Adolescence Tested

I walked away.  I walked away from that day.  The day I told of my failures, and was dismissed.  The day I told of my losing value.  I walked away.  Well, I thought I did.  And yet I held onto those nights.  Those days where uncomfortable hands were "normal."  I didn't seem too scared in the moment.  Just confused.  And confused.  And not questioning what was routine for a visit.  Years of consistent images; feeling older than I was; made to know objects, and parts that were intended for married couples . . . I was confused.  Uncomfortable.  But not terrified of the routine.  I had been taught at the young age of three, not to cry, but take the pain.  To toughen up.  To deal.  I had been taught at the age of three to grow up.

*Part one

Why?

I'm rushing to feel.  Anything and everything -- wanting to know if I'm still even here.
I've felt guilty since that day, and yet I haven't told you.  I can't.
It was my fault for what happened to you.  And I can't bare to think about the pain you've endured.
And why I'm still even here.

I wish I could retrace the moment to where I messed up.  You tell me what I should know: it wasn't my carelessness that caused this.  And yet I just want to take it all back.  I would do anything to see you free from my mistake(s).  I count them all each day.

And I don't sleep much -- not with knowing what I've done, and that I can't go back and undo it.
If we could trade places, I'd be happy to not have even made it out alive.  Just for you to feel relieved from the journey you must endure.  I ask myself each day and night, as I sit alone, why am I still here?

I can't tell you any of this, because I'd hate to see your sadness show.  I don't tell you I've bottled each moment inside, and it pours over every night. So, I try and not close my eyes.

I have thought about giving up so many times.  And then I remember how I'm the rock that you need.  And that you need me because of what I did.  It's frustrating to know that I can't waste away, because I would leave you in even more pain.  But each day I'm here, I'm feeling my self slowly wasting.  If only I could disappear without causing too much of a disruption.  If only I could go away and vanish from your thoughts, your heart, and from your hurt.

I'd honestly take it all -- just to feel your freedom coming back with my leaving.
I try to shake these moments.  These times are constant.
I'll try harder.  I must convince myself why I'm still even here.  
I want to know why.

Reverie by Luchs

Struggling To Manage

I can't seem to close my eyes.  Not without feeling tears.  I only feel tears, and I don't know why.  Why at this moment, or these moments, when I'm left contemplating my existence?  I'm trying to shake it.  These eyes looking down on me -- from within.  Have you ever felt yourself being watched?  But the eyes are your own?

I can't seem to close my eyes.  Not without feeling fear.  I hold onto that fear, and I don't know why.  Why is it so familiar, this scarce plight I search for, but stop before reaching the door?  I'm trying to push past this.  I want to see the other side -- another side from stagnant emotion.

I look up, close my eyes, then take a deep breath and hold it.  I don't want to exhale, but I do.  I avoid my reflection as I stare into the rain formed pool gathering before me. I don't see myself anymore.  I melt into concrete -- into nothing.  Nothing but a puddle of lost hope.

Sensory at its best . . .

Wonderful things happen when a hiatus occurs.  Right?  Well, that quite possibly could be one way to look at it.  I mean, how else could I fathom an excuse of not being online for such a long time?  Perhaps I was trying to gather my thoughts, in an attempt to create the BEST POST EVER . . . Maybe it was because I was doing ample research for a new opportunity that just caused me to ponder . . . Whatever it has been, has indeed made the thoughts forcefully purge themselves into a new blog.  So, I guess those absent days were worth it.

It has been almost one year since my last blog post.  I've written new material.  I've even managed to get a few songs posted on my YouTube site.  And yet, it is only now that I've sat down and written a few words to my literary community.  Shocking!

As I sit at this library desktop, listening to myself play "Revising The Days"  (shamelessly promoting myself), I become intrigued at what I've put myself through -- in regards to my writing.  These past few months have been a transition, both geographically, job wise and everything that goes along with it.  But I've stayed positive through it all.  I tell myself, just what I told you all:  those absent days at what I initially LOVE, have been worth it; it will work out in the long run; I just have to persevere; I'm destined for much more than what I'm currently attached to; and that there's only so many more weeks/months until I'm right where I need to be.

Funny that that could have been my mentality post high school, undergrad or even post grad.  And yet months later from that, I sit here, thinking about my future.  Thinking of where I want.  No, NEED to be.  And how long it will take me to get there.  Patience.  That's where I stand right now.  I stand on the preparation side of things, waiting until it lines up.  And although I understand that things don't always go according to plan (I've learned from quite the experiences), I plan anyway.

So, that's what I'm doing, in order to make myself feel better about not going all out on my dreams.  About not posting enough music videos on my YouTube account.  About not posting more blogs on this site.  And about not getting to my ideal destination fast enough.  I plan.  And one day, I'll be blogging from where my plans have met up.

But until then . . . that's what's going on. 

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.

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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.
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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.

This . . . this is why I LOVE Mariska!

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