You think that you were hurting me,
but I promise I was letting you.
I stare at my lies in the face.
They have become invaluable to me;
A presence of being majestic,
Taking over my existence.
They have replaced the person that you’ve decided to spend
your life with,
becoming more important than the relationships that
I have committed to.
Who do I tell that I have fallen in love with
my own destruction?
That continuous disappointments have led me down
the path of being satisfied with self sabotage,
and the only thing that matters is that
I stop denying the fact that it has control over me.
I have amputated your arms from your shoulders
Your legs from your hips
Took away your heart from your chest
and left you with nothing but lies you couldn’t keep up with.
Every fight felt like I was mourning the loss of the greatest love of my life.
And now…I am wondering how I am going to pay for the burial.
Because we are
By a surrounding so dirty,
By people, so dirty;
My heart will break
My air will be
NEW ORLEANS, LA- HALLOWEEN, 2015
FLYING AWAY FROM SAN DIEGO
SAN DIEGO IS SO BRIGHT. THE SUN SHINES EVEN WHEN THE RAIN IS FALLING, THE PEOPLE ARE WASTING AWAY INTO SOCIAL MEDIA MADNESS. BUT, I CAN APPRECIATE THE BLESSINGS THAT ARE BEYOND THE WORLDLY MADNESS.
I PUT MY PHONE INTO MY BAG AND LOOK OUTSIDE OF MY PLANE WINDOW…TIME TO SEE BEAUTY, SEE THE UGLY, AND REMINISCE ABOUT THE POWER OF BOTH.
As we rise on the highway 10 towards hotel ste helene, I look at the superdome and feel an immediate sense of sad nostalgia. Just a few years ago there were victims of nature floating across misplaced bodies of water, anonymous in name but at one point someone’s child, parent, sibling. I close my eyes and imagine this place looking like a third war country, torn into bits and pieces with humans lying around and an entire earth of people surrounding them to offer very little assistance. Hotel Katrina and Louisiana, I come to visit you, and I can still feel the pain.
Tragedy feels like a motion picture.
I feel it hurting me, but only temporary… like a scene in a tear jerker movie.
Tomorrow I will wake as if it never happened.
As if yesterday,
I didn’t die from heartbreak.
I’ve forgotten that I had to breathe just like the rest of them. That, I had to live just not like the rest of them. Never happy, just surviving. Unaware of what is the best of me. It is Friday, 9:33 pm. 3 pills in and I am waiting for my head to start spinning, For my heart to stop racing, slow pace it’s way back to human speed
I am far from a being. Or yet maybe a being with anxiety so ritualistic that it’s like my chest has dubstep on repeat… waiting for the unknown moment anxiously. To get away from this feeling because it is destroying all things around me.
Why do we tattoo our bodies?
Is it in the name of art, or because we feel that we have to?
I think that, like love, it hurts us but we want more;
To feel the pain and let it settle enough to scar beautifully onto us
To showcase the signs of torture in us.
Our own personal warrior paint.
Then again, when I look at my tattoos, I don’t see art. I see experiences. Bad times, or good times with bad people. I let it set in, I guess in a way it’s me never letting go of her, that time, or that feeling.
What do your tattoos mean?
i have to keep reminding myself that things are better than my untrained eye can decipher.
I feel cold at night but there’s a blanket on top of me, my heart feels wary and my mind is dreary but I remind myself that just 2 months ago I was worried about any and everything that would cost money, and losing the closest person that I’d ever let next to me.
The battle to recognize my triumphs is a daily affirmation for me. I am too familiar with lonely and it makes me think of who I’ve lost recently but then the daily affirmation continues…
I continue to chat in whispers, I consciously exercise my breathing.
I’m just not for everybody.
My next move is so strategically planned that I scare myself, nothing else can go wrong or I’ll blow up like a building full of terrorists who are trying their hardest to prove something…
I am a terrorist too. My mind is full of bombs created in my own bedroom, restless nights of roaming the internet trying to research the tools needed to create my own explosive changes, I want to blow up myself into tiny pieces, come back to life with a whole new set of eyes, thoughts, and cares, that would be my prize for my martyr sacrifice. Paradise; it would be heaven…
Titles, they die.
In a bed of roses on
Top of its grave.
I’ll write this broken
Dream a letter,
Until the feeling of reminisce
Hoping that the
Thoughts, can maintain
Like saying goodbye
Being a weakness, instead of
Rest in peace,
To this love.