Lost and Found

All my limbs can become trees:

It’s like being lost and becoming found,

all in one brief moment of stillness.

Having the world at your weathered fingertips

but clenching your fist instead

in the hopes of holding onto a feeling.

It’s when I breathe deep, and you

You are at the end of my breath.

Returning it to me, filling me up.

Extracting any air of emptiness

Consuming a void I didn’t know I’d had

Taking a trip to a place that only exists in an alternate universe,

where I am floating through time with no relativity

And you return to me, your breath.

Inflating my lungs

It’s a century, if just for a second

A world of questions answered in a mystery unsolved.

It’s a kiss

Strong enough to lose yourself in,

safe enough still

to have become found.

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In spite of everything,
I have never known someone who loved life as much as I do.
It may not be well known,
it may not be made known by the words I write.
Because within them,
what you see is that life is full of unknowns,
and full of hurt.
What is not shown,
is the depth of love I have for moments that do not yet exist.
Those imagined moments are what keep me fighting.
The innate and insatiable love I have for this world,
is what keeps me in it.
Although I fight the urge to give in daily,
what I want to be known is why I do not give up.
I do not give up because despite of all the ugliness that consumes daily rituals,
there are moments that have not been made yet,
there are things in the future for me that must happen.
These are the things I love so much, the great unknown.
The humor and the quantity of things that I have not seen.
There are so many things I wish that I could forget,
things that have already been.
But I breathe in because of all the things that haven’t yet.
I want the world, I have since I was young.
I want the world, all of it.
Sometimes I want it in my hands,
and that is where my faults lie.
But the urge to have the world, to view it,
to be in it and to know it,
kicks me into gear and builds me up.
The only thing that gets me through the day,
is knowing that there are things that have not yet been found.
I guess thats why life can get so desolate.
When you consistently live for things that aren’t,
you forget to appreciate what is around you.
There lies my faults.
Not being able to see what is around me,
only being able to see what is in front.
And when the footsteps you are supposed to take are muddled,
how do you know which direction to move?
Despite what goes on in this mind of mine,
all of the darkness and solitude…
There has never been hate.
Actually it is what separates me I believe…
because in my laments there is a silver lining.
There always has been.
Whether it is in the form of dry humor,
or just a saturated attempt at a joke,
or a bright side.
I love this world, I live for this world.

Looking for a Muse

Every artist has a feed of inspiration… I do my best creating when I am inspired. Usually my losses inspire me, but I have met a new kind of loss. I have met the loss of my muse.

A few things made me buzz in the months prior. I had met something in my life that led me to create out of happiness, out of confusion and out of love. For once I was creating while I felt alive. I had become so familiar with creating after I had lost that life. I was buzzing, here and there, to and from different emotions, reveling in each one of them. I was embracing my muse, and I was running with it.

Before this series of events I had not held any inspiration in my hands and analyzed it so freely. It was always after the fact, I would never create about what inspired me. I had learned to create in the midst of a loss of inspiration. This time it was different.

I did not let all feelings fly free range, run amuck within my mind. This time, I reigned them in, looked at my inspiration and fed off of it. Now, I am meeting the part in the story where that muse leaves me. And in turn, the things that I have created within this half of a year, they leave me as well.

These things, this art, this capturing of a heart and it’s musings, have all submissively turned to dust. Turned to dust within my grasping hands.

And the same as before, I squeeze harder and harder to hold on to any bit of energy I may have conserved. I squeeze the life out of my creativity, the hope out of my soul, and the sparkle that has been the only captivating factor of these brown and pained eyes.

I squeeze so hard trying to hold onto what makes me imaginative, what keeps me afloat, that I have crushed these things into pieces that are just too unsubstantial to be able to put back together.

I have met the part of my story where my muse leaves me, and I turn from amused to reclusive. From fire, burning so dangerously hot that I had peaked at a blue state, able to melt the things closest to me. Then with falling flames and flailing arms, I retreated, to a place where there is no fuel left for me to burn from, where there is nothing for me to ignite, and it is as if, I’ve cycled back into an earthly oblivion. As if I have finally, inevitably and despairingly, turned to a grey and purposeless pile of ash.

