Tag Archives: dreams

But really…

Sometimes
when I feel so much and don’t know how to form it into thoughts,
so much I don’t know what to say,
so much I don’t know what to tell myself,
I read poetry.
I find the light and I find inspiration, I find meaning
in the passed great poets who have formed into words for me how to feel.

Bukowski wrote “We are here to laugh at the odds
and live our lives so well
that death
will tremble
to take us.”

Thanks for those words Bukowski.

May I laugh.
May death tremble.
May I tremble.
May death laugh at me.

What is your biggest fear in life?
What is it?
It’s not really an easy question to answer, is it?
We all have our cursory fears: heights, sky diving, black cats, spiders, clowns, ghosts.
Then we have our deeper fears: being mugged, raped, kidnapped, shot and murdered.
But what about those fears
that we will never say
that we never let touch our lips
that we hide so deep down they are in the bottoms of our shoes,
they are practically not even ours anymore, 
but those bottom of our shoes, never touch our lips fears are always there.
And I feel like its always going to be there. And that, that scares me.

So what is it? What is your bottom of your shoes, never touch your lips fear?

I’m not going to tell you what mine is,
because I don’t think I truly know.
Maybe one day, hopefully many many years from now
when I’m in my grave, because, no one ever pictures themselves actually dying, right?

I don’t picture myself in a terrible car crash dying of internal bleeding six years from now.
I don’t picture myself lying in a hospice bed when I’m 90, breathing out of one of those tubes stuck up my nose holding the hands of my children and my children’s children.
I don’t picture death that way – and let me be clear – death, is not what I fear. I will get to that.

But I picture death as having already died. I see myself, pale skin, closed eyes, lying in a silver coffin,
with my arms folded on top of my chest,
and God I hope that whoever dresses me for my burial
puts me in a really hot dress and heels.
And when I picture death, when I see that bright light shining around me,
because God, I hope there’s a God
because if there’s not then what’s all this trying for, god,
and when I picture death, I imagine
an opening of the curtains, a Ringling Brothers Circus, revealing of all the questions, all the decisions I ever or never made,

all the things I lost,
all the people I lost, displayed there, right in front of me.
In front of my cold dead face, in hot red dress and heels.
I imagine that is when I face my greatest fear, I didn’t have my first kiss until I was 16 years old. I was sure there was something wrong with me, but really, I don’t think there was.
I was just like all the other girls.
I didn’t have sex until I was 21. I was sure there was something wrong with me, but really, I don’t think there was.
I was just like all the other girls.
Now I’m 28 years old and I have never told a man that I love him. I’m sure there is something wrong with me, but really, I don’t think there is, I wrote this resolution to my self: start 2017 strong, start everyday strong. I’m 28 years old and I have never told a man that I love him. I’m sure there is something wrong with me, but really, I don’t think there is. I am not ashamed. I am not afraid. I am empowered inspired and strong. I have never told a man that I love him. Sometimes I am sure there is something wrong with me, but really, I am not like all the other girls. 


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I’m Writing my Novel!

I’m finally writing my book!

November is “national novel writing month” (check out NaNoWriMo they are a stellar literary nonprofit!) and I’m finally going to do it. I’m finally going to jump off the proverbial cliff, write more than just a few lines of poetry, and put down on paper this epic story that’s been living inside me for 28 years.

I’m tremendously excited and also terrified. I feel like this is it. If I can do this, if I can crank out a messy, error laden 50,000 word novel in the thirty days of November, which is my favorite month of the year, then I’ll finally have something and I can finally think of myself as a writer.

I’ve started sketching out my story/plot, which scares me and exhaust me and I’ve never done before, but I have a smile on my face the entire time because I know I’m doing what I love.

So if you see me in November, please, ask me if I’m writing. Help hold me accountable. Encourage me to keep trying, to be brave, and not to give up.

I’ll be keeping track of some big picture writing stuff each day here.

Here’s to writing, and to running blindly after your dreams.

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Hazy dreamers

Sleep walking
both through days and nights
rambling on in hazy gray dreams,
waiting to live
waiting for life to happen.
This bumper car existence,
these merry-go-round days–
as T.S. Eliot wisely asked:
“Where is the Life we have lost in living?”.

I shall tell you:
it’s lost to the dark canyons,
tossed to the city lights,
behind closed eyelids
and among empty pillow spaces.
Left in dusty libraries,
forgotten in dank alleyways,
fallen between messy pages
and between dirty fingertips.

And when you realize it’s gone,
it’s gone.
Floated to heaven or hell
and always beyond your grasp,
like dandelions blown into the invisible wind,
like secrets leaked from unknowing lips,
like sweet new kisses that linger on.

Keep on, hazy dreamers,
just waiting to live.

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