Patterned Fascades

There's so much going on these days.  And yet there's so much to get done.  You'd think that with all this time left from getting rid of a job that wasn't building my future, but basically killing my lungs, I'd have at least written a few promising destruction stories or at least some emo driven sounding anthems to pass the time.  Given only a few weeks have passed since leaving my last job, which I totally worked for one year -- it stems the reason I should be celebrating the passing of those long, 60+ work hours and enjoying some respected freedom, I have been lethargic to be blunt.  And the only amount of time I've been able to subject myself to writing, has been "Happy Birthday" Facebook posts to people I haven't spoken to in quite some time.  Not that I hadn't wanted to reach out to them, but I've been "busy."  Truly busy -- trying not to jump from imaginary ledges, daily, which you can see can distract you from social media fascination.

I've patterned myself, now, to becoming more so what I had envisioned before.  You know?  When I was on a path towards doing something great with my life.  Before I had to buckle down and latch onto a job with benefits, in order to join the adult world of graduated persons.  The world where bills build up so high, you cannot see the dreams that you once gravitated towards.  I had to sell out and take a job that I knew would not build my resume the way I wanted, but just add another few lines of experience.  I worked another job, and eventually grew so tired I didn't have any time left to devote to writing.  No  time for passion.  No time for relaxation.  No time to do what I initially went to school for years and years to do.  And those same years where I grew financial aid debt and knew I'd have to pay back . . . Interesting how you go through debt to study in a field where after graduation it becomes increasingly difficult to live normally in the "real world," and you inherently turn to other realms of work in order to pay back those same loans.  But I still wouldn't trade those years of university for anything.  I know it takes many years to pay back those loans.  More years than it took me to get through schooling -- from pre-K through Graduate school.

But, today starts a new day.  A new adventure if you will.  A time to go back to what really matters.  What mattered all the time, and yet I was too scared to fail that I went and reached for something that didn't give me any happiness.  Only disdain toward my own self.  I reject the pass jobs that never helped me build as an artist.   I long for the purpose, again.  And I begin anew.  I long for more stories.  Not just out of frustration.  But because there's no other way, but to write.  I long for reaching my goals and dreams.  I long for not wanting to leap from ledges in order to find peace . . . I long for becoming who I know I'm suppose to be.  And I need not to just long, but instead go after what I want.

Though it's frightening to jump without knowledge of how you might land.  It's even more scary to continue on a path of uncertainty in something that slowly and constantly takes from you.  Leaving you with nothing left.

It took a year to break the walls of artistic imprisonment, but now that I'm free -- I'm not going back.  I'm branching into a direction that will take guts, courage and lots of alcohol (just a little writers humor -- I'm straight edge, dudes).  I'm going after my own life and career, without a safety net.  Standing on the edge and waiting to catch the wind to carry me over.  But gladly approaching uncertainty and pushing with my heart this time.  And not my school debt.

Wait, you're a writer? Why? What makes you so different?

It's been some time since I posted on this Blog (hey, I'm still a writer.  Just working on other projects), but one of my dear Lesley cohorts/buddies posted a call to other writers on their writing experiences in the form of a blog.  Sorry it took some time to upload, once I accepted the challenge, but here it is.  And thanks Sabrina Fedel, Destination Providence (check out her blog) for the call.  Well, I'm going to start with the questions (below) and let you dive in to my answers.


1. What am I working on?

At this time I am currently working on a few projects:  I have two stage plays, two screenplays (a short and a full), and I am working on a musical.  I have also been working on something for the web . . . It's a lot of plates spinning in the air at once (pardon the overused phrase), but that's what keeps me motivated -- having plans -- so many plans where I have to give more than 110% at a time.  

So, that's the literary side of my projects, but I also am working on new music and compositions, because not only do I love to write, but I love music too.  And merging those two into my projects just seems fitting and natural.  


