the goal is not to become something great, but to become someone
Love has green Eyes like a forrest. Love has a smile that hides the secret of how to achieve happiness. Love has golden locks that look like they have been kissed by the sun. Love looks at the world and sees beauty in every thing, every being. Love looks at me and sees beauty, even if I do not see it myself. Love remind me of who I can be, even when it feels like the world is crumbling at the tips of my fingers. Love knows I do not love myself as I wish to do, so he loves me for the both of us. Love stays, even when everyone else leaves. Because love loves me, as much as I love love. As much as I wish to love myself.
What love looks like
This year i am not gonna Lie, to my friends, to my family, to strangers and most importantly, to myself. This year I’m gonna live life to the fullest of my abilities. This year that’s not gonna be another lie. This year I’m gonna water my roots and let the sun kiss my petals. This year I am gonna take care of myself, the way I should have the past year, the way I should have every year. This year I’m gonna grow, but I will also remember to bloom. This year is mine, and I’m sure as hell gonna make it a good one.
Christmas arrives just in time, and my heart feels full. Celebrating a birth that happened in another lifetime, somehow brings back The birth of my inner child. Decorating my body in silk as i decorated the Christmas tree as a child. For one night my sins and burdens are put to rest, and I once again become a child. One free of the dreadful knowledge of the world and adult life, one that is free of fear and pain. Once a year I get to experience being a child again, full of love, hope and dreams.
- Christmas miracle
Im tired of pretending that this life of mine, however great can be, doesn’t feel empty to the point where it feels full. Every day is the same, a few different situations, but still somewhat the same. Like a loop going full speed, or not going any speed at all. Is the glass half empty or half full, and does it really matter. After all no matter the answer, it still sums up to the same thing. It’s half.
Life has a way of draining you at the same time it fills you, like a sink and its drain, the water never rises past middle. My life is boringly good, but at the same time boringly bad. I don’t know if it makes sense, maybe it only does to those who live similar lives with similar minds.
It’s tiring pretending as if this life of mine, however great can be, doesn’t feel empty to the point where it feels full. Because emptiness takes up a lot of space, which sounds ridiculous, but that doesn’t make it any less true. I am so full of this emptiness, that I have no space left for love or joy or the slightest happiness.
It takes time to acknowledge that you aren’t who you wanted to be, nor is your life. And I don’t mean complaining that you’re bored and that you should be living your best life, thats something we say too carelessly. No I mean really acknowledging that we are not, that life is not as great as we’d hoped, and far from as great as we in our hearts know it could be, know we could be. Because to really acknowledge this, accept this, means acknowledging that we are to blame.
Life is full of opportunities and love and light, as much as it is filled with failure, pain and darkness. So why do I walk a fine line in the middle, I could easily find it, this great life, or the devastating one. No I wouldn’t want that, great perhaps, but no one voluntarily chooses devastation, or maybe they do. What do I know. Well, what do I know?
I know that this great life I dream of could happen, no, not just happen, I could make it happen. So why don’t I? Why do I stay in this limbo of empty and boring and unfulfilling. I acknowledge that I am not, that this life is not as great as it could be, and I acknowledge that I have no one but myself to blame. But to be truthful that only leaves me feeling more empty, and another question announces itself.
How do I fill the glass, and more important, how do I ensure that the glass stays full?
I was not born evil, but I was not born good either
I was simply born, a child; a clean slate
Now I have writing on my skin, writing that cannot be erased
Marked into my body as if it were ink; I am made up of words and thoughts
Ones that were never mine to begin with
The decisions I’ve made, were made by me alone
For that I take full responsibility, but to know why I made them
Is to know who I am; who I was at the begging
Choices shape us, but those choices are often based on beliefs
My beliefs bound to the words written all over me
Every name calling written on skin, engraved into my bones
Every compliment forgotten, see they don’t come quite as often
Because in this world, everything we know is cold,
Where as warmth & compassion, Is the stranger of emotions
Caught of guard, we forget to write down, all the better parts, unfamiliar sound
Because we weren’t taught to tell people how we feel
Instead we hold it in, cage our hearts, cage ourself
So i write myself of as selfish, I write myself of as stupid
So I write myself off as what they tell me I am; who they tell me I am.
I do not go looking for proof, because I have writings to back up their allegations
Writing that goes too deep, that goes too wide, writing that goes too far
I’m afraid I have run out of space, and the kind hearts have run out of ink
I Fall in love every day. I Fall in love with moments, the sound of laughter, the chirping of birds and the smell of coffee in the morning. I fall in love with the little things, the details that go unnoticed. I fall in love with Mother Nature, the earth, even with the world. Cruel as it can be, I do not forget, but I love it anyway. I just hope that one of these days, I will get to experience falling in love with myself.
I fall in love with every city I visit. I watch as the residents go about their daily routine with ease. And I wonder, if I were to live here, could I too, be as happy as the town residents appear to be?
On my return home, I come to find more happy residents, and the bitter realization strikes. That the place which I call home, can not be blamed for my lack of peace, nor for my increased sadness.
Running away to different cities, even ones as beautiful and distant as the ones I still see in dreams, will not fix me nor make me whole.
But they do bring the sweet promise, of new beginnings and endless possibilities.
I wish i didn’t feel like this. As if the whole world was against me, spinning only to watch me crumble and fall. As if the air I breathe is hot steam, from the boiling blood running through my veins. As if the day I die, is the day I will finally be at peace. But wishful thinking is just that, wishful.
So my blood will keep boiling, and the air will burn as it fills my lungs. The world will keep spinning till I crumble and fall. And it will continue to spin, long after I am gone. But by then, I Will no longer be bothered. By then, I will finally have found peace after all.
For some it is a long battle to find peace, to me that long battle is life. I find comfort in knowing that someday this will all pass, I find comfort in knowing that someday I too will pass.
I wish I didn’t live like this.
Years spent on surviving, when I should have been living
A conversation with my soul.