Words: Seeing Hidden Truths
I was 15 when my mom took away all my books. It’s an odd thing to take away from a child, but for my mom it wasn’t—it was another aspect of my life she could control, taking my freedom to think, to feel, to create.
But she didn’t just take away my books: she took my boyfriend, my friends, my dad, my sister (my best friend), my ability to connect, and my future.
She isolated me.
I. had. no one.
For years, I felt nothing but numbness as the life slowly drained from my body as if I was being poisoned.
Before my mother took my books away, I would read fairy tales and romance to hide the pain and bring out the happiness I couldn’t find. I read to tread the path of non-existent worlds; to forget that I lived in a dying one.
But, when I no longer had worlds to climb, I was left to drown in the real world. Drowning in thoughts I could not navigate through because I had never done so myself. Drowning because I had never been taught how to swim. Drowning because there was no one to save me in my icy cold water world.
But, slowly, my parents stopped injecting copious amounts of poison into my fragile veins and I was able to feel the scars that lined my skin and the pain that beat in my chest.
But, it still wasn’t enough and my body was growing tired of treading the unstable rules of my parents.
Years. It took me years to touch the rough spine of a book, flip through the pages with delicate fear (but love), bask in the rustic aura of beautiful mysteries while the sun of reality warmed my skin to a glow. It took years to be able to feel whole like that again.
And it was after all those years, when I read The Memory of Sun, that I saw that the shore was only feet away. My vision had unclouded to reveal the truths of life that had remained hidden: I was alone, but I didn’t have to be lonely, I was not okay, but I could be, I was alive but I was not living, I was being abused, but I could find the strength within myself to accept and progress. With books came stories, with stories came words, with words came human emotions, with emotions came initiation for change.
So, now I hold words backed by human hands, close to my heart for they are my eyes for the world. And I hunger to explore all the truths that lie beyond my knowledge, for it gives me purpose, it gives me hope.
If it wasn’t for when at 15 my abusive mother took away my books to control me, I never would have been able to bleed poetic truths in beautiful contrast; so I am thankful for the journey that life has led me through—and I am ready for more.
Two Forces
Everybody celebrated Life. Why wouldn't they? She was fabulous. She lit up a room. She brought music, laughter, and grace to an otherwise dull and infinitely spinning spec of cosmic dust. So droll.
Life was everything. People worshipped her, fought for her, bled for her. They paid fortunes just to have more time with her, even as she laughed at the time they wasted to do so. At first, Life thought she'd give everybody the same love and attention.
But then...Life decided that was rather boring.
She wanted people to suffer for her. Surely, she was worth suffering for? Not all the people, of course. Only the ones who were less deserving of her light. Less deserving of a good Life, the best she had to offer. If they didn't earn her respect that was on them. Obviously, they hadn't worked hard enough, or tried hard enough, or pushed their little hearts she breathed into beating enough. Her graces were not for the faint or the weak. For them, they could settle for hand-me-downs or the dim edges of her shadow as she walked.
And despite her fickle nature they continued to clamor for her all the more.
Because Life was unfair.
-----
Everybody feared Death. He had no idea why. He tried so hard. Whenever there was pain or suffering he ended it. He brought peace, stillness, and seriousness to a chaotic and utterly manic sprawl of creatures who hated him for it. So unfair.
Death loved everything. People didn't see it, maybe, because they saw only the shells he left behind. They saw instead the horrors of the bodies and the corpses left in his wake, not the release of those souls from the terrors that had fallen them before he gave them grace. Death treated everyone the same, regardless of their age, their race, or their religion. It was his way.
But then...Death became the enemy.
He wanted people to understand him. Surely, they could see the careful rules he followed? He never once stepped outside the lines or boundaries, following the same patterns each time. Surely they saw, right? They knew how to escape him, or run away. Even when he felt spurned he never faulted them for trying. Yet still they blamed him - as if he had somehow chosen them out of everyone else, when he could have taken another. As if the rules he abided by weren't clear for everyone to see. As if they didn't push each other into his grasp with their actions.
And despite the fickle nature of those he tried to help he persisted all the same.
Because Death was equal.
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If you ask me, my child, which force I respect more then I must tell you: Life may be something to enjoy when it smiles upon us, yes. But Death should not be what makes us equal.
Rather, it should be what we are willing to risk to bring more equality into our daily fickle Life.
Dear God
Throughout my life I have been known to mess up, make bad decisions and disappoint you. I have hurt people and inflicted pain on others because I was heart.
Yet, you remain by my side. You continue to use me. You continue to forgive me. You continue to carry me in times I cannot even crawl. You wake me each morning.
