Tell me that you love me
As we listen to the morning birds sing,
Creating a harmonic melody
Rather than trying to be louder than one another.
Hold my hand quietly
As we stroll through the wood
Filled with living green coexisting in peace
Rather than growing over each other.
Envelope me in your arms
As we gaze upon the ripples of a pond
Each becoming one with another
Rather than pushing each other away.
Kiss my lips softly
As our hearts sing in harmony
As our minds live together peacefully
And as we become one.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
A Visit From My Muse
I was sitting alone in my desk chair,
My thought far from my body
When suddenly,
I was startled by the appearance of my muse.
I first noticed her attire,
Splashed with colors fighting for attention.
Her ornate jewels glittered in the light
That shone only upon her,
And it was not until my eyes had their fill
That I was able to see her face.
My eyes found her own large, beautiful ones
That seemed to shimmer as though
Anything they looked upon would
Take on a similar quality.
Next I saw her mouth, slightly oversized,
As if anything she spoke of would entertain.
Her complexion was clear,
Nearly translucent,
And I wondered if I looked long enough
If I would be able to see right through her.
“My dear,” her voice broke my stunned silence;
She was nearly singing, it seemed,
High and sweet, though never tinny.
“Why would you refuse me?”
Curiosity and hurt filled her song.
“What do you mean?”
I questioned of the small, light being,
Confused at her meaning.
“I offer you topics from the world I have seen
That you have not,
And yet,
You refuse me.”
Though she was not larger than
The palm of my hand,
Authority exuded from her,
And I felt obligated to answer.
Though I was confused by her question,
I knew from whence it came,
Just as when I had first seen her
I had known who she was.
“I don’t know,” I answered,
Knowing instantly
This was unacceptable.
Her stare bore into me.
I cleared my throat,
Fiddled with my hands,
And glanced up at her.
Still, silence.
“Perhaps,” I offered,
“I am looking for something more.”
A shrill, deafening sound shattered the air between us
As she shrieked,
“More?!”
Her translucent skin quickly took on the hue of a rose
As she filled with rage.
After a moment of trying to melt me with her gaze,
She said, “What more could you want?”
I shifted uncomfortably.
“Do I not give you enough?”
“Well, you give me plenty, really, you do,
It’s just—“
“It’s just that you want more. Right.”
She crossed her tiny little arms.
“You can’t even name what it is you want.
I will tell you what’s wrong here:
I gave you an idea that you could not yet handle.
I thought you could.
I believed you would keep it in your mind
And allow it to blossom,
Not dig it up at the sign of the first blooming bud
And try to put it with your collection.
Some things take time!
And you say you want something more.
You can’t handle anything more.
Imagine if I gave you more than
The smallest of gems now,
While you’re in this state.
It would go unused and disappear
And neither one of us would ever get it back.
What a waste.”
Tears of frustration glistened in her eyes now
And my heart ached.
At this point,
I simply watched her
As I began to understand
The hurt she was feeling.
I had not loved her the right way.
“Dear Muse,” I began.
“I’m sorry I have done this to you.
I should never ignore a gift from you.
And I should give you back a beautiful reflection
Of what you have given me
And be thankful.
I am eager and mortal,
Unlike you.
Forgive me,
If you can.”
She sat thoughtfully a moment
Before making eye-contact with me once again,
Her gorgeous orbs containing every color
Absorbed me.
“Just please,
Don’t let me die.”
And with the last word,
The light that had shone on her all along
Faded until she and it were both
Gone.
Looking down at my desk where she had been,
I noticed a piece of crystal,
Filled with flecks of gold
And the colors of my muse’s eyes.
Holding this gift close to my chest,
I picked up my pen
And wrote.
My thought far from my body
When suddenly,
I was startled by the appearance of my muse.
I first noticed her attire,
Splashed with colors fighting for attention.
Her ornate jewels glittered in the light
That shone only upon her,
And it was not until my eyes had their fill
That I was able to see her face.
My eyes found her own large, beautiful ones
That seemed to shimmer as though
Anything they looked upon would
Take on a similar quality.
Next I saw her mouth, slightly oversized,
As if anything she spoke of would entertain.
Her complexion was clear,
Nearly translucent,
And I wondered if I looked long enough
If I would be able to see right through her.
“My dear,” her voice broke my stunned silence;
She was nearly singing, it seemed,
High and sweet, though never tinny.
