Into the new year…

Among all the other shifts, I could feel this one floating about my essence. Taunting, in its own subtle form, only offering enough aloofness to keep my instincts peaking. It could have been that a friend gave the plain prophecy or rather New Years resolution in disguise. He knew I knew., but to know, and breathe the actual thickness of the air where it should be light and brisk… that is the knowledge. also, the knowledge to come.

A few deep personal issues have come to a head the last week and it was expected. I felt ironic that the timing of what I spoke about months ago have taken place in my observation within such the time frame and now I am facing many things full face.

I have seen my face in the reflection in each person I have encountered and applied some form of judgment on. It is simply amazing how much the judgement I don’t actually pass on others gets absorbed by my own interpretation of who I am. I take in all these assumptions and let the direction of opinion be stewarding.

Now after have been going through some life changing moments recently, I observe that there is a new beginning. It’s esoteric but timely and is most assuredly described as cliche

the free resolution turned my faded goal of yesteryear back in toward my interrogation of self and scrutinized the very thing I keep running into. Blame. And in the process of finding happiness in the midst of darkness I keep pulling the cloak further over the progress.

Entering the new year was to represent another day. Another chance to show who I am, despite how I think I am turning into one crazy deluded woman on a mission to understand pain.

Entering the new year was to be a breath of fresh and ready filled air. Oxygenated with aspirations and inspirations.

I did not anticipate having to exit the end of the year watching what I do not have. Nor did I even come close to anticipating that to bring in the new year I’d once again be breathing the heavy air that holds my body down to the seat so that it doesn’t rudder away with the speed of which my heart beats.

But I was thankful for the company that I was blessed with. It leveled my heart just enough so I could see and have the knowledge that now I know, it is time to focus on intentional healing. Even in the pain that lingered from precious and previous days, there was a love holding my understanding or at least holding enough of me so that I felt secure enough to express my dualities of existence in the previously mentioned experiences.

Entering into the new year has provided ample opportunities to utilize the information gathered through last. It is an energy that is a risen vibration, waiting to be tapped into. Human conditions are fighting just as strong to be in charge and I am in the sense of feeling astral.

I can only hope that more of us will continue to heed the purity of instinct, deliverance or receiving the messages. Internal work. Eternal work.

So … confused?

I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t know what it is with this feeling I don’t want to let go

but I know I’m no longer healing

I can see the happiness congealing

into little pools. …

when I pass by

i see the reflection of only a fool

who keeps trying to jump over the puddle forgetting it’s a river

forcing myself to Drown,

pressing down

into a sliver of hope

waiting for it to Hold my body

and help me Float

Flow freely, I don’t wanna keep repeating these same mistakes

waiting and hoping for love to grow,

but it won’t,

how could it when I raise the stakes every day.

This is loves game to play,

bounce the heart back-and-forth between what is real

and what is my reality,

what is real to me?

I only shorten that time by the time I spend questioning

the time I spend assuring

that deception is luring and

obscuring the clarity,

the hilarity is the severity

of how disparity takes a hold of me

and I see that I can see

but I’m blind to the outcome,

trying to outrun

the inevitability that this journey is done, drug me down turned me into someone that is no longer some one’s

present and certainly not future…

it’s fear is pure.

Born out of hell for the last two years. And now I can see

how I am responsible for these

about to be tears.. .

All the hypocrisy

coming from my broken mirror.

No wonder it all looks mispieced

and no wonder my perception

is not perceived the way that I can, conceptually

this is a malfunctioning plan

if I expect to somehow reflect

these jagged edges

and expect you to understand

and make them smooth

and cut clean like hedges..

still broken and rebuilt

but preferred to stack my brokenness tidy and esthetically,

brick by brick of emotion

as to predict the pattern accordingly, unfortunately

or a misfortune for me

or perhaps it is all jumbled beautifully, but when you look you see

shattered and shredded stories

staring back at you

from your imagery of truth,

and hear from your preferred tuning

in or tuning out of the details

expressed through,

communicating empathy.

and the reply is emptily

offering empty hearts,

easily breaking apart ,

what little is left of loves art

I need…

To be told I’m loved. Even if it’s late.

