over there. Held in the hands of those who choose my fate. They say it’s not too late, but then tell me why do I feel there is no escape?

These hands

I

Not every piece will be good

But these hands write what they should

Shedding light unto a world

Only the imagination could

II

Broken or used

Tattered but not quite abused

These hands write what they should

Shedding light unto a world

Only the imagination could

III

Embraced and loved

Or sex to fake love

Broken or used

Tattered but not quite abused

These hands write what they should

Shedding light unto a world

Only the imagination could

IV

Hurt and Alone

Hidden from light

These hands write what they feel because they have no sight

V

Wounded but bandaged

Life has a way of leaving you damaged

Hurt and Alone

Hidden from light

Broken or used

Tattered but not quite abused

Embraced and loved

Or sex to fake love

These hands write what they should

Because without them who would

Secrets

So as some may have noticed I deleted some recent posts and quite frankly haven’t posted anything since. I suppose I felt as though I had lost my voice in a way. I wasn’t sure what to say anymore, and the work I took down wasn’t setting the tone or vibe if you will, that I am trying to produce. The world of blogging is all new to me, and while I love every minute of reading what you all have to say and sharing with you, it gets a tad daunting. But then I remembered that the point of starting this blog was to have fun. So I took some time away to really let that sink in. I asked myself if I was having fun or if I was just taking life a little too seriously. Well turns out I was a bit too focused on the serious part. But enough about that. Here is a real blog post for ya below.

So I recently became obsessed with the concept of the song Secrets by Mary Lambert. The line that caught my attention the most is “I don’t care if the world knows what my secrets are” and I thought yea! But really? Why do “we” (assuming I’m not alone on this) get so caught up on covering up details of our lives? I know I’m guilty of feeling the pressure of what others might think about me if they knew I’ve done xyz (xyz aren’t necessarily people btw…or are they?). But seriously. I would get so stressed out and make anyone who knew my little dirty secret promise me they would never tell anyone ever. Then I grew up and took the of advice my friend who said “those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind.” Pretty solid advice if you ask me. So why not expose your secrets. It’s so freeing and sometimes the fact that you’re afraid to tell someone something about you who matters is more damaging than the actual secret you were trying to keep covered.

I witnessed this first hand with my best friend. I didn’t know how she would take the news that I had had sex before. We had been besties all of college, and I never told her. She felt so hurt that I thought I couldn’t trust her with the news. I was so afraid that she would judge me and then lecture me on my life since we’re both religious. I’m not about to go full confession on ya but you get my point. I had gotten so good at keeping it hidden from certain friends that it almost felt as though the burden was getting heavier. Anytime something happened that I would need their advice on I couldn’t bring it up. This mostly applied to the break-up since no one with the exception of those who knew could possibly figure out why I didn’t wanna leave the worst boy-friend in the world. After realizing that people (even friends..perhaps especially friends) are going to judge you no matter what you just have to live your life for you and not anyone else.

Don’t get me wrong there are things I wish I could keep secret forever but in the end when I’m old no one is gonna care. So why let it bother me while I’m young. That’s just silly! So if you feel the need to unburden yourself feel free to post your secrets here. 🙂 Let the world know that you really don’t care who knows.

What do you see?

What do you see when you look at me?

Mom: I see my darling daughter with a future that’s bright.

What do you see when you look at me?

Brother: I see a sister with many gifts to show the world.

What do you see when you look at me?

Me: I see a girl who is lost in her own world of enchantment refusing to live where reality holds true.

What do you see when you look at me?

Me: I see you, frazzled, confused, abandoned, abused, ridged, and torn. That’s what hurts the most.

What do you see when you look at me?

Mom: I see a girl who refuses my love. Such beauty you have with such ugly features. A mouth too outspoken, and a head too strong. I don’t quite know how you’ve come along.

What do you see when you look at me?

Brother: I see memories of us playing around. Good kids we weren’t but then we grew. Now I barely speak to you.

What do you see when you look at me?

Father: I see a daughter I never knew and love that never grew.

What do you see when you look at me?

Me: I see a girl holding onto the past who is trying to last in this world of broken love. You cling so dearly onto the pain you once loved.

What do you see when you look at me?

God: I see a child of mine who is beautiful and gleaming. Since you became mine I have not stopped beaming.