“Why would you refuse me?”
Curiosity and hurt filled her song.
“What do you mean?”
I questioned of the small, light being,
Confused at her meaning.
“I offer you topics from the world I have seen
That you have not,
And yet,
You refuse me.”
Though she was not larger than
The palm of my hand,
Authority exuded from her,
And I felt obligated to answer.
Though I was confused by her question,
I knew from whence it came,
Just as when I had first seen her
I had known who she was.
“I don’t know,” I answered,
Knowing instantly
This was unacceptable.
Her stare bore into me.
I cleared my throat,
Fiddled with my hands,
And glanced up at her.
Still, silence.
“Perhaps,” I offered,
“I am looking for something more.”
A shrill, deafening sound shattered the air between us
As she shrieked,
“More?!”
Her translucent skin quickly took on the hue of a rose
As she filled with rage.
After a moment of trying to melt me with her gaze,
She said, “What more could you want?”
I shifted uncomfortably.
“Do I not give you enough?”
“Well, you give me plenty, really, you do,
It’s just—“
“It’s just that you want more. Right.”
She crossed her tiny little arms.
“You can’t even name what it is you want.
I will tell you what’s wrong here:
I gave you an idea that you could not yet handle.
I thought you could.
I believed you would keep it in your mind
And allow it to blossom,
Not dig it up at the sign of the first blooming bud
And try to put it with your collection.
Some things take time!
And you say you want something more.
You can’t handle anything more.
Imagine if I gave you more than
The smallest of gems now,
While you’re in this state.
It would go unused and disappear
And neither one of us would ever get it back.
What a waste.”
Tears of frustration glistened in her eyes now
And my heart ached.
At this point,
I simply watched her
As I began to understand
The hurt she was feeling.
I had not loved her the right way.
“Dear Muse,” I began.
“I’m sorry I have done this to you.
I should never ignore a gift from you.
And I should give you back a beautiful reflection
Of what you have given me
And be thankful.
I am eager and mortal,
Unlike you.
Forgive me,
If you can.”
She sat thoughtfully a moment
Before making eye-contact with me once again,
Her gorgeous orbs containing every color
Absorbed me.
“Just please,
Don’t let me die.”
And with the last word,
The light that had shone on her all along
Faded until she and it were both
Gone.
Looking down at my desk where she had been,
I noticed a piece of crystal,
Filled with flecks of gold
And the colors of my muse’s eyes.
Holding this gift close to my chest,
I picked up my pen
And wrote.
Monday, January 16, 2012
My Magic Mind
When I was a child, my mind made the world magical. I'm not saying that the world was a magical place through my young and innocent eyes. In fact, the world proved itself to be harsh and unloving to me every time I started to think it might not be so bad. But my mind was my source of magic. It told me to believe in anything that made me feel happy. It knew that I could not make the terrible things happening go away, so it made the world more carefree whenever it could.
My mind taught me to fly. When no one else was around to see me or take my magic away from me, I floated, lifted by nothing more than the air and my endless belief. I never left the boundaries of my room, or even ventured further from the ground than I would be okay with falling, but somehow, my mind allowed me to break the basic laws of physics. And I knew this. I was grateful for the opportunity to do it, for in those moments I was not weighed down by the drugs and the alcohol and the sex and the impossibility of depending on adults. I was not even weighed down by the clothes on my body or my all-to-often heavy heart. I was just a part of the air. I became the molecules of oxygen and hydrogen and nitrogen and lied among the peaceful vales with them. While they shared their being and their space with me, I shared my senses with them so that they could know what it is like to be not within a living organism as they so often are, but to be one. I cherished my mind for this magic. I knew I could only experience these moments when there was no chance of being seen by another, for one can almost be certain they would not understand my idea of tranquility.
When I could not fly free of my thoughts, accompanied only by my mind and the air, I sought out the sensation of doing so and enjoyed those moments also. They were much shorter and more exhilarating, as I had to actively hunt for them. I found these feelings in many places. Sometimes, when riding my bicycle down a large hill, for just a moment I would close my eyes and feel the air that I was not one with rush past me, as it tried to stay in place, as it so likes to do. During the few opportunities I received to jump on a trampoline, for a few seconds while suspended in the air, my heart beating fast from my search, I would find the part of a second at the end of my upward momentum and just before the beginning of the downward nudge of gravity.
Both of these findings only allowed me to feel a small portion of the lightness I felt when I was only depending on the magic of my mind, which I have learned is the only thing I will always have with me. With a mind like mine, one cannot even fear senility, for perhaps it will make me just weightless enough to become one with the air again.
My mind taught me to fly. When no one else was around to see me or take my magic away from me, I floated, lifted by nothing more than the air and my endless belief. I never left the boundaries of my room, or even ventured further from the ground than I would be okay with falling, but somehow, my mind allowed me to break the basic laws of physics. And I knew this. I was grateful for the opportunity to do it, for in those moments I was not weighed down by the drugs and the alcohol and the sex and the impossibility of depending on adults. I was not even weighed down by the clothes on my body or my all-to-often heavy heart. I was just a part of the air. I became the molecules of oxygen and hydrogen and nitrogen and lied among the peaceful vales with them. While they shared their being and their space with me, I shared my senses with them so that they could know what it is like to be not within a living organism as they so often are, but to be one. I cherished my mind for this magic. I knew I could only experience these moments when there was no chance of being seen by another, for one can almost be certain they would not understand my idea of tranquility.
When I could not fly free of my thoughts, accompanied only by my mind and the air, I sought out the sensation of doing so and enjoyed those moments also. They were much shorter and more exhilarating, as I had to actively hunt for them. I found these feelings in many places. Sometimes, when riding my bicycle down a large hill, for just a moment I would close my eyes and feel the air that I was not one with rush past me, as it tried to stay in place, as it so likes to do. During the few opportunities I received to jump on a trampoline, for a few seconds while suspended in the air, my heart beating fast from my search, I would find the part of a second at the end of my upward momentum and just before the beginning of the downward nudge of gravity.
Both of these findings only allowed me to feel a small portion of the lightness I felt when I was only depending on the magic of my mind, which I have learned is the only thing I will always have with me. With a mind like mine, one cannot even fear senility, for perhaps it will make me just weightless enough to become one with the air again.
Monday, January 2, 2012
Sunday, December 25, 2011
A Christmas Toast
The jingle of a bell,
A fire-side Christmas tale,
And a cup filled with warmth and love;
This is how I imagine this time of year
But then I remember,
That it is every other day,
Not troubled with tradition,
That I enjoy the most.
So if I were to make a Christmas toast,
It would be to the days between
The 26th and the 24th of December,
For those are the days
I love to remember.
A fire-side Christmas tale,
And a cup filled with warmth and love;
This is how I imagine this time of year
But then I remember,
That it is every other day,
Not troubled with tradition,
That I enjoy the most.
So if I were to make a Christmas toast,
It would be to the days between
The 26th and the 24th of December,
For those are the days
I love to remember.
Completing the Cycle
Through a teardrop
One sees the world
Upside down -
The sadness inside
Makes life a blur;
It can hide happy thoughts,
And twist the mind in knots
It can’t find its way out of.
Neither with eyes open nor closed
Can one see what lies ahead.
But imagine it instead
As a raindrop
Sent from a cloud
To complete the Cycle
Of ups and downs –
Essential to sustaining life.
Without its occasional presence
One can not be,
Nor see as clearly
The bright colors of others.
One sees the world
Upside down -
The sadness inside
Makes life a blur;
It can hide happy thoughts,
And twist the mind in knots
It can’t find its way out of.
Neither with eyes open nor closed
Can one see what lies ahead.
But imagine it instead
As a raindrop
Sent from a cloud
To complete the Cycle
Of ups and downs –
Essential to sustaining life.
Without its occasional presence
One can not be,
Nor see as clearly
The bright colors of others.
Christmas Day
Christmas is a time for giving and receiving, loving and being loved, laughing and crying – oh, maybe that last part is just me. This year, I have had my ups and downs with Christmas Day. I was more emotional than I can remember being in a while. There are a number of reasons this may be true. For one, I spent more time alone this year than I ever have on Christmas Day. I didn’t realize it bothered me until I saw my parents getting ready to leave to go to a family friend’s house for dinner and my eyes welled up with tears. I was also upset, because I was thinking about how they are leaving tomorrow to go to Florida with another part of my family. I chose long ago not to go, because I wanted time to see my other friends. I didn’t think about the fact that this means I will only get to see my parents a total of about five days over Christmas break. Tonight, I was too sick to go with them and be merry, and I hate when sick people attend events and get those around them ill also. So I stayed home.