To be told I’m loved. Even if it’s early.

To be told I’m loved. Even if I know it.

To be told I’m loved. Especially before I sleep.

To be told I’m loved. Especially when I am sad.

To be told I’m loved. Especially when I’m being difficult.

To be told I’m loved. Every time I’m full of doubt.

To be told I’m loved. Every time I want to run away.

To be told I’m loved. Every time I feel distant.

To be told I’m loved. Proved by desired time talking.

To be told I’m loved. Proved by asking me to be near.

To be told I’m loved. Proved by asking about my heart.

To be told I’m loved. Providing a safe space for my healing.

To be told I’m loved. Providing open ears to hear my feelings.

To be told I’m loved. Providing a vision of love without fear.

To be told I’m loved. Desire to share time and energy.

To be told I’m loved. Desire to learn more and connecting deeply.

To be told I’m loved. Desire to know and inquire my mind.

To be told I’m loved. Devotion of kindness and empathy for my pain.

To be told I’m loved. Devotion of priority to reflect affections.

To be told I’m loved. Devotion to my being, because of love, only love.

Unexplainable

in the land of coincidence this was the most generous description of happenstance. it wasn’t like it was just a casual encounter or a quick side eyed glance. it came across as poignant decision making lacking any evidence of chance.

a change was noticed and the energy fell weak. the exchange of interest softened below the peak. it became directed elsewhere and the loss was not meek. somehow fainting in persistence week by week.

an energy brewing and thickening each day creating suffocation. a knowledge among the stars shining down inappropriate provocation. and an air about it ruminating vanity, causing a personal indignation.

Tangible in the smell of something not quite right in the senses. Any attempt of clarification builds up an unnecessary display of defenses, only confirming the initial questioning of advances.

It’s a cosmic awareness of conversations employed. Communications offering disdain to the committed love joy. This Layering of perspective creating new versions of allowing a secretive ploy.

Encouragement of union and unity is on a wavering foundation. Opportunity presented daily for egoist masturbation gives a slide of hand to genuine and pure intention. castrating genuine and symbiotic connection and affection.

Gripping onto a slippery slope of ideas and projecting. Never ending the questioning with a confirmation or upfront viewing. Only hiding. Only silently replying. Only giving all into something that is mystifying.

My house is so quiet

My house is so quiet. There is no one here but me. I’m not used to this feeling.

My house is so quiet. My mind is incredibly loud. I’m trying not to be proud.

My house is so quiet. It is close to time for bed. I’m begging for a quieter head.

My house is so quiet. There is ringing in my ears. Maybe that is just the echoing of my fears.

My house is so quiet. It seems so lonely inside. Is it from me or you that I’m trying to hide?

My house is so quiet. I need no lights on to see. No one will notice I wear your shirt to sleep.

My house is so quiet. I wish I could know what is next. I pray for resolution, for the heart, what is best?

My house is so quiet. Maybe I’ll hear the voice of reason. I yearn for the truth and our warmer season.

My house is so quiet. I see that resemblance from us. The next choice needs to be trust.

Interesting scene

I can’t stop and it’s twisting up my head. It spills, stains my brain and makes my view full of lead. I see only nothingness as the target in my chest has been washed over as unimpressive, unimportant. It must be an imported goal, complete with unidentifiable instructions leaving a hole where it was intended to be whole. Gaping, kind of oozing from a wound that is nothing short of self abusing as I sit here expecting or even hoping for the perusing of such words I have put out to be read. Most likely taking risks of it being misinterpreted. Although that would be welcomed moreover than any false hope, and following paths that keep my interests broke. The trigger that pulled the gun of loves infliction now has chambered echoes of bottled indignation. Insulting the very beginning of held out foundational building. I keep building. Seeing with a blind intuition and leading myself into clear confusion. Seeing what’s not there, but knowing it is. Giving bits of fresh air but those breaths are short lived when I see the amount of time and space afforded to something stealing away, causing priorital decay, pushing the interests further away. With that, stay. Stay there in that example of complexity, in that world of feeling not quite wrong but rightly denying the subtle intensity. I see. It should be me, maybe too clearly I see. Maybe too clearly i just want to be seen, a scene hard to turn away from. And now, killing me, I play along, willingly. I want the heart, the soul, the brain to be freedom.

