Dear Loneliness,
We’ve met so many times before.
What’s mine is yours, and you can have it all.
Hey there, Angel.
I haven’t seen you around lately,
maybe it’s because I’m too scared to admit
that I’ve made plenty of mistakes.
But Lord, if you can hear me, I’m sorry.
Life has this funny way of working itself out,
or not at all.
Good Morning, Sunshine.
It’s hard to sleep when you’re shining in my eyes.
And I just want to roll over and go back to sleep until tonight.
Why should I make something of this life, when you’re better off crumbling with the walls surrounding you.
Know I’m too far gone, past lethal, I’d rather sing the song of a mistaken muse.
Pleasantries, Stranger.
I see your shadows in my dreams.
Oddly, you’re getting closer to me,
And I can’t see my breath anymore.
Again, loneliness…
I could be in a room filled with people, but all eyes are on you.
If I take one step, one foot in front of the other, I may just fall.
What’s more satisfactory; an alternative – I would rather give it my best,
swallow my pride and reflect courage.
I’ve changed my mind.
What’s mine is still yours,
But what are you going to do with all of it?
Everyone (wants to) think they are an artist.
But, true art is meant to fall apart.
It is the “and” “or” and “but”s stringing along a paragraph, written that makes no sense.
It is the tint of blue hue that lines the border of a sunset that mocks a sunrise as it bleeds orange,
The corners of undeveloped film exposed to light.
The string of pearls mixed with coiled silver that have no need to be laced by the same chain.
Mixed media splattered in disarray, leaving the bigger picture as an untold mystery.
Pricks on your finger from a sewing needle;
The dusty antiques in your mother’s basement, that you’ve been meaning to put up for auction.
A kindergartener’s fingerprints that make even the most childishly drawn tree look full with leaves.
The sheet music with stains of coffee from a night of successful orchestri.
The talent of swaying to a tune too beautiful and hushed to be spoiled.
The morbidity of your mind clouded with cataracts, distracting from the overall picture.
Freedom of body language that tells its own story.
Science behind modern inventions used while
time passes, spent correcting the “if” “will” and “want”s.
The joy it brings, and the suffering that allows one to spill their heart in a vibrant scene of unforeseen dreams,
playing trickery with the minds of the mean,
the silent beings with modesty certain – making for the art that is worth it.
The best is yet to come
When all is said and done
A promise you made
A price paid
Believe it was meant to work out this way
Continue to pray
It works out in the end
So long, sayonara old friend
In times of troubling woes, maniac episodes and overall withdrawals (that were way overdue), I have attempted to find comfort in philosophies, ideologies and constructs that I cannot simply make sense of. No matter how hard I try, the urge to let loose of my inhibitions and give into what I am currently “lacking”, or better put as, “fiending” for, has left me stranded. The island is dark, cold and lonely. However, I have been in the process of rediscovering my roots during which I have been contemplating continuous suffering. My desire to land on the “Death Star” is a continuous notion that violently bubbles and rises to the surface in the form of aggravations, aggression and overall anxieties that I am consciously well aware are there. The only way for me, at this point in time, is to witness nostalgia and allow myself to be vulnerable until the pain no longer exists.
By this, I mean, listen to any music that I can find comfort in. Whether that may be listening to a depressing tune I remember ever so well, to lyrics and remedies that I can relate to in one aspect or another. Tempting to find reason beyond the tones of violence, tempo and musical lullabies sting, but soothes in the idea that I can feel empathy for the one expressing themselves through the sorrows, melancholy or beautiful melodies and notes. It has deserted me, but also brought me to the surfaces, of my own poetic potential and rheumatics, acting as a blanket to my desires, notions and seemingly endless cycles of pain – which feel oh so pleasurable at the same time.
As I stand by as my own witness…I hold my head high, knowing I will get through this…
I personally believe, changing yourself may seem like the “right thing to do”, but you are always the person you once were – just with more experience and maturity to lead you into the light and help you see the guidance that was always there. Not to say we, as human beings, do not change…we do…but that depends on many factors that I believe cannot be fulfilled without some form of expression, whether that be art, music, comedy, social relationships, or spirituality. Some may find a safety in numbers, while others find it in religion, morals or ideals they may not fully grasp. Acceptance in all realms, regardless of the concepts, suggestions or others innovations…giving credit and gratitude where it is due (even if others may not understand)…it does not matter…as long as you can find something to hold onto in attempts to pull yourself out of the vicious cycle of misery. It may be a bit selfish, you may feel it as being selfless – to be you. Because people will keep masking themselves with facades of who they “want to be”…not who they truly are. That is the root of many anxieties – expectations, grudges and calling yourself to complete duties and partaking in commonalities that simply…are just NOT your own.
Let’s go nostalgic for a bit…it is totally worth it…
Heartbreaker, Mariah Carey (Mariah’s outfit is so back in style – crocheted crop tops, high waisted jeans, platform shoes)
Mr. Brightside, The Killers
I Won’t Say I’m In Love, Hercules(my FAVORITE Disney movie, hands down – and one of the first songs I taught myself how to sing)
White Knuckles, OK GO(awesome music video I first saw on Dogs 101, and the song is extremely catchy and quite brilliant)
King of Anything, Sara Bareilles(another song I taught myself how to sing – unfortunately relatable…an incredible music video as well)
Telephone Hour, Bye Bye Birdie(first play I ever saw with my mother…and it is hilarious too!)
She’s So High, Tal Bachman
I do not care to overwhelm…there are many more I wish to post…time will allow me to show more…(however, YouTube, unfortunately, stressfully burdens its viewers with too many ads, and an incredibly slow loading process)
Poetry and singing soothes the soul – the remedy that wastes it all is allowing your voice to stay untold…
“But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage Can seldom see through his bars of rage His wings are clipped and his feet are tied So he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings with a fearful trill Of things unknown but longed for still And his tune is heard on the distant hill for The caged bird sings of freedom.”
– Maya Angelou
You shall above all things be glad and young…
E. E. Cummings
you shall above all things be glad and young For if you’re young, whatever life you wear
It will become you; and if you are glad whatever’s living will yourself become. Girlboys may nothing more than boygirls need: i can entirely her only love
whose any mystery makes every man’s flesh put space on; and his mind take off time
that you should ever think, may god forbid and (in his mercy) your true lover spare: for that way knowledge lies, the foetal grave called progress, and negation’s dead undoom.
I’d rather learn from one bird how to sing than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
Pandabear Prowess Kitcheness 