Apparently, Kaylee, my mom’s Yorkie, also didn’t like being left alone, so she stayed with me in my bed for the five hours my parents were gone. I didn’t want to be needy and ask my parents to cut their visit short, so I tried to keep myself entertained with various Nook apps and by catching up on TV shows I had missed. I already felt guilty this Christmas because I didn’t make enough time to be my mom enough presents. She is so sweet to me; all throughout the year, when she sees something she thinks I will like, she buys it for me and saves it for Christmas. I, of course, wait until November before I even begin thinking about what to buy her and everyone else. I ended up getting her a fairly nice pair of earrings with the intention of finding something else for her later, but by the time I look for something (close to last minute), I can’t find a single thing that is worth getting for her. I told her before Christmas that I want to buy her something else after Christmas, but it’s still not the same as her being able to open it and be surprised. My gifts are the only ones that surprise her, since she buys the gifts that Dad “gives” her.
After we had all opened presents tonight, I sat there crying once again. My overuse of tissues was masked by my terrible cold, fortunately, so no one knew. One trick I have learned is if you’re about to cry and tears are just about to stream down your face, take a drink of whatever drink you have near you. Sip it slowly and it calms the wave. If you don’t have a drink, well, then just hide your face and let if flow, or walk away; I’m talking about being near the point of no return here. So there I was, sitting in my chair surrounded by thoughtful presents from my mom, crying for the second time today. And not the kind that makes you feel better, the kind that you suppress and just wait for it to sneak up on you quickly later for not letting it out when it wanted to get out. I always suppress my tears if I can help it, which I usually can, because for some reason I absolutely hate crying. Which I know, basically means, I just hate showing any kind of weakness. I also hate being sick for the same reason. I will never admit to being bad at anything, it’s always just that I’m not trying my hardest. It’s not the best way to go about things, I assure you.
So now I’m at this point, getting my feelings out on paper, hoping they won’t stream down my pace at an embarrassing rate. I’m sorry for the lack of Christmas cheer. Christmas Eve was wonderful and I’m sure tomorrow will be, too, along with New Year’s Eve and Day. Everybody’s allowed to have one sad day, right?
Apparently, Kaylee, my mom’s Yorkie, also didn’t like being left alone, so she stayed with me in my bed for the five hours my parents were gone. I didn’t want to be needy and ask my parents to cut their visit short, so I tried to keep myself entertained with various Nook apps and by catching up on TV shows I had missed. I already felt guilty this Christmas because I didn’t make enough time to be my mom enough presents. She is so sweet to me; all throughout the year, when she sees something she thinks I will like, she buys it for me and saves it for Christmas. I, of course, wait until November before I even begin thinking about what to buy her and everyone else. I ended up getting her a fairly nice pair of earrings with the intention of finding something else for her later, but by the time I look for something (close to last minute), I can’t find a single thing that is worth getting for her. I told her before Christmas that I want to buy her something else after Christmas, but it’s still not the same as her being able to open it and be surprised. My gifts are the only ones that surprise her, since she buys the gifts that Dad “gives” her.
After we had all opened presents tonight, I sat there crying once again. My overuse of tissues was masked by my terrible cold, fortunately, so no one knew. One trick I have learned is if you’re about to cry and tears are just about to stream down your face, take a drink of whatever drink you have near you. Sip it slowly and it calms the wave. If you don’t have a drink, well, then just hide your face and let if flow, or walk away; I’m talking about being near the point of no return here. So there I was, sitting in my chair surrounded by thoughtful presents from my mom, crying for the second time today. And not the kind that makes you feel better, the kind that you suppress and just wait for it to sneak up on you quickly later for not letting it out when it wanted to get out. I always suppress my tears if I can help it, which I usually can, because for some reason I absolutely hate crying. Which I know, basically means, I just hate showing any kind of weakness. I also hate being sick for the same reason. I will never admit to being bad at anything, it’s always just that I’m not trying my hardest. It’s not the best way to go about things, I assure you.
So now I’m at this point, getting my feelings out on paper, hoping they won’t stream down my pace at an embarrassing rate. I’m sorry for the lack of Christmas cheer. Christmas Eve was wonderful and I’m sure tomorrow will be, too, along with New Year’s Eve and Day. Everybody’s allowed to have one sad day, right?
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