Tag Archives: life

Poetry

I.
My soul,
my well-being,
should always come first.

II.
It can’t be my fault
if I didn’t do anything wrong. And I AM
good enough. I am better
than good enough for myself.
I am strong.
I am the perfect person for
my own story.

III.
The carcasses of Christmas trees.
The cold caress of falling snow.

IV.
I am tired of being strong,
not that I want to be weak.
I just want to be.

V.
For once I want to be weak
for once I want to be vulnerable
for once I want to just
feel it all
feel the universe
feel without being ashamed:
I want to be strong in my vulnerability.

VI.
Some days are a struggle. Some days
you don’t want to be strong, don’t want
to carry that weight on your shoulders,
some days you want to just let it all fall.
Some days,
you don’t want to force a smile,
don’t want to wear eyeliner
and pink lipstick
and rouge on your cheeks,
don’t want to pretend that everything is okay.
Some days are for pain,
for letting yourself feel hurt,
for crying.
These days make the golden days all that much brighter.
Some days,
life is messy
and that is okay.

VII.
I’m tired of
pretending everything is okay,
of being the perfect woman – or
trying – let me wear my bitch face,
let me wear my regular, contorted,
angry, disconcerted face
without you labeling it,
let me be mad and angry
like everyone deserves to be,
I’m tired of looking fabulous,
I’m tired of trying too damn hard,
I want to be allowed to
not look pretty all the time – or trying to –
I want to be ugly,
to be messy,
to be vulnerable,
I want to be able to lie on the floor
shivering and shuddering
as my tears pool by the sides of my face,
whimpering, screaming, punching walls,
and not be judged
because you have felt that way too.

VIII.
What am I doing with my life?

IX.
I am living.

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January

WRITE EVERY DAMN DAY.
Write with whatever you have wherever you are.
Write from your heart. Write from your anxiety.
Write from your desires.
You don’t have to write well. Or good.
To hell with spelling punctuation fancy handwriting.
Write because it makes you happy
and you damn well deserve to be happy. Everyone deserves to be happy.
Write until your hands ache. Write
the truth.
Write with bravery
courage.
Write lies.
Write the past the present what you want to come.
Write to stay alive.
Write for yourself.
Write because it’s your passion. Write because
YOU ARE A WRITER.
Write because it’s all you want to do, all you want to be.
All you are.
Write.

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Truer Words

Stay golden: be the golden threads that hold
this unravelling world together. Be bright,
don’t let the weary fade you. Stay young, remember
what it was like to be carefree, to play in the mud,
to stomp in the rain, to have first kisses.
Stay true, surround yourself with those who
you feel comfortable being your true self around.
Let the gold things stay, and linger.

Be the light: be that great force that carries on
strong through the night. Be inspirational.
Let lightning stream from your fingertips, come out
your eyelashes. Be the lantern that glows
when the campfire goes out. Brighten everything.
Be the continual light for the world’s
rolled up American Spirit.

Be the crazy: feel discontened, feel abnormal,
feel everything, feel overwhelmed, feel anxiety,
feel belonging, cherish being the belonged,
feel hungry, feel passion, feel concerned,
feel curious, feel wanting more.

I am always chasing sunsets, but it is okay,
they are my sunsets. They were made for me.

I am alone, but it is okay, it is my alone.

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Meaning

Let there be meaning in every step you take –
and take every step with grace.
Let there be meaning in the star-lined sky
that tells you how significant you are
in your universal insignificance.
Let there be meaning in farewell embraces,
in wishing you well.
Let there be meaning in strange but smiling faces,
in humble, kind conversations
and in hearing the remembrances of you.
Let there be meaning in the ambiguous you.

Let there be meaning at the base of mountains,
in the scaffolding of the trees.
Let there be meaning in forgiveness,
in golden sunlight, in tears.
Let there be meaning in every person you touch –
and let every touch you make be heartfelt and real.
Let there be meaning in your whiskers,
in your wrinkles, in your fear.
Let there be meaning when you stand on rocks,
and meaning when you stand in the sea.
Let your meaning ebb and flow, but
always let your meaning Be.

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Kerouac’s The Dharma Bums

I nudged myself closer to the ledge and closed my eyes and thought “Oh what a life this is, why do we have to be born in the first place, and only so we can have our poor gentle flesh laid out to such impossible horrors as huge mountains and rock and empty space.”

Jack Kerouac, The Dharma Bums, 1958

Oh, what a life this is, indeed. 

