Orb

Here, I am lost in my confusion. I see a light, but I can’t get there from here. It is the light of hope, serenity. I feel its glow upon me, for a moment I am embraced. A fleeting feeling then, hurled back into confusion…

My feet begin to move, they trod carefully off my porch toward the glow. I stretch my arms, welcoming the calm. I am consumed by this feeling of hope and serenity. Confusion subsiding, I move unconsciously up the rocky path from my home, into the dark trees…

I can no longer see my aim. But I feel it, surging through me, I know it is ready for me…

Ready to envelop me to hold me close and cure me of my affliction…

I have never felt clearer of a goal, calmer and serine. Moving out of the thick trees I see it once more, overwhelmed I fall over my feet, confused once more.

I lay on the cold ground sore from my fall, staring into a dark and moonless sky. I turn my head east, once more the light meets my eyes and I surge with hope. Pulling myself from the ground I progress again, move through the rocky hills it is cumbersome, but worth every steep step.

The orb grows clearer. I see my soul, the source. It contains parts of me from lives past, the present and future. This is the beautiful glow, my own happiness. I begin to gather this light into myself, feasting on its pleasure. The happiness I had lost somewhere along the way during my journey in this existence. Hope and serenity are now part of me. What was once embracing me is part of me again, it nourishes me and sustains me.

Imprisoned

I sit imprisoned in my thoughts.

I hear the shrill laughter of those around me. Those I cannot, do not, engage as I analyze myself.

Who am I?

Ani DiFranco sings “I don’t who you were expecting, probably some bitch who does not budge”.

For years I thought I was this lyric.
For years I thought I was that bitch. Perhaps I just wanted to be her.

Perhaps I am truly a kind woman who puts on a front of bitchyness so that others cannot get close. Perhaps I am confused about who I am and who I want to be…

So you see I sit imprisoned in my own thoughts unable to engage because I would not know who to be if I did.

Steely Grey Streets

Walking through steely grey streets; slicing fog with each step she takes. Her high heels bruising the asphalt. She moves with intention. Shoulders squared ready, looking, for a fight. Lips taught, eyes cold as the wet streets she walks through.

Learning...

Meditating outside my new home I am learning everyday…

The verdant mountains teach me the life that can come from within, there is a fire in the earth that feeds this lands growth and mine. Jutting rocks from the peak show me the staying power of nature, our mother earth. Pine trees grow out of the rocks and I learn that we can grow in the harshest of conditions. I hear the river in the distance a reminder of the ebb and flow of life. Water, the life giving force. Fallen trees remind me that life on this planet is not forever I will someday decay.

But for this moment I am here in the gloriousness of nature, her beauty and knowledge cocoon me and when I break out of my cocoon I will have the wings to fly.

Am I dead to you?

I wrote this story my freshman year of college, 5 yrs ago. Please give feedback. Thank you!

Am I dead to you?

