Observations from a Friend

I’ve seen people abused, misused

And told “get back in the kitchen!”

And what do we do in that condition?

Fight back or go into remission?

Fighting ourselves becomes our mission,

Cuz every human wants to fit in.

We hurt ourselves, with words and knives,

Saying “you should be fucking better,”

Prevent ourselves from leading lives,

But do you remember writing yourself a letter, …

In class, sent to the you of the future.

You knew that you’d be stronger, think smarter,

Work harder and be a leader.

And do you ask yourself each day,

“Where did I go wrong?”

Because maybe your favorite song is no longer

The one with which you identify,

but the one which with you long for.

- John Maguire

1/25

Even as we float along in our lives, whether we have a plan or not, there are always obstacles. We will swerve to try to go around them but more often than not we end up running straight into them. They are unpredictable and sometimes scary.

Relationships particularly, we think we have some control. But it’s all just an illusion. Control in a relationship is taken by the one with less insecurities. The side with the insecurities is just supposed to ignore them. They are supposedly signs of doubt and unease. But to dismiss these feeling we have is to deny the fact that we have them. They aren’t unhealthy, they are a sign of unease. But it is not our fault that we have them. For those people who have fears, for those who need to be reminded of the love and faithfulness that their mates have for them. Do not dismiss the feelings. Yes there may be times of loneliness and sadness, they may find it unreasonable and think you unstable. But you are just thinking clearly and want to feel wanted… completely understandable.

Listen to the people around you that understand. The lyrics of a scorned artist, the ballad of an unresolved poet, the blog of a lonely lover. We understand the insecurities. They happen, it’s common. But taken strength and confront your partner. Tell them your doubts. Make them understand what you want in the relationship. DO NOT HIDE. You are strong.

When I Die

People dying every day

People dying every way

People dying in their beds

People dying inside their heads

 

All I wish is when I die

I have Jesus by my side

 

No strangers by my bed

Friends and Family by my head

So I can see them as I close my eyes

And breath my last breath

My heart rate is getting slow

My children pleading “Please don’t go”

That’s when I’ll have to say

That I’m going home

To be with my husband

To dance with my father

That is where I belong

Right there among

My family when I die

A Prayer

I love the Lord, My God, My King

I pray he leads me in everything

My hate and sin, sorrow and pain

Take them away, wash them in rain

Take my body, heart and soul

My savior Jesus makes me whole

I love the Lord, my God, My King

I pray he leads me in everything

Tracks

To reflect is a leisurely opportunity that many cannot afford.

To try to change the direction of your life can seem impossible. It feels as if once you have started moving there are no other possibilities until you have reached the end of the tracks… Then you can choose a new set of rails and ride those until they have ended, or you have crashed. Some are lucky enough to realize that they are not on the tracks they wanted to be on. Some may try to jump trains as they see the things they have always wanted flying past them. Some make the jump. Others do not. Some people are pleased with the tracks they follow. Ignorant of the things they truly want. Pushing along at their sub-level lives. They are blessed with seeing the beauty of everything their life touches.

To start with a title is to define the ending. If ever I start with the end there is never a beginning. Drawings start with an idea. Or at least their supposed to. A picture is formed in the artists head of what they want to make. Then the brain sends signals to the hand to pick up the brush and begin. But to begin painting with nothing in mind is to waste the paint. The art turns to an ugly array of indistinct lines. Pointing nowhere. They form no shape. And what could have been a perfect master piece is something that will never hang on walls. Never be admired. Never be seen again.

Writers have it better. To let words flow from their mind to fingers. No endings necessary. Whatever needs to be said can be brushed forth with no after thought. Never to look back, or forward. But to always live in the perfectness of a moment that will never be had again. Not to critic. Not to plan. Following tracks until they end. When the words have left and there are no more to be found. That is when the story has ended. And a title can be put at the beginning.

And the writer may move on with new tracks. Or stop where he was dropped off. Often he cannot personally make that choice. The words decide for him.

not enough

I can’t breathe

The air has disappeared

Drowning in to everything else,

In this room

Not enough

To fill my lungs

With the cool rush of wind

Not enough

To move

Going faint

Fall to floor

In a coma

Don’t wake me

Flying in the happier places

Of dreams

My happy place

But of course

Not enough

Rushed to a nurse

Cold ice claws me from my dreams

A shiver runs down my spine

As I slowly rise off the crackling bed

I can walk, barely

Still that’s

Not enough

I have to go

Back to the place

Where the air melted

To nothing in an instant

Forcing my greedy lungs to contract

In a race to steal the wind back

To prevent the powerful, personal, pain

Of losing you

Overflow me

Pages of My Heart

I love library’s

Full of books I never knew existed

rows and rows

of endless escapes from this world

information bleeding from pages

dreams put to paper

love drawn picturesque

 

I hate library’s

the whole only two books at a time

I want to read the whole series

I can’t rest my soul on a sleepless night with a book that is at the library

I want to own the book I read on in 7th grade, and don’t remember anything from it except that it is good

and as I sit there reading through the entire book at once,

with every heart twisting plot turn,

long after the silent tears fall for the elegant death of a friend,

and as new tears fall and my heart swells,

heaving as I remember to breath

 

I realize,

I like to own my books

because they own me

they are a part of me

a fragile, leafy part

that can be ripped, dropped, torn away from me at any moment

but later that the Library taking their possessions back

 

Out of my life and back into the endless rows of variability

my heart is taken and put on a shelf

 

I ponder how many other hearts have been reached

by the precious words on those pages,

Or am I the only one whose heart floats

away in pieces?

Crazy

How deranged do you have to be

To kill, to hunt, to hurt

Another human willingly

To be declared crazy

To think animals can talk

 

When should we start worrying

When your mind is quickly disintegrating

When you talk to invisible people seriously

When you make dinner in the bathroom

Stirring noodles in the toilet

When does weird become crazy

And crazy to mad

 

When do you have the right

To call some one crazy

Who are we to judge

To cast out people

Because they think

Or love or do something different

 

Different could be good

For you, for me, for the world

We could see everything

In a new way

All we have to be

Is crazy

Pondering our hearts

So I’ve been reflecting on my relationships lately.

Here is something to ponder…
“Are you the kind of person… in which the kind of person you are looking for.. is looking for?”

http://vimeo.com/57076954

Lovely Anonymous

Clearly there is no thought brought into the process of love.

Unless it’s forced. Unless there is a problem. Unless it is not true.

Then who are we to say we do not believe. Who are we to claim that what others have is a lie. For we are thinking. And there is no thinking in love.

Love’s not calculated. Not solved for. Not coded.

To even try to understand, is equal to capturing all of the universe in a picture. For how can you envelope everything so simply?

I’m not the type of person to do this. But the anonymous part of this process I am enjoying. For my father was always paranoid of the information that is put onto the web. However much of a computer person he maybe he never trusted them. Fortunately, I do not have this paranoia. I’ve accepted it more than anything. I’ve accepted the fact that there is more information on me out there than I can even comprehend. That out of  all the connections that make up the internet there are some out there that are holding information specifically on me. I do not try to hide. But for my father’s sake I shall continue these posts anonymously.