Breakfast tea, art books, and unemployment

They say when you’re young that the world is yours for the taking, that you should run free and never stop imagining. But then you grow up, and suddenly, they say you should focus on a career, finding a mate, and making your mark on the world.

As a recent college graduate, that seems like an awful lot to handle. I’m not done exploring, imagining, or playing pretend yet. I still fear things going bump in the night. Maybe I don’t ever want to grow up or settle down, but that doesn’t change the goals and dreams I have for myself. Life is so magical, and I don’t ever want to see it as anything less than that.

Sometimes when I lay in my bed I shut my eyes tight and imagine what I would be doing if I could do anything. I always picture myself living in a big city with sparkling lights, riding one of those cute bicycles with the basket in front of it on my way to work at a small little corner cafe. Afterwards, I would snuggle up in my flat’s nook with some tea in hand and write down all the stories that filled my mind as I gaze out the window. In the mornings, I would allow my creativity to fill my soul in a room full of textures, colors, and works that shine in a room that heats with the warmth from the sun. Love would be generous and given freely. Laughter would ring in the halls and smiles would greet every guest. I am at peace here; here my soul finds home.

But that’s not reality, I’m not sure it ever will be. My world seems to be crashing down piece by piece draping over the dreams I spent my entire life building up. A part of me wants to just set everything on fire so I can finally be in control of what burns down and what stays up. I don’t know where to place my hope anymore. Do you know what it’s like to prepare your entire life for something you were so certain about seeing through only to have it fall to pieces right before you? It feels as though I’m slowing being stabbed to death with only a small box of bandages to cover the wounds. No matter how much I tell myself that this doesn’t define me, that there must be something great about to happen, I am starting to  lose faith in my own words. Is this what it’s supposed to feel like when all your dreams finally come true? You have to lose everything before you gain something? The more I lose of what I thought I wanted, it feels as though the more I gain of what I’ve always imagined. Part of me thinks that I slowly am beginning to no longer fit into this world anymore. It hurts to feel, and nothing offers the comfort I need. I am doing my best to resist the thoughts that are circling the edges of my mind telling me to seek comfort in the pain I left in the past. I know if I did that, it would be the end of my suffering, the end to me.

But I am not and will not  be defined by the words on a piece of paper. My soul carries more wondrous gifts and treasurers than could ever fill the pages of all the books in the world. We all carry that, but some allow standardized exams and ivy league dreams to place us in a box of confinement. Either you’re in or you’re out, and right now, I’m feeling as though I am on the out. Unemployed, rejected, and broke. Those are the words I have been letting define my journey these past few months. As the rejection letters roll in I  tell myself that I didn’t get in before I even open the letter. Surprisingly, it helps me hold the tears back so I can still manage to read the words, “we regret to inform you” before my eyes swell up. Every letter I receive comes with a cloak of loneliness. No one around to hear my sobs, offer me a hug, or tell me things will get better. I suppose I don’t need that though. Other people live through nightmares daily and find comfort only in those that bring them suffering, so who am I to complain over not being accept into a couple graduate schools?

Well, I am me. I only have my eyes to see through and my story to tell. I am on my own journey in this world just like everyone else. I’m sure my story is no different from the masses, but somehow it stands out in my eyes. I have planted words of encouragement in the deep spaces in my soul for times I find myself wandering back down that broken path. A path I should have never journeyed on, a path that lead to self-destruction, and battered eyes with pulsing wounds. Memories I would often label with regret and remorse are finding themselves being filed under self-development and celebration. It’s not an easy sorting task but one that takes priority when panic strikes. The heavy stifled deep inhales that feel as though they might actually be your last breath, the throbbing in the back of your head from thrashing it against the wall that screams with the secrets you tried to bury so deep hoping you’d forget they were ever truths, and the thorns you joyously pricked yourself on as your mind slipped from reality into a texture of warm lights and fevered hands. I remember that path all too well to ever return, and the thoughts circling around the edges of my mind know that’s true as well so every strike they make is harder and more forceful than the last.

I’m holding on though. I refuse to fade into obscurity in this life when I have so many things left untouched. Wiggling my feet free from the quicksand of emotions I am plagued with, I am finding relief by staring into the eyes of hope in others. Maybe my walls are falling down because I built them too high to see what’s really waiting out there for me. I guess I will just have to embrace the beauty of blinded eyes and allow God to guide me along this journey.