Beggars can't be choosers but when it comes to connection I can't bear to settle for surface level I want to be seen only by souls that can understand my unique style of sin Finding friends can be exhausting when you feel the need to pretend to put on a pleasing face for strangers to push through the small talk to taste the bittersweet fruit underneath It used to be so effortless falling into spaces where I belong classrooms filled with all kinds of candidates exceptional people swelling around me like the sea transformation ignited by togetherness That electric energy of engagement and laughter has been slowly phased out of my life leaving solitude and silence in it's wake curiosity curtailed by fear of rejection I shy away from all opportunities for connection
Sybil
Fearful little feet following nervously behind trembling innocence and dewey eyes my tutor in unconditional love Sleek and inky black the most primal parts of my personality personified precious mirror to my own soul A plume of dark smoke turned solid manifestation of the void gifting sweet kisses that say fear, trust, and love can coexist Plump imp of the universe my heart beating outside my body forever tethered and bound together thank you for healing all my hollow places
Rainy Season
Surrender to the seasons of your life learn to sit with whatever you find within what resides inside your childish heart let it resonate and ring through your ribcage The feeling of fully embodying each moment navigating the quicksand of resistance that binds us to what we fear most cultivating that counterintuitive current Can you learn to honor uncertainty and discomfort to keep your heart open through every storm allowing the thick, stagnant energy of ingratitude to flow through you and be released This life is about collecting lessons soul of soft clay, continuous transformation trying to capture and confine good feelings so clever in our self-inflicted suffering Forgetting that each moment adds up to make a life far from what we had intended justifying, defending, and doubling down on the things that destroy your peace Etch your true intentions on your heart trace the tender grooves daily whisper them into the air, a gentle prayer have faith that you will find your way
Unsatisfied
My heart has been heaving sighs of discontent for days and days. Everywhere I look my energy is focused on what is lacking. I project myself into other people’s positions and convince myself happiness is beyond my reach, but not theirs. Envy, sharp and bitter vines twisting through my veins, poisons the fertile soil inside my soul. These feelings find relief through reframing, realizing I already have more than I could have ever asked for.
Picturing in the palm of one hand, this illusion of life that I’m lusting after, all the promise and perfection I’m imagining there. Then in the other palm, my own precious life, the beings I love most in this world. I contemplate a bargain with the universe that could be made, to trade what I have for these things I think would bring me happiness and spare all future suffering. Oh, the stinging swell of gratitude that rises up to resist this inconceivable option! I would easily forsake the most coveted riches and situations for the life and love I already possess. What a great comfort it is to consciously consider this fact.
This simple practice is a powerful reminder of how much love I already have inside, how much happiness is already in the life before me, if only I take the time to look. When I catch myself longing for something else and lamenting the lot I’ve gotten in life, I remember the true value of my current reality when I meditate on the ridiculous notion of exchanging it for another.
Scars
I love my scars I love the raised white ridges randomly placed along my body reminding me of where I've been running my fingers over these imperfections private souvenirs from my past My favorite scar is the one you've left internal and invisible, etched upon my heart a mark that remains for only me jagged and deep, still tender to the touch from the years I've spent tearing out the stitches
The Song
My heart sings for small towns not for the crumbling, faded houses or the hollow eyes that inhabit them but for the spaces in between humanity the thick undergrowth of untouched hillsides the silence that surrounds you as you emerge at the street's abrupt end winding roads turning to dust as they weave through valleys and stitch the mountains together no turns in sight as you faithfully follow for miles to a singular destination in the distant country, past oceans made of tall grasses and grazing cattle where the open sky is unhindered by smog and skyscrapers and you can feel yourself shrinking beneath the infinity of distant stars or cradled by the buoyant brushstrokes of soft clouds in an endless canvas of blue swallowed up, dissolved, and made whole again all at once I've always found safety in the subtle symphony of places far away from people the silent prayer of bare feet against the warm earth sunlight filtered through gently rustling leaves the tender cadence of countless other lives swelling and saturating every cell of my being bowing down in reverence to this ancient rhythm Separation from source is the truest form of suffering caged inside the arrogant design of human kind cut off from the wind and light set aside to sit in sterile cells tangled up in selfish isolation eating ourselves alive No, I'd rather wade into the cool embrace the filthy, glistening grandeur of the river memorize the ever changing melody of chirping birds and tiny insects the healing buzz of their constant vibration lapping at the shores of my truest self reminding me of my part in the song
The Silence We’ve Lost
Silence is a special thing a commodity that cannot be boxed up in cardboard and set on shelves for sale Society only sees value in the shape of dollar signs so it's seen fit to fill that sacred void with noise The saddest thing is this absence is not even noticed by most it feels like good fortune to never be forced to face ourselves We pity the people of past generations that had to make due with their own minds to bear the boredom of still moments and shake hands with silence every day We've forgotten that space is necessary for new thoughts to be born for inspiration to strike us and give birth to beautiful things Silence has become unbearable feared above all else A sure sign that we desperately need to be submerged in it
Sweet Air
Winter wipes away all memory of the sweetness of summer air it stops me in my tracts when my senses are infiltrated again with the intoxicating scent of soft petals The cacophony of sensation that saturates the warmer months never fails to fill my soul with reverence and awe for our magnificent mother Inspiration seeps into every pore when the world reawakens at my doorstep the miracle of resurrection witnessed once again When all hope is nearly lost the tender blades of grass whisper "just give us one more day" I fall to my knees upon it and gratefully obey
Fresh Memory
Crystalline structures of familiar chords take me on nostalgic tours through the old forgotten caverns of my heart's youthful years Fresh citrus drops that sting you with sweetness refurbishing faded memories until I feel transported Through the violent veil of time that contorts and distorts the continuous current of energy that is me What harm is there in having a snack of the sweet, supple story stitched together in my soul To allow myself to believe the fiction that I've chosen to cherish and buried deep beneath the bedrock of my being The bittersweet bite of memory never bothers me hot tears and catching breath can still feel like home Permanent pillars of my past are supports that assure me some things will never change a perfect picture of stillness inside That will not cease to create prickles beneath my ribcage or train me to build up a tolerance to the days that trail behind When I find nothing but fear before me I can always run my fingers over the smooth shape of those experiences that are mine forever to carry A natural resource for me to drink from and subconsciously stitch together into fresh dreams of you at night to fill me again with gratitude and delicate devotion
Caterpillar
When the stress of constant struggling steals the light from my sky it's soothing to remember that despite my small share of suffering I still have so much The energy exerted to become a butterfly can be exhausting enough without the fear that form may never come at times like these it's important to consider that being a caterpillar is cool too