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Summer Feet

Grunge rock and roll, on a blue orchid night
Where I laid in the grass,
slid a cigarette in between my teeth
Wondered where you were,
And touched the ground beneath me
Pulled that old flannel over my shoulder,
my eyelashes met each other.
While I sat there listening, to the silly little birds,
Just wandering.
What was their song about?
What was anything ever about anymore.
The liquor we shared was strong,
but I’m stronger baby.
Just a little bit stronger
Than I think you anticipated.
So passive, submissive
But you took it a bit too far,
pushed me a little too hard that time.
Turned my back on that six string and your Marlboro reds.
We can talk about jam bands,
’til the night ends
But if you want to hurt me
You’re going to have to hit me.
Come on babe, like old times
Cause your words,
Or lack thereof
Just don’t hurt anymore.
So if you want to knock me off my feet now,
You’re going to have to knock me down
Just like old times,
just one more
I’m not so fragile, never really was
Bet you’re downtown,
roaming down brick streets.
Bet you’re looking to score
As I’m sitting by this flower bed,
Digging my bare feet in tight
Next to lillies and baby’s breath
Glistening in a summer sweat,
In my cutoff blue jeans.
Wondering what the world does,
When I let it stop spinning
You called me sweet girl and I hit the road,
Hit it hard.
Consider that,
my way of hitting you back.

Blessed Are The Curious

February 7th 2014 I wrote this… Funny how a few months can feel like light years away.

Nothing is pulling on my heart strings at the moment
The up and downs that had become my adaptation of balanced,
Have been replaced with a nauseating lull.
Something that I can’t control,
Something I cannot start and stop however much I may want to
It’s true that things find you when you have stopped seeking them.
That absence makes you weary of something you may not have wanted,
When you had it.
Finding the adventure in a lull is an art form.
It is true talent, and pure genius to see past a moment that is currently unmoving
All while recognizing that even whilst still,
It is these moments that matter.
Knowing how to find the freedom in a situation that was not created on your own terms,
Is acknowledging true inner peace.
When you can lay still and wonder where the day will take you,
Without wanting to take the day –
That is a gift.
Are we ever experiencing life on life’s terms when we are battling for the reigns?
There are no clear boundaries that define how often we should
Throw our hands in the air
and how often we should let things slip
Between the curves of our fingers.
To live fully in stillness,
To find something breathtaking in the uninspiring,
That is the biggest challenge in the world.

Dull Absence

Not that you have missed me, but you may have wondered where this blog went for a couple weeks.

Months?

Not sure…

But I am back, slightly re-inspired and ready to hop on this writing horse again. There has been no shortage of events, parties, trips, social interactions and all of that. For some reason however, none of them really spoke to me in the past couple months. The problem was probably that I was waiting for something to come along, and knock me off my feet. I guess I wanted something to just show up in my life and demand that I feel it. While I was waiting, I realized that if we don’t get out there and live our lives, and make ourselves feel something, we are never going to experience the true joy of life.

Instead of waiting for an opportunity to fall into my lap, I should have been making my own opportunities, and taking my own chances. I should have been letting my unshakable curiosity consume me and lead me to adventures in familiar places. I should have been forcing myself out of my comfort zone and into a new adventure.

I have a new goal, to find some adventure in each day. If I can do that, I will never be uninspired. There is no reason why we should sit back and let our lives be dull and submissive.

A cliche but powerful quote comes to mind, “Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all.” – Helen Keller

So what are you going to make yours? 

An Affliction for The Atlantic

the great big blue,
when everything else has changed and come full circle
there you are,
still the same after all these years
my reliable atlantic, my anchor
the streets around you have holes in the ground
the store fronts come and go
but there you are big blue,
to bring me back.
back to where it all started.
the immensity of it is calming
the vastness that continues to call to me
where the love held me
i played and laughed and cried in you
i fell under your power and gave way to the waves
in you i let myself lose control,
and i found it all again
my ground, my footing
even when it sunk slightly and sprinkled my ankles
this is where it all began
where i came when i had nowhere to go,
and i sat when the world wouldn’t stay the same
my calves flexed, my arms flew towards the sky
and i fell in love all over again
with the great big blue
that smile came back to me here,
created a sparkle in my still brown eyes
and it stayed there, the reflection of the atlantic
it is always there, in my eyes
light bounced along the ripples of your break,
and i knew that nowhere i went,
could take away the glimmer of the Atlantic in me
i am so small, i am so fragile.
anywhere else in the world it would make me feel powerless
but here it stills me,
gives me strength within my fingertips
holds me to my dreams that i can see were never lost.
they are all here in the ocean,
as will they always be.
they are all here in my reliable atlantic
it is everything to me.