I don’t belong.

I don’t belong. No, not here. I don’t belong, with you my dear. I don’t belong and you have her near.

I don’t belong. No, maybe never did. I don’t belong and my feelings are hid. I don’t belong and you have her bid.

I don’t belong. No, I feel so out of place. I don’t belong and it begins to be erased. I don’t belong and you seek her space.

I don’t belong. No, can I please rewind. I don’t belong and I feel I’m falling behind. I don’t belong and she is your kind.

I don’t belong. No, my words have no value. I don’t belong and it’s your words I hang on to. I don’t belong and you play your game with her days long.

Where am I?

Where am I when I am searching inside? Can anyone still see me or is it a matter of mental seek and hide. I feel faded and not fully alive. I feel jaded like it’s difficult to contrive.

I sink deep into what I don’t want to feel and relinquish my hope. I splash about in the shallow end and desperately request a rope. My hands flail about and my effort is choked. Back to the bottom of the waters, my view comes from a fogged over scope.

In an awkward silence my thoughts begin to escape. They string together in an unnatural fray. I begin screaming inwardly for something important to say and I’m never quite sure if the words come together the right way.

Until it comes I will sit in my wonder. Until it is impressed and permeated I will mentally and verbally flounder. Will I know when it has arrived or will I hold it in front of me and ponder? Will I keep it at arms length or even a distance further and longer?

just a pretty girl.

And then I realized, I am one of those pretty girls. I saw that there was no difference between those others and myself. See at first I thought I was less than them. I thought that I was nowhere near the bar they had set. I don’t have those skills. I don’t have that body. I don’t have that status. There is no way that I could ever be that.

And then I realized that I am one of those pretty girls. I saw that there was no difference between how you see them and how you see me. See at first, I thought I was more than them. I thought that I must have set the bar higher. I have admirable skills. I have a body that you crave. I have an aura about my status. There is no way they could ever be like me.

And then  I realized that I am one of those pretty girls. I saw that perhaps there was no differentiation between the lust for those and the accessibilty to me. See at first I thought that I was chosen over them, but maybe I was just settled for. I have some more than excellent skills that make you shake, but maybe if they gave the time, youd exprience the same from them. I have a body that when your eyes are closed, you slip into as though maybe it is one of them you are thinking about. I have a status that says I want love and will take it if it seems as though maybe you want to love me, because they are taken or live too far away. There is no way that you would pass up on them because they are much more than me.

And then I realized that maybe I am just a pretty girl.

series; the mind

dangling, it has its own feet, sweeping me off into a delusionary suite. a room full of choices to which my hopes cannot compete. treading, it steps along the lines given to follow, tiptoeing softly among the path that is inevitibly hollow and hard to stand beyond the shallow end. grasping, it is losing its grounding, the directional chaos is compounding. the navigation of what direction to trust is a confounding compass.

pleasant, the satisfaction attained, when accomplishing a goal acclaimed, set out and in reach it is ascertained perhaps even easily. joyous, it is high in elation shaking hands with rejoicing conversation and communicating through proficient verbalization leaving no flaws of meaning. What is said is what is heard and the over analyzing is no longer a paralyzing part of the deciphering agony over words, I pass the test.

Dropping, a rope that hangs selflessly awaiting for the next useful demand. Swinging into the weather and pulling away from its tethered command. Offering an anchor to let away the experience of expectation with one hold in fear and the other in glorification. Gripping the idealistic approach knowing that it is just a fast paced reach of hopes reproach and slipping under the conditioning that was supposed to be a decision. Knowing that whichever way, letting go or reaching higher the result is an unwanted mess.

Playing, as if choices were really choices. Speaking as if those choices were given voices that were heard and submerged in the acts and actions of applicable life situations. Listening, yet desiring the change of station where what is absorbed through the delivery of chords doesn’t take over stimulation. Betting against the odds that it will end up in a win, fighting the urge to give away the cards that were given, and being asked to play or to pass…