Your love is unconditional and all I can do is hope to oneday be able to be as you.
Even though my darkest hour you see the best in me. You keep me strong and grounded.
Thank you for never leaving my side. Thank you God for changing my heart and teaching me to forgive. Thank you for blessing me even though I did not deserve it. Lastly, thank you for reminding all the good you have done in my life on the days I cannot see the light.
Metaphor Time
1) “Flirting with time”:
Not using one’s time wisely while your youth, strengths, and looks fade. While we are still young, using our time on the wrong pursuits.
“Time waits for no man.”
Popular Tom Petty Song “Flirting with time.”
2) “Beating a dead horse”:
Idiom that means a particular effort is a waste of time will not cause it to do any useful cause.
“You’re just spinning your wheels.”
3) “Just us chickens”:
Fable involving a chicken thief hiding in the henhouse. Farmer yells out, “Who is that making all that noise in the henhouse?” Sarcastic reply to the farmer, “Just us chickens!”
Otherwise, caught red-handed, “not a good time.”
Louis Jordan Song in the 40s, “Just us chickens.”
4) “Tip of the iceberg”
Cliché: Meaning: only the most visible part of a much bigger whole.
Idiom: Basically means the small part of a much larger situation or problem that remains hidden.
Metaphor, that all we can see is the tip of the iceberg, and that there is a depth beyond depth below it
“Not the whole enchilada.”
“More to time than meets the eye.”
5) “Once in a blue moon”
This poetic phrase refers to something extremely rare in occurrence.
“Timing is everything.” And is, “Almost as rare as chicken lips.”
Beyond What We Can See
As I watch my feet slowly turn to shadows,
And dissolve into the vastly stretching void of darkness,
I can feel chills racing up and down my spine.
Another breath of the frosted wind sweeps over me.
I look up to the sky, and see the moon smiling back ,affectionately
Somehow it seems to whisper to me
“You are not alone.”
I smile back at the moon,
But now I wonder “What lies beyond my new found friend?”
I gaze up at the stars,
That have been sprinkled across the sky like silver glitter;
Scattered across the ever stretching abyss,
Like snowflakes on a velvet blanket.
Somehow they seem to whisper to me
“You are not alone.”
I smile back at the stars,
But now I wonder, “What lies beyond the stars?”
Somewhere far in the distance,
Beyond what my eyes can even perceive
There are venturesome comets,
and wildly swirling galaxies, still yet to be explored.
There are mystifying places that man has never even seen.
There must be marvelous baffling puzzles somewhere far in the distance,
Beyond what my eyes can even perceive.
As I turn back, I thank my God for stretching forth the heavens.
They may never be explored,
but they will also never be forgotten.
God alone knows the secrets that lie
Beyond what we can see.
I Think There’s a Metaphor Here
The sky is nothing more than a stormy gray.
Pale gray clouds cover every inch of visible sky, high above the crooked and broken trees reaching up towards it.
The barest purple tint can be noticed by the observing eye, but no one looks up for more than a second. No one notices anything more than a storm gray.
White flakes gleefully drift downwards, a fluffy dust on shovelled sidewalks, and a blanket on the coated ground. All coming from the unnoticed sky, doing so much to gather attention.
No one ever looks up anymore, for but the barest second. No one notices the purple glow or the flawless sheet.
No one notices that the sky is more than a stormy gray. Not even I.
online
i read sob stories on the internet
wishing i could reach out and help
but i am stuck in my life of privelege
lamenting over things i cannot change
lamenting over people i cannot save
i want to help people,
but i'm trapped in my naive body,
locked in a room of inexperience
i keep trying to give advice
but i really need someone to give me advice
because i don't know who i am
or what i'm doing.
i try to help people,
a misguided therapist
speaking through personal experience
but my experience is limited
and i don't know how to help.
how can i offer advice when i can't follow it?
what right do i have to help people
when i can't even help myself.
if i could be there,
without risk of disease,
i would reach out,
i would hug,
i would protect.
but there's only so much you can do through a screen.
i read sob stories on the internet
i wish i could save people from their own hell
but i am just another username
on another screen
waiting for someone
to reach out to me
the way i want to reach out to them.
high five
school is a prision
a place where i am somehow not good at the things i have always been good at.
red pen is the law
and my tears are the handcuffs.
self hatred in my veins,
so deep it makes the mariana trench look like a kiddie pool.
i’d jump,
i want to jump,
sink down into the ocean and become just another fish in the bunch.
but isn’t that who i am already?
just another fish,
pushed around by the sharks.
and naturally they don’t care,
nobody cares,
nobody sees the way i’m floundering.
