gratitude

smoke fills the air

and we are alone

nothing to do

and nowhere to be

it's in these small moments

where gratitude is found

silence fills us

and words have no meaning

time stands still

and darkness obscures the light

it's in these small moments

when inner thoughts awaken

we drift away

and leave the map behind

holding hands, we dance

with hearts full of hope

it's in these small moments

when I am sure that God is real

i absorb the shock

"i'm here to kill you"
he told me in silence
words are murder and i've been shot
the bullet travels as i lay dying

i absorb the shock
you took so much
and left nothing behind
except a trail of broken promises
and punches to the gut

no one will ever know

part of me died the moment we met
it took me by surprise
how can one person
have so much power
this can't be love
but still i'd die again for it

you left behind shards
the cut grows deeper as i bleed out
grasping above to my assassin
screaming for you to stop

it's the end and the beginning again

this alarm is my prison/ this is the performance of a lifetime

when i wake up
i close my eyes
am i dead?
i ask myself quietly
im asleep on the inside

funny how a moment
can feel like forever
my heart is beating
outside of my chest
i stare from the inside out
all i see is black
as i imagine my life
but imagining will be
the death of me

tick

tock

this alarm is my prison
its time to start the day
play pretend
wake up
its almost time for my entrance
give me an oscar
this is the performance of a lifetime
but no one knows

its tucked inside my heart
the little secret only i know
im the only one on earth
what if i don't get up
what if i just fade
like nothing memorable
except maybe to a few
the lies we tell ourselves
might as will be real
no ones gonna save me

but

what

do

you

do

when

you

dont

want

to

be

saved?

i cant explain this darkness
i am possessed
i tell myself
there must be something
wrong with me
but only i can see
i revel in this pain
strength is what i need to breathe
my heart overflows
with years of broken dreams

i walk a mile
just to stand up
just to wake up
just to do it again
over and over again
until when?

i do this to myself

Tell me lies

why am i a masochist

bruised and battered

but i fucking love all of it

so what

i'm on drugs

so what

i'm fucked up

but your heart beating

gives me all i'm needing

we walked through a door

you slammed it behind us

there's nowhere to go

so we just stay put

our own world

not exactly my paradise

but it belongs to us

and we can mess it up

why not ruin our lives

just for the story

as long as we're together

nothing matters

maybe i have a pulse

but i'm dead inside

my tears are dry

give me air

this is not a drill

i am slowly dying...

someone come save me

tell me it ain't me

tell me i deserve more

tell me love does not hurt

tell me lies

i drink them up

like doctor bob say not to

i'll die on my grave

shouting my prayers

there is no god

except for you

my world stops for you

and yet i live in constant fear

deep in the dirt

but still my words reflect my soul

and i don't even care

it was you who put me here

i blame the constant sipping

no rest for the wicked

this place is a prison

and i'm fucking leaving

and youll never say your sorry

for the damage you caused me

the world belongs to you

and you took what wasnt yours

when is it enough

i have nothing left to give

but still you drink

from an empty well

it's me

your love will save me

you will kill me

i'm telling you

that it's all true

i loved you

feminism is not a dirty word.

...and those giants upon whose shoulders we stood - though diminutive in stance - assembled a collective presence which echoes through the ages.

hello, me.

everyone wants to find themselves.

unfortunately i already did,

and now i cant get rid of myself.

hello, me.

it's you.

Huggie

Life is short.

Hug long.

Marriage, and other things (Part 1/2)

it was 2006. Maybe the early spring,

near high school graduation.

the night was like most nights that year had been:

never long enough.

we were growing up together

and growing apart at the very same time.

in less than a year, we'd all be off to college.

i remember how dark the sky was.

and as i stretched back in my chair, i inhaled how twinkly the stars were.

how small i felt

and how much i liked the feeling of being insignificant.

that's when i heard him.

i was interrupted from my spiritual moment.

a shrieking: "I'm gonna marry you" in an unfamiliar voice.

i had never seen him before.

he was new to my friend group.

despite his abrupt entre into my orbit,

i allowed him to entertain me with musings about his next steps

and why ridley was a better high school than springfield

and other things about literature and how he liked his coffee.

i wanted to know it all.

and he was ready to propose.

but we let it stay there that night.

our lives intertwined throughout college,

but only as much as would be considered cordial but distant enough.

i forget what day of the week it was.

i forget what made me do it.

but around a similar time of year as we first met, early spring,

6 years later,

i kissed you.

and you kissed me back.

i am but an oxyMORON

 i

don't

mean

to

think

about

you

on

purpose.

almost dead. november 15. a reflection.

i came close to dying once.

it would have been a slow death.

it would have hurt a lot of people besides just me.

i had plans to run away from everything.

my house, my family, my life, my future.

because i felt alone, like no one wanted me anymore.