2. How does my work differ from others of its genre?


My work differs from other material in the same genre, because, well, it's mine.  Everybody draws some inspiration from other artists, whether it's music helping the writer focus on a plot, character or scene; whether it's taking personal experiences and writing those lives; or just writing what we want and how we want it.  Either way, we all take from something, in order to create something new.  But what makes my writing (mostly dramatic) different from what is already out there?  I'd say it's my want to tell stories I haven't yet seen.  Stories of people who sometimes never are discussed, or not fully.  Many of my characters are relevant, but when you've seen some of those characteristics in other media (play, film, etc), there tends to be either more grit than sympathy for the people, or too much and not enough understanding of their beginning leading to why they are that way.  

I also tend to write many scripts where there is a major focus on women.  Not that I haven't made plays with dominating male characters, but for the most part I like giving women characters a chance to speak.  

More importantly what makes my writing different is that it is told by me.  As bland as that answer is, it's true.  I write what I know, and what I've learned.  I write who I know.  Who I've witnessed.  Who needs to be heard.  And from where their stories should be told.  I've written many plays with young characters, because those are also voices that need to be listened to.  And without hearing those young characters, sometimes feeling silenced, you'd never see the growth in them -- and ultimately if silenced, that stifles them from changing for the good.  And isn't that really what we want our characters to do?  Change for the good?  Even if only for the action in the play.


3. Why do I write what I do?

Again, I write what I do, because I love what I write!  From music to screenplays to stage plays, it's all part of what makes me, me.  And I tend to write in more dramatic tone, because I've learned the hardest stories that you might not want to tell, are the ones that need to be told the most.  And because everyone has a story within them, we shouldn't just go for the positive ones, but tackle the deep issues and shed light to the stories hidden within.  Every character is flawed.  Every person is flawed.  And because of that, there are many stories to write.  And with each day I find more material to layer another story.  I write in a way that can speak for those who haven't yet found their voices.  

I've written material that I've (in the past) even been afraid to discuss.  And that's what makes it amazing.  Being able to delve so far that the dialogue happens.  And when it does, it's worth the writing.  

But ultimately I write because I cannot imagine myself doing anything other than reaching people through stories.  I consider myself an artist; a performer; an entertainer if you will.  And that is because I write to put the audience in a place where they are transformed into an experience only I can give them.  I write because there are way too many stories untold.  And I want happier endings, even if it's just on the page.


4. How does my writing process work?

My writing process works in such an all-over-the-place-yet-focused-way.  By that I mean, like many writers, I can write at any moment.  If an idea comes, no matter when, I have to write it down, type it up, or voice memo it.  When it's an idea from a dream (which has happened plenty of times), I wake up and quickly write what I visioned, and go from there. 

It can also be a song that gives me such an emotion that I know exactly how a character should be formed.  And when that's the case, I tend to put together a music playlist of songs that help me write, which sticks with me throughout the entire writing process.  

I've done storyboards, index cards, notes on Word, tape up sticky notes -- it all works for different reasons, and different ideas.  But with each various one, it's all about the focus.  Once I have an idea, and know that character, then I can start writing their story.  After a while it's me becoming them for the time being: thinking like the character; knowing what they would do, sort of like an actor preparing for an audition.  Once I'm in the mix of writing the story, then it's hard to get me out.

My writing process is full of many ideas, rewrites, tossing pages, going back to the beginning of an idea and rethinking, and reshaping the core -- which like other writers I know can be tough.  Because once I have a solid idea, which I love, it's hard to let go.  But again, I have to think about why I write.  Because it's not just about me.  It's about those stories that need to be told.  And however long the writing process may take (unless there are deadlines, which seem to be the case quite often), I must stay focused and write.  

Did I mention that I sort of have an obsession with coffee and coffee houses when I'm struck with the writers moment?  Well, that's another part of my process.  I've learned from the best in many of my writing courses, that when you are being held accountable for your writing, you work better.  So, when I know I have a deadline (by others or myself), I lock myself away in a room with my headphones and music, books, notes, and a laptop set to Final Draft, and write.  And when I'm in the coffee shop, I do the same -- even if it's in public, I find myself a corner spot, headphones, books, notes, laptop set to Final Draft and I immerse myself in the story -- forgetting I'm still in public.  There have been many nights where I have stayed in said coffee shop until they were closing, only to pack up and head home for more writing, because I was still in the zone.

Most writers are probable aware with how difficult it could be to get in that writers moment.  But once you're there, you don't want to stop. 
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Besides myself, there are plenty of other awesome literary people (also fellow Lesley University MFA Creative Writing cohorts), so please check out their blogs:

Michael Anthony, A Veteran’s Perspective…
Alexis Marie Writes
Cynthia Platt, Scribbling in the Garret

Between Nothing

Holding on to something that isn't there?  Questions seem to be what continue running through your head whenever you're trying to escape.  Escape the fact you have NO answers to them.

Why is it that when you close your eyes, in an attempt to concentrate on change, nothing does?  And when you open those same eyes, everything is passing?  Except your own thoughts.

Is it a disorder that plagues my mind, and drives my stability wild?  Is it beyond frustration which pushes my thoughts over the edge?  I don't know.  This late evening/early morning I sit here, in full regret.  Trying to change these thoughts, but at the same time knowing it would be easier, and maybe better if I did what they are telling me . . . I fight it.  I try to anyway.  Feelings of being a disappointment.  I stay awake planning my own demise.  I plan to be free someday.  But that someday lurks in the back of my mind.  Each day I feel this way, and walk out like I'm fine . . . I'm not fine.  And when I return I know I want to to be.  Closeness, which some people long for, I dread.  Because just the thought of a nearing touch shocks me to the core.  Like a debilitating punch to the heart.   I hide it very well.  Some people don't bring that out of me.  But it's all too often I sit in the dark, wanting nothing.  Nothing but for the darkness to continue.  Until my senses break down, and I am emotionless.

Going from happy to sad in such a short span, and not wanting to stay in the happy -- I'm over it.  I've come to the point where I feel I made enough of an impact to now be free.  And I want to really want that.  Yet I feel torn with letting those I love down.  And then the vicious hatred of myself and the disappointment come back in.  I've failed to be free.  I've failed to live up to my expectations.  Not that life is too bad to continue, and I'm giving up.  But I've decided I don't want to continue wasting precious moments where other people can live, love and be happy, without thinking of me.  I know that sadness for some people arrive and disappear.  For me it lingers.  But for those who can turn that switch off, my leaving won't destroy them as much as staying (for me) would.

These thoughts border between action and nothing.  So I continue contemplating until a decision is made.  Until then, I leave myself with these words from Secondhand Serenade:

"So please let me be free from you.  Please let me be free.  I can face the truth . . . "

Much Love,

~Kyra C.

How far (Holding on to something that isn't there)

Questions seem to be what continue running through your head whenever you're trying to escape.  Escape the fact you have NO answers to them.

Why is it that when you close your eyes, in attempt to concentrate on change, nothing does?  And when you open those same eyes, everything is passing?  Except your own thoughts.

****************************                                  ****************************

How far would you dare to go
Before you realized you could not swim?

How fast would you tread
Knowing the waves would not stop pushing?

Would that even matter?
If the place you wanted to go was below?

Underneath the surface of your own
Being?  Trapped, screaming with inflamed lungs

Witnessing no panic
But glimmering eyes of passed sadness

Could you take in every bit of your hoped for life?
 As you sensed the frigid shock of water crashing?

Stop in mid shiver to wonder about the deep?
Forget ALL and greet the unknown?

How far would you dare to go
Before you realized you never needed to swim?

Just fall and let go
Of everything that weighed you down, above

Open your eyes, heart and lungs to
A world with NO plagued memories

Just a clean path
Far beneath the surface

Self Faith (short story)

Sitting here with a belt around my neck . . . Not figuratively.  But literally.  Listening to songs that put me in a mood that should not cause pain.  But forge thoughts of them.
**************************************
She sat there, with her belt tightly gripping her throat.  Waiting:  for the impact of its snap; or the squeeze of her shaking hand.  She needed to feel something, so she tested her strength, tugging to one side the leather belt loop.  She fastened the buckle and sat back.  Pacing her breaths.  Looking at the door hook, and concentrating.  "There were options . . . " she wondered.  But even she couldn't believe her own thoughts anymore.  It was better for all options to lead to one outcome:  peace.  Jumping from atop the highest point she could reach:  another choice.  There, she would float, gently above, as she waited to come back down.  Down to her new world.

Confused Much?

Sometimes we are at the top of our game -- riding these amazing adventures, and not looking down.  Other times, we are just trying to grab onto something.  Anything.  But we just can't.

It is as though we feel we aren't good enough.  Not worthy enough to make ourselves happy.  Or possibly not good enough to take in that happiness.  I know many people who feel that way.  Heck, I do, on some occasions.  And many of my past posts have been an indication of that.

But still, we keep going.  Some of us.  We keep pressing on.  Because we don't REALLY want to give up.  To not reach our potential.  Yet, those moments when nothing seems feasible, we think we can't.  Can't make it.  Can't survive what we've just gone through, or constantly been enduring.

To those people:  (as "Hallmark" as it sounds) you have to keep going.  And I know this contradicts my own thoughts.  Especially when they continue to change.  One moment I'm happy.  Thrilled to be here.  Other times?  I feel as though EVERYTHING is coming down, crashing all around me.  I don't want to be a burden with my words.  This is MY blog, so, I just thought I'd describe myself.

It's confusing.  I know.  These moments confuse me too.  Just earlier, I was happy, smiling and thinking of the future.  And then . . . out of nowhere, something clicked.  Like an autopilot switch.  One that constantly is in between, but more so on the off position.

You become entranced in thoughts.  But those thoughts are blank.  Weird, eh?  Blank thoughts, which then turn into memories.  Ones that are in fact actually you -- in that moment -- in that space -- as though time were standing still, and you were just observing.  But it's not an observation.  It's you.  It's me.

We are the same.  We are what forces one another to not give in to our forced wants.  Because quick fixes are indeed not the solution.  We are the same.  Pushing one to fight until we cannot stand to go any further.

And then -- click.  We're back in the same situation.

Glue

It's another Friday, and I'm sitting inside my room.  Nice weather.  It's mid afternoon.  And the blinds remain closed.  I want to travel outside, and feel the air.  But instead, I sit here, beside my three fans.  And let the modified breeze take over.  I don't think of things to do -- fun, exciting, young adult, or 20 something things to do -- because that's just not who I am.  Although, I could be wrong.  I could be that person, wanting to dance the night away.  Going for a drink in a sports bar, while cheering on my favorite team.  I don't know . . . I never really knew, because I let myself stay in too much.  I've become accustomed to taking chances, professionally, and educationally -- more so than personally.  Not that I think of myself as afraid to try.  Just afraid of failure.  And what's to be afraid of, anyway?  

Each day continues to play out the same way.  And I'm drained each morning, thinking of the never changing cycle.  At times though, my focus changes, but not on the positive.  Not on going out and trying something new.  No, instead, my focus switches to daydreaming about a new life.  A new journey.  One that's not on this earth.  You see, I can force myself to think ahead -- way  ahead -- as if nothing matters.  But that's only when EVERYTHING matters.  And when everything is drowning me.  

I'm stuck.  I'm at the point in my life where either I should be out exploring (especially in the city I live in), and having fun.  But I can't.  I don't know why.  I don't understand how I can feel the need for a change, but just can't do it.  

I work hard.  I stay focused.  Big deal -- most people do.  And I put extreme amounts of perfectionist pressure on myself.  Big deal -- again, most people do.  I've had the same mentality of never feeling good enough, ever since I was young.  That, I know, will never go away.  So, I push it aside, not thinking about it, and stay focused.  I continue working hard, never letting myself think of what I could be doing.

And then I take a break -- because someone says, "relax, you've been working too hard.  You need sleep, or to just get away from what you're doing for a little while.  Then go back to it."  So I take their advice, and breathe.  But that's when I feel my throat closing.  When I feel I'm losing control.  Each time I take a break, I'm never really relaxed.  I remain focused on what still hasn't been done.  What needs to be accomplished.  What I haven't gotten right.  And what I know I messed up on.  I can't take the break.

The only break, which comes from me, hyperventilating, is what sends me to cringe.  I break.  This isn't something new.  Or fascinating.  Most people reach their boiling point.  And I do the same.  I control it, to the point nobody knows.  So that I can't make them worry.  You see, I worry about other people reacting to what I'm doing.  

Perfectionist.  That's me.  Always wanting the best -- especially for others.  And when I feel pressure piling up, I hide it.  "No worries," I tell people, who ask how I'm doing.  "Everything's great," I push out of my typing, to those who send me a message to check in.  I don't like speaking on what I'm going through.  Unless it's positive.  Not that I don't think people would want to know, and help.  But, I've always found it difficult to ask for that.  To proclaim I cannot do something.  That I'm not adequate enough.  Even when I do think that, most times -- I can't say it to someone else.  

And as the time continues to change, I continue to sit.  In the same spot I was when I woke up.  I'm taking a break.  A mental break.  And one I'm too familiar with, which breaks me even more.  

It's not every day.  But most days, when I feel drained.  Yet I keep going.  But in the back of my mind, I know I want to stop.  Stop it all.  So, I pretend (to myself) I'm alright.  My self knows better, but it goes with it, anyhow.  On those days, when all I can see is taking another route -- a one way journey, I force myself to continue.  

I don't know how long I'll be able to keep it up.  But for now, I'm still trying.  And although my mind drifts back and forth, between being up and down, I remain upbeat for those I love.  Even when at times, I can't feel the same towards myself.  I'm stuck.  Wanting to get away from it all, on most days.  And feeling nothing, on others.  

I'll take this break, and then I'll get back to being focused.  I need this break, and yet when I'm on it, I'm not really.  But, I'll try and keep going.  I'll try, because I know I'm working towards something I want.  And the perfectionist side of me, won't stop until I make it.  So, I have to make it.  I have to force myself to NOT break.  

Because if I do, I'll never get to feel the real breeze.   

Just Do It . . .

You can sit inside a coffee shop -- where you're going to begin to reek of coffee beans.  You can constantly make lists -- which slowly get checked off.  Or, you can just get back to work.  Now, I'm not totally speaking of procrastination.  I'm talking about that little urge one gets when they're half focused and half perturbed at not being completely there.  I'm talking about the minute when you're working on something and then you lose your work, before hitting SAVE.  I'm discussing the moment when your deadline hits and it's already the next day.  Nike has a motto for continuance.  Right?  Well, that crap doesn't always work.  "Just do it . . ."  That only works when complete concentration is there.  It only works when you want it badly.

Getting work done, means putting in the work.  It means sucking it up, and just doing it.  When your recording a song, it means -- take after take, keep going until it's where it needs to be.  If you're working on a blog post (hey there), it means to continue writing until you hit, "publish," and you're fine with the outcome.  Although for some of us writers, you're never really all that happy with the outcome -- not entirely.  And lastly, for those of us that write larger pieces -- it's about starting, no matter how early or late, and continuing until you feel that click inside -- that part that says, YOU'VE GOT IT . . . KEEP GOING.  When you make it to that moment, that's when no time frame, no smell of coffee beans, and no abundantly insane lists make you cringe.  That's when you know you can do it.  That's when Nike makes a valid point.  That's the moment in where you can't think of anything else, but to keep writing.  And you do.  You Just Do It.

This . . . this is why I LOVE Mariska!

Watch the video below, and you'll see yet another reason why I LOVE Mariska Hargitay!

Layered

 

This is what most people think of, when they think of children:  an open space; a jungle gym; a peaceful day.  And yet it's empty.  There are no inhabitants.  Nothing but wildlife to run a muck   The way that it was originally intended to be.  A preserve for those who were here prior to the construction of pieced land.  Animals sneaking their way into the grass, flying so low, so that they can have what humans have made theirs.  Almost as if that small patch is their journey home.  Like Dorothy, just hoping to find their way back.  Back into their reality:  nature.  Untouched by human hand or machine.  Preserved, and still reserved for their rights.  To roam, jump, fly, or climb, just like any other human (minus the flying -- unless on a swing  :-p).

Leaving

Shutting down.  Running away.  Where?  I don't know.  Sometimes it's just that easy:  just to get on a bike and go.  Go anywhere.  And anywhere but here is where you want.  It can take any amount of frustration to push you towards a limit.  I've hit many limits, and at times I just wanted to quit.  But then I look into the skies, and see a few birds fly by.  And then there's that one lonesome looking bird, passionately soaring into another direction . . . That's where I want to be.  That's where I see myself.  Not following other peoples ideas as to what they think I should be doing. Or who I should be.  Not breathing in their unwanted energy.  Just going it alone.  Blissfully floating.  Immersed in my own fascination.  However bizarre -- mine at least.


I dream about escapism.  Traveling so far, no one can catch me.  Being away for so long, no one remembers me.  And yet I do want to be remembered:  for taking a chance; for letting my feelings melt away; for trying; for leaving.  Damaged thoughts, huh?  But that's what I mildly contemplate:  leaving.

 

Even when there are amazingly happy moments, I'm still not all there.  I'm thinking of another place.  Any place.  Surrounded by nothing but nature.  And maybe it sounds isolated.  Maybe anti-social.  Who cares!  That's where I'm at.  Forcing myself to snap out of it.  But hoping no one notices, so that I can feel free.  Away from it all.  Away from them all.

Out with the Old

I guess my high school reunion is going to be happening soon . . . Well, relatively soon, as in a few years.  I use to be under the impression one was to think about going to these things.  Like we were all waiting to see one another and catch up.  However, because of multiple social networking sites, there's really no need to go to one.  Granted it's a personal and face-to-face connection versus online communication -- still, hasn't one learned enough from the people they are waiting to meet up with?  Older people use to speak of how they hadn't seen their classmates for over 10+ years and how excited they were to be in the same room, again.  And that got me thinking:  Do I really want to waste my time being there?  Not that I wouldn't gain anything from attending.  I'm sure if I worked hard at trying, I could get something out of being there.  But unfortunately, there are no mysteries of reuniting with people whom you already know most things about.  Again, not that I'm saying everyone discusses EVERYTHING about themselves, and then posts that online -- but the majority of people who might attend, you've already been filled in with their life journey:  children, married, married with children, school, working, graduating, getting close to graduating, etc.  There aren't really that many other options, besides the human inevitable; ceasing to exist.

Welp, I guess that's my venting for now.  I'm going to go ahead and retreat from this blog, and get back to what I need to focus on:  Revisions and Submissions.  Oh, and hitting SEND.  I promise that in  the next blog, I'll be more forgiving . . .  :-p

Happy for Jinkx

I just had to post a video I found on YouTube, pertaining to my favorite Drag Superstar (besides RuPaul), whom just recently took the title of the newest Drag Superstar from RuPaul's Drag Race.  I have been a fan of Jinkx Monsoon's for so long, so watching these videos (I'm only including one -- go watch the others too :-p) gave me another reason to smile for her win!  Yay, Jinkx!  :-)

Almost a year has passed . . .

 

Almost a year has passed since I posted a video on any social networking site.  Not that I have stopped making music -- I have just been preoccupied.  But not to worry (listeners of mine), I still write music and perform, so be on the look out for new material within the next few weeks.  This is going to be a very productive few months, all leading up to another MAJOR journey, which I am beyond excited for.  And yes, I will post about it, at a later date.  So for now, PLEASE enjoy my music, "Revising The Days," which is what I wrote after my last June Residency in Cambridge, MA.  Geez, just hearing it again, takes me back to the emotion I felt when writing/performing it.  I hope you all enjoy. 