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Birth in Existential Anxiety

Maybe I was born with existentialism in my blood stream
maybe I was born to die,
we were all born to die.
I have existential crises as I grocery
shop. I have existential crises with Harris Teeter grocery bags
in my hands
walking home with bread and milk.
I have existential crises as I walk by sleeping bums on wet
park benches as I stare out across
a bleak city
with bleak desires and more concern
for politics and war than meaning and life,
is this all there is. Is there meaning
in everything you do. Is this all
there will ever be
are you happy with your choices
your eyelashes
your patterns of sleep.
Quiet the world is.
Are the sounds of the city
the speeding rubber the blinking lights
is it skeletons shaking their brittle bones
are these dinosaur cranes meant to be our gateway
to heaven
are these sandy underground parties meant to be our hallway
to hell.
So uneasy.
So unsettled.
Was I born to become anything.
Does my cat have more meaning then me.
Does talking to my cat make me crazy,
Cassady where is the meaning in your life,
are you happy, am I crazy (yes) (aren’t we all),
should I ramble on to a therapist because I have no friends,
anxiety makes your internal emotions
the ones that reside in your organs
implode.
Should I move to the sea.
What if I was the sea
would I still ebb and flow, would I have meaning.
Was I born to become anything.

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Your heart

Upside down
like a fried egg with pepper and salt sprinkled on top,
or is it right side up:
that’s life,
always a Jack-in-the-box,
a terrifying, never satisfying surprise.
What is life, what does it all mean?
Not everything is delicate,
lace-lined and pretty,
covered in silver sparkling nail polish that shines.
Not everything is graceful.
There’s disaster, death, blood, torture,
pain, redemption, justification, forgiveness,
and messy freedom.
Not everything is true.
There are lies and broken promises,
persuasion and dissuasion,
dirty preludes, grunge, and empty soft-muttered words.
We go through life not really living,
as if life is the inside of a submarine with a slow leak
and the crew doesn’t even know.
Not everything is gentle.
When your heart has been broken once
it never fully heals,
and late at night
when everyone else has been asleep for hours
the quiet demons creep back in
and bludgeon the bruised walls
leaving you wounded
knocking you down
where your entire insides ache.
When it’s dark it’s so hard to look for the light.
But even feeling emptiness – feeling pain –
feeling alone and sad and angry and frustrated –
it’s all better than nothing at all
because it means you still have a heart.

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The ballet

Stuck in a downward circle like
a dancing, dying cockroach or
a spoon stuck in a garbage disposal.
Stuck in this excitement and hip
hopping around all the living that
has yet to happen. Spend the next
day slugging back black Costco brand
coffee, batting eyes, resting my
face on greasy hands and
waiting to be more awake.
So I can live.

If I had my own business
cards they would read Professional
Sleepwalker, they would be black
with white ink
and I would hand them out to
all the other zombies
and ghouls that walk
with me wherever I go
among the mist
among the tall thin trees
where we play hide and seek
with our souls.

Why do cockroaches run
from the light
why can’t I stop thinking about you
why won’t we get an exterminator
to make it all stop.
I need a soul exterminator to make
all the bad things stop.
Could I make a cockroach
ballet and dress them all
up in ivory and pink dresses
and make them dance,
charge admission,
and be one of those weird
and abnormal sideshows
next to the main tent
with the elephants and lions
and crazy haired men.

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To accept

Realize that you made things the way they are because of how
frightening it can be to have dreams and to go after remarkable
dreams – to keep your dreams in an open jar at your bedside.

Feel disconnected. Feel like you’re crazy: just hold on. Hold on
to your mother, to your father, to the memories of your
grandmother with wrinkled frail hands – to hold on tightly.

Don’t put bravery to bed. Shake it, and wake it up. Be incredible,
be your own best masterpiece every single day. And be the best
damn street sweeper that you can be – to accept who you are.

Climb the mountains in your life, becuase when you stand at the
summit that feeling of insignificance, of catching your breathe,
of wonder and honor and fear – to accept who you are becoming.

Be okay when everything is not right, with loneliness, with distant
empty hope. Know that the longing strengthens and awakens you – to
accept the days and moments and breaths that you have been given.

To speak softly, to touch gently, to let go, and to live.

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This is everything

I believe in God
in the holy layers of the Universe
I believe in Jack Kerouac and the Beats
the Fate that exists to get me where I am meant to exist
I believe in sweet people who are there
who tell me I am Weird.

I believe in my Father
I believe in my Mother who gave
birth to me
I believe in making mistakes
in solitude
gentle Wilderness
in going down so deep
but always crawling out.

I believe in the Good and the Bad
in making mistakes
seeking happiