I have managed to get my thoughts together, after surviving the agonizing anxiety of the first 2 days of the year. “What are your plans this year? Any resolutions? What do you think needs to change?” Even if (by some supernatural force of nature) I had all these answers I surely wouldn’t be comfortable sharing such personal information disguised as “small talk” so I awkwardly smile at my respectable elder and say “we’ll see”. Although clearly dissatisfied with my answer, they move on to asking my brother the exact same questions.
- Here we go again. To be honest I am none the wiser as to how one gets their shit together than I was a year ago. Actually I think the importance only lies in seeming to have your shit together. One thing I can say is that I know what I want the most. And what I want the most is to bring to light the things I love, to create, to imagine, to make, to write, to pour my truth into whatever the hell I will be doing and hope to God that’s enough.
Again. No expectations. Just willingness to make it through another year without losing my sanity completely. Here’s to (the appearance and/or actuality of) shit being together.
When will you understandThat you will never be beautiful enough
You will never be intelligent enough
You will never be adventurous enough
You will never
for the man who does not love you
Stop trying to feed someone who starves you
You are grinding away your heart, trying to fix something that isn’t broken.
Recklessly making holes in a whole thing
You are already enough, stop taking away parts of yourself to fill in what’s missing in him
Take him away and be enough for you again
At 16. Heartbreak sounded like a thousand buildings crashing down, a tornado, a countless number of sleepless nights and twisted sheets. An unfamiliar pain and tears coming from places you didn’t know could cry
At 20. Heartbreak sounded like a car crash, ambulance sirens, a crime scene filled with broken promises, torn love letters and eyes so welled up they just might need a damn to contain them
At 26. Heartbreak sounds like a forest fire, the crackling of wood turning to ash, a violent wind, breaking of your favorite piece of fine China. A quiet river running down your cheeks when you are caught off guard.
The noise continuously fades. And I can’t help but think that maybe someday it will all be too familiar. Like an empty home with forgotten memories. The sound of the night when you can’t see the stars. Cold and bare when you realize you have no more tears to cry for love.
My heart is a construction site.
It echoes like a drill in my chest
Slowly coming apart
I sigh deeply
Pushing back the tears that have been welling in my eyes for weeks
I pace my room
Gathering courage to leave it.
Everything in here
And everything out there
Makes me see you
I’m frantically searching for a way
To untangle you from me
I dissolve into numbness
And then implode into emotion
And somehow I can only remember your smile
Nothing makes sense and the world is upside down
I move things, in my mind… Like furniture
Rearranging it, and throwing things out in hopes of unloving you
Something that my blood knows it could never do
It feels like I’m walking barefoot
On a cold and broken ground
And whether I’m walking towards the light or the darkness
My bones weep silently, the further away they move from you
Home is not where the heart is
The heart is always fleeting
So home is always fleeting
Home is where you are now
Where you find solace for now
Where you can be the best version of you now
Home is what makes you feel most yourself
Exposed yet safe
Displaced yet calm
Breathe love bug
You are displaced but not lost
You have love within you and around you
You are not alone
And everytime your soul is full and your heart is bursting with laughter and sunshine …
Remember that feeling. That is home.
I’ve been searching for refuge I might as well have been scratching through dustbins overflowing with waste
I looked for it in in the walls of churches, in the words of friends, in the beds of lovers, in the pages of books, in the sun, in the moon, in the burnt earth, in my birth home.
And there were times I convinced myself that I had found it
There were times there was more calm than storm
There were times when my heart lay still.
But that wasn’t refuge
It was comfort
My spirit is presented
With the single reality
That the only refuge
That will ever hold true through time
Is within myself.
Why can’t a flower be a flower
If it’s too beautiful it must be plucked
If it’s to shy, it will never be acknowledged
If it has too many thorns it must be mutilated
Why do we never leave the flower alone
Its life is short anyway
Maybe it wants its petals to join in dance with the wind
Maybe it just wants its leaves to be adorned by the morning dew
Maybe it just wants to die, happily in the field
Why can’t a flower
just be a flower