 

P.S.  Listen with you ears AND your heart.  :-)

 

Much Love,

 

~Kyra C.

 

 

Weeks away from another change

It's April already, and it doesn't seem to be slowing down.  Unimaginably every semester seems to speed by.  Faster than each Residency.  Weird.  This semester has gone by SO fast, and in a mere few weeks it will come to a close.  I just cannot believe I've almost made it through my third semester of Grad school.  I say "almost," just because I have one major thing left to do:  finish Act II of my Full Length play.  Well, I guess I have more than one -- since if the second act turns out better than the first, I'll be rewriting Act I.  So, yeah, I've almost made it.  But that darn countdown to fourth semester is giving me a steady push to "get er done."  I just wish this semester wasn't ending so fast.  But, you can't have it both ways: a continuation of third semester (for a few more weeks) and the beginning of my final full semester as an MFA grad student.

The weeks will soon be blending into days, and with that change, gives me a reason to blissfully smile.  In a few weeks I'll be with my buddies, again.  I'll be in an environment where I can take in literary-awesomeness at its best.  I'll be able to push myself farther than I've done in the past.  Take chances.  Interact more.  Speak.  Show what I've learned.  And learn even more.  These changes are what I'm looking forward to making.  It's the end of April, and soon it will be the end of third semester -- the beginning of a fourth semester/residency . . . This will be my moment to make it happen.  No more shying away from things.  There's not much time, and change IS coming.  Hopefully within these last few weeks,  I'll feel that accomplishment and charge inside of me. 

Unreal Connections

Have you ever met someone that you wished you could be close to?  Nothing too intimate -- just great friends?  Or better yet, have you ever become friends with someone you never in your mind imagined forming a connection with?  It's amazing how many great buddies you can make when you stop focusing on what you think you already know.  When you realize closed minded characteristics are what can cause a possibly good thing from happening.

Through my many travels, here and there -- mostly there, I've had many encounters with new faces, and by giving those people a chance, was able to form new friendships.  The strangely frightening moment of meeting someone new is when you're standing within distance of them and you feel the urge to make conversation, but have no idea as to what to say.  I mean, is there a commonality?  You know, besides you both being in the same place at the same time?

Emotional Make-Under

People wear many masks.  Some wear a mask that makes them seem in touch with reality.  Some wear ones that distances them from what surrounds them.  And there are others who wear a mask in which it's as confusing on the inside as they are viewed on the outside.  Although masks can be needed, it often can create self doubt.  Doubt as to which face is truly the real one.  Believe me, it can be strange at times trying to understand who you are.

For most of my life, I've worn a mask.  I can't tell you to which person that face became faceless.  I cannot even fathom why a particular mask was created.  It's as if I was born to recreate images -- distracting myself from what I was:  a person lost.  Now, not every inch of me has been created out of false pretense.  But there were times when I had to "fake it to make it."  Some might say it's necessary.  But when you suddenly don't know which identity is real, you begin to freak out even yourself.  Sucks!

Year after year, relationship after relationship -- mostly friendships, I find it difficult trying to decipher my real self.  I know who I want to be.  Right?  And if I know who I want to be, why not just be that person?  It's sad, really.  I've become a good actress:  a fabricated person.  I need to learn who I am.  I need to dissect my personality and see where I started to pretend.  I need to try and be someone else.  Me.  Whomever that person is.  Wherever she is, I need to find her.

I need to try.

The old mask is beginning to crack.  Even to me it's quickly shattering.  More frequently than before, I'm wanting to escape.  Wanting to get away.  Simply running and going for a walk isn't cutting it anymore.  The playlists aren't distracting enough.  Racing thoughts and banging heads aren't relieving my mind.  I need more!  More pain!  More intense feeling!  I feel that, but I keep it inside.  Internally I'm breaking, and it's becoming apparent people are starting to notice.