i really didn't care if i died.

i knew it was the wrong choice.

right before i planned on leaving, i called it off.

i emailed my mom and asked her for one last chance.

i told her i surrendered and i would do absolutely anything to get sober.

she gracefully gave me that last chance.

that day was today.

she and i had the most beautiful afternoon.

she read me the short stories she wrote when she was a young woman.

stories she had buried in the bottom of her green cedar hope chest.

we had lunch.

we laughed.

we talked about a few hard things, too.

and there will be more hard things.

but i will never forget how gentle she was.

it's late now.

i just walked into her room to see if she needed anything and to thank her.

she was asleep.

she looked like an angel.

i could not bare to wake her.

maybe tomorrow i will find the words.

i will find the words to thank her for saving my life.

this is fucking hard.

but whenever i have the chance to choose kindness,

to choose grace,

to choose love,

i will do so, in honor of my mom.

she is the definition of unconditional love.

i want people to remember me for being made in her likeness.

Celestial City (i did not write this)

Once upon a time

there was a society of priests who built a Celestial City

with gates secured by word-combination locks.

The priests were masters of the Word and,

within the City,

ascending levels of power and treasure

became accessible to those who could learn

the ascending intricate levels of Word Magic. 

At the very top level, the priests became gods;

and because they had nothing left to seek,

they engaged in games with which to pass the long hours of eternity.

In particular, they liked to ride their strong,

sure-footed steeds around and around the perimeter of heaven:

now jumping word hurdles, 

ow playing polo with concepts of the moon and the stars,

now reaching up to touch that pinnacle,

that splinter of Refined Understanding called Superstanding,

which was the brass ring of their merry-go-round.

In time, some of the priests-turned-gods tired of this sport,

denounced it as meaningless.

They donned the garb of pilgrims,

seekers once more,

and passed beyond the gates of the Celestial City.

In this recursive passage they acquired

the knowledge of Undoing Words.

Beyond the walls of the City lay a Deep Blue Sea.

The priests built small boats and set sail,

determined to explore the uncharted courses

and open vistas of this new terrain.

They wandered for many years in this matter,

until at last they reached a place

that was half a circumference away from the Celestial City.

From this point the City appeared as a mere shimmering illusion;

and the priests knew that they had finally reached a place Beyond the Power of Words.

They let down their anchors,

and the plumb lines of their reality,

and experienced godhood once more.

Under the Celestial City,

dying mortals cried out their rage and suffering,

battered by a steady rain of sharp hooves whose thundering,

sound-drowning path described the wheel of their misfortune.

At the bottom of the Deep Blue Sea,

drowning mortals reached silently and desperately 

or drifting anchors dangling from short chains far,

far overhead, which they thought were lifelines meant for them.

Perhaps

He told her lies and she believed them.

The illusion of his false sentiments gave her hope.

And, above all else, is that not what we all want? Something to hope and long for? Something we can't see or touch, but we can feel with the heart.

She may never know why he whispered sweet nothings in her ear, but they will echo in time.

Perhaps one day, a realization will flash across her thoughts, just as briskly he did when he entered and exited her life.

Perhaps there she will find hope in hoping.

A flash

all goodness emits from You.

You are my Light.

I love You.

A short story about a best friend.

I'd heard rumblings about her. Being that I am who I am, I didn't pay them much attention, except for the fact that I was very intrigued to meet "the very pretty new girl on the 9th floor who dressed questionably."

Growing up, and now, well into my adulthood, I have never been a jealous person. I just don't stack people against myself. When I was little, my parents always told me how smart I was, how fresh and clever, how beautiful, how interesting. If I was made fun of, they would tell me to shake it off and pay my aggressor no mind because "she probably sucks anyway." I cheated once, perhaps to prove to myself that I was smarter than I thought was. Instead of getting mad, my mom told me "Don't do that again, it's wrong. And if you do it again, just don't get caught." Instead of feeding into the comparison game, or just flat out ignoring the fact that it does indeed happen, my parents nurtured the better parts of me. My dad taught me about ancient greek mythology and what redlining was. My mom read books to me, shared her deepest and most personal stories with me and played her favorite music to enjoy with me.

All that to say, I never competed with anyone but me.

So, my curiosity peaked when I first learned about this new chick who started in my company. Mind you, I'd been there for many years and I was beloved by most if not everyone. And I loved everyone back. So, naturally, people were curious what I thought of this mystery girl who I hadn't met yet.

She might tell this story in a different order, but all of this is true.

I believe we met as ships passing in the night, or, perhaps even less glamorously, on a trip to the front desk to obtain office supplies. This female, unknown to me, HAD to be her. She was tall. Her skin was very tan and was so smooth and essentially perfect that it resembled glass. Her eyes were big and dark and bright and confused-looking.