“’Ello luv.” She said walking through closed doors, the doors that she locked me behind. My hands trembled under that unforgivable touch of hate veiled to the world with love and affection. My shoulder dissolved under her hand, her eyes smiling at me through dark glasses. I could not see her love for I knew her hate I knew my frail body would cave in under it, eventually.
She came into my closed room and hovered over my drawings of crosses and blood over my poetry written on un-used toilet paper, for there were no animal byproducts here. Her voice loomed over me cutting through my thin soul, a knife could hurt me no worse now. “What don’t want to talk?” that innocent sickening voice.
I had not seen the polluted city for weeks, maybe months, I don’t know. She unlocked the steel curtains that bared my view from the outside world and the sun hit my eyes, sharp pains running through my head. She did not open these steel curtains to show me the world and give me something good, but rather to let me see what I was shut out from, where I could be.
I took a seat on my cot, and wrapped a holy blanket around my thin shoulders, beads of water forming in my sky blue eyes. I wished for rain, for God to cry for me, because I could not enjoy the sun and the green grass below my 37th story window. But before I could soak in the sun, and find strength in the beauty of the world the room developed into a dark puddle of nothing, for if it could not been seen from the outside nothing bad could be happening in it. I was again closed off from beauty.
“I will not give her my soul,” I remember thinking as she locked the steel panels on the windows again, but I didn’t know if I still had a soul either. I figured, I if can still write and draw and express myself I must have something inside my tiny existence as a human. But I suppose she heard me thinking, because she rose to her feet (I swear she had grown as she towered over me) and she spoke in her soft clean voice: “I shall have to take your pencils today, they need sharpening.” Now I would have nothing.
She walked over to the desk, a wooden crate, and stole up the pencils on the surface. Her red stiletto heels making the only music I had heard since I had been locked away. She eyed my drawings and looked at me as though I were mad. “You would draw death as well if you were locked away,” I thought. My eyes formed into minute slits and my face became a hard piece of matter. I would not let her see my pain, because I knew that is what she wanted.
She smiled at me patronizingly, her short skirt swishy as she moved closer to me. Her shoes tapping on the floor rhythmically with her perfectly timed steps. She put a hand to my head and ruffled my imperfect hair, while her flaxen mane bounced and danced. She was holding my tools for life, my pencils, but I could not let her see that I cared, for if I did I would never get them back. “Good Bye dear, I will see you tonight with dinner. I hope I don’t forget to bring back your pencils.” Her eyes penetrated mine and I could no longer look at her hypercritical soul, I began to vomit.
I don’t know if the sun was up when I awoke I don’t know how long I had been asleep, but I knew I was starving and a lone with my thoughts. I hadn’t seen her face in my dreams for once and I awoke happier than I had been for ages. I had the taste of throw up in my mouth and I didn’t have water to brush my teeth. My body was pale under my useless blanket and my scars turned purple with the cold. The sound of silence rung in my ears. I attempted to block it out, but there was nothing else to listen to. I couldn’t hear the cars in the street, or even my own knees creaking. I had given up on talking to myself because I only became bewildered and angry. I would not talk to Marla, my keeper; because I was her prisoner and she didn’t need to know anything about me! I couldn’t even remember what my voice sounded like, for I had quit using it. I went to my memories of singing every song I knew, and now I couldn’t remember how one went or the sound of my voice singing it. Then I heard the familiar sound of Marla’s heels clicking vigorously on the floor.
The door began to open I gaped at my one glimpse of the outside world; though it was only a cement hall, with “I” beams for a ceiling, much like my own cell. Her red pumps had changed this time to green, if I remember correctly. Her hair was bouncing in the usual manner and her hips swayed as she walked, the perfect sexy woman. I don’t even remember what I looked like. This time she didn’t speak; she had my pencils in one hand and a gun in the other. She laid my tools on the desk, and sat down on my cot. She was searching my face for something.
Her brown eyes met my blue ones (all I remember is the color of my eyes) and for one ever so brief moment I saw a woman. I saw a beautiful, confused, insignificant woman. Her soul was mine. I spoke for the first time. “Hello Marla,” my voice cracked from lack of use. I was like a 26 (I think) year old puppy that hadn’t grown into its bark. She gawked at my speech, for I don’t think she had ever heard it. “Your pencils are on the desk, go draw I want to watch you.” Her gun was lying to her side, but I didn’t dare take a chance, maybe I had won by speaking, maybe she would let me out if I only drew for her.
I approached the crate and picked up my tool. I began to etch out a cemetery, of Celtic Crosses, Crucifixes, and the dead flowers that relatives left on hollowed ground as they forgot their deceased loved ones. I could barely see for my heart was pumping rapidly and my eyes were watering, then I thought “Have my loved ones forgotten me?” “Am I dead to them?” These thoughts snuck in so suddenly that I could not even think of what I was drawing, and my pencil just grazed the paper having a mind of its own.
Now I am dead. As I left my earthly being I saw my drawing: two open graves, one with Marla’s name carved upon it, and a funeral, not at her grave side but at mine. Her body lay still and lifeless beside mine on the cement floor. I suppose the drawing was an omen for her to shoot and I am almost glad she did.

I'm back!

Well, it has been a very long time since I have written. I am making a promise to myself, and those who would like a deeper look into my soul, that I will write and post at least once a week. It is phsycologically purging and I enjoy sharing myself with the world. So, keep watching for new posts. They will come, I promise!

Lesson

I stare at the moon in the sunny sky, I want to share this view with you.
Holding your hand our hearts close to one another.

Sitting at work I think of you.
I want so badly just to hate you and move on.
AHHHH!
But I can’t. My heart bursts when I think the fun we had together.
When I recall of the intimacy we shared.
How I trusted you, how I wanted to trust you.

But, I know that it all happens for a reason.
There must be a point for my heart to be attached to the past.
I hope I learn this lesson soon.