So, I get away.  I leave them.  I turn off my phone.  I avoid all contact.  I avoid my own contact.  I scream.  I punch.  I slap.  Nobody's around to take the brunt -- that's what I'm use to.  I would never intentionally hurt someone else.

After a while I emerge.  All smiles.  Happy thoughts?  Positive statements.  Pleasing demeanor.  All is well.  Everything's great!  My mind rattled from earlier, and yet all I feel is the sting of former frustration.  Reoccurring moments that I often long for -- as if I need them like water.  A mask of substance; making me feel whole; less lost; more normal.  But that mask is shattering.  I can't even trick my mind to feel okay.

Head banging to feel the thoughts disappear.  Everything goes.  All my thoughts are now gone.  I lie, waiting for the constant stream of colors to stop pushing through my closed eyes.  The colors circle until I slowly open those same eyes.  I don't make any marks, but the quickly hidden lumps give me the reliability I need to breathe.  It's a way to remember.

When that mask is gone, what I felt will last.  And it can't be spotted.  I'm the same as before.  I'm happy, again.  Not before -- but I am now.  I have a new mask, and this time it's being crafted more delicately -- so that no one can see the lines.  No one can tell when I'm not fully put together.

"Look Away"

Look Away, is a poem that I wrote. It was written to the one person that I have most struggled to accept and love: Myself. I have yet to come to full terms with doing this (love). Even at this moment I'm going back and forth with why I should even care to do so. It's not a cry for help, it's a confession.  At times I feel as if my feelings seem to only serve purpose when I write them out in poetic or musical form.  At least that's my thought.  

These moments of cluttered frustration and questioning often appear in my mind.  Some days they aren't as extreme as the day before.  Other days they are bitterly constant.  But, hey, it's just life . . .  My life -- which I'm learning to discuss -- by just living for today.  Each day is different, but I am still here.  Even when I don't want to be -- I am still here.  And there has to be a reason.   *So, enjoy my words.  Take them in. *


LOOK AWAY

I won't leave, in front of you - I'll wait for you to turn around.

Is this the day I say goodbye?
Is this the day I leave it all behind?
Is this the day I refuse to cry?
Is this the day I cut so deep, my arm runs dry?


Is this the last step in recovering?
Is this forcing my own self help?
Is this the only way out?
Is this my final regret?

Is it okay to go?
Is it okay to smile, knowing I'm making you sad?
Is it okay to leave this way?
Is it okay to step outside, leaving you hidden, behind the tears?

Why does my mind hate me?
Why does feeling happy hurt me?
Why does the placement of shock, not shock me?
Why does holding on, hurt?

Do I scream too loudly?
Do I forget to say I Love You?
Do I occasionally switch perceptions - feel I don't deserve happiness, yet force myself to find it?
Do I force myself to withhold my own breath - secretly hoping I'd phase out . . . Disappear?

Can you let me go?
Can you let me deal?
Can you break away and let me float off?
Can you not hate me, for FINALLY giving up?

~Kyra Renee' Clay

Cringing

It took so much not to over think my decision with picking my Thesis Mentor and Readers.  As if I could take all the credit . . . It's done.  I made a much needed choice, as much as I would have wanted to stretch the decision out.  I went ahead, thought about -- thought some more, and then submitted the list.  Officially I am paper ready for my last full semester as an MFA student.  Mentally, officially, I am nowhere near prepared.  Not that that has anything to do with my previous instructors (it doesn't), but it's all in my head.  I hope.  And on the second thought, I hope it has nothing to do with my mind, but that it's a small glitch that is creating second guessing techniques.

Coming to terms with thinking of a new Mentor is draining, yet I imagine it's worse for the Mentor deciding who to work with.  Let's just hope my staggering disbelief in myself isn't showing up in the thoughts of others.

L[ink]ed

This is part one of my newest history lesson . . . Part two will be done in a month or so. I just felt the need to incorporate more of what I love, including what makes me, me.  So, enjoy the pictures, dudes!  And FYI, yes, this is my arm (left to be precise.)