"Hi, I'm Molly. Can I help you find something?" I asked her. She was desperately looking for letterhead. I walked her to the supply closet and her eyes got even wider, less confused and also much more at ease. She peered into the closet with what could be described as pure elation, grabbed some paper, thanked me profusely and introduced herself. "I'm Lena."

Lena. Her name was Lena. I decided then and there that I needed to know more about her. Why was everyone making such a big deal about her? We had recently brought on a lot more staff and no one gave them much mind. You might say that my innate curiosity peaked as if I was about to set off on an excursion across the great savannah to marvel at some near-extinct species.

A few days or weeks later, we ran into each other again. We were waiting for a large staff meeting to start and I saw her waiting in line for coffee. I b-lined towards her and greeted her with a big, warm smile. She seemed happy to see me, someone she had met already, and we exchanged pleasantries. That's when our friendship began.

I asked Lena to get lunch with me. She looked at me with probably the biggest grin she could possibly grin and obliged my offer.

We went to lunch later that day and we had an absolute ball. We discovered how much in common we had, that our senses of humor were basically the same and I found out what I had always known but appreciated when it was underscored before my very eyes: Looks are deceiving.

Sure, Lena was beautiful. Beyond beautiful. Many of the lesser sex like to pigeon-hole beautiful women into categories relegated to "pretty but dumb" or "hot and probably a slut." Sadly, other women do this, too. But not me. It is deeply engrained in me to recognize someone's exterior image, typically one that they have carefully crafted over time in order to gain some sense of control over their identify, while simultaneously inviting them to show me who they are inside. I believe it is one of the greatest honors to warmly and lovingly learn and accept someone for who they truly are despite appearances.

Lena showed me that very day, and every single day since, who she truly is. She is gorgeous, she is kind and she is smart as a whip. She is a wonder.

After lunch, we parted ways- her to the 9th floor and me to the 8th. I think I left early that day, because to my surprise, when I entered my office the next morning, there was a note slipped under my door.

The note was from Lena. It was hilarious and ironic, much like how I would describe her. She thanked me for inviting her to get pho and shared that it was "pho-king fantastic" and we should do it again "pho-real." If I recall correctly, she also taped a few of my favorite candies to the letter (she is one of the most sentimental and thoughtful listeners I have ever met). I nearly fell over laughing.

Then I ate the candy.

Then I set off to make her one of my best friends forever and ever, whether she wanted to be that or not (spoiler: she did).

We became fast gal pals.

Since then, we have laughed together, we have cried together, we have gone through dating and breaking up and losing jobs and quitting jobs and all of the in-between. She has met many of my other best friends and I hers. She has met my family and I hers. She is one of the people I go to when I need sound advice and I usually if not always take hers (and no, not because it's usually what I would do anyway, but more, because I trust that she loves me and knows what's best for me).

I am writing this, not so much as a love letter to one of my best friends, but to whoever is reading this as a reminder...

Do not let heresy about others influence your imagination of how someone might be.

Doing this, aside from being an incredible waste of time, limits your chances of finding out who they truly are, first-hand, from them.

Instead of gaining a dear friend, I could have at best gained another coworker, or at worst, an unwelcomed "enemy" who I would have been placed (by others) in direct, albeit artifical, competition with until one or either of us left that company, never to see each other again.

Thank you for being you, Lena. And, thank you for reminding me of this valuable lesson in adulthood, one that I have always carried with me since I was young but sometimes take for granted. My natural reaction is to get to know people beyond the exterior that others often use to cast judgment. For that, and for you, I am grateful.

Remember when

I don't remember my first memory.

HUMOR

what is humor,

if not the innate need

to make sense of

and laugh at

the absurd?

CHAOS

in order for life to thrive,
it must propel in a forward motion.

this motion is what we conceive as time.

as instances pass,
movement forces change,

sometimes violently so.

and therefore,

is not life,

in its purest form,

simply

an

act

of

C

H

A

O

S

?

Thoughts on fear, understanding and love

as humans, we naturally SEEK TO CONFIGURE.

we reject confusion and that which is abstract, as these breed FEAR.

FEAR, above all else,

is the presence of something we can not control.

inherently, fear calls on us to lack EMPATHY,
the one thread that delicately holds together our sameness.

in order to conquer fear, and, as a result, achieve HARMONY,

it is necessary to peer beyond an IMAGINARY WALL

that separates and DIVIDES US.

in so doing, we create room for a unique perspective.

that perspective is UNDERSTANDING,

or, in another word, LOVE.

with that, I ask you this:

is love real, or merely an ILLUSION we've constructed

to explain what we can not grasp?

is love simply a function

of our innate need to CATEGORIZE the abstract?

is love a figment of the human IMAGINATION,
developed over time,
to protect our hearts from the unknown?

and if these things are absolute truths,

should

LOVE

therefore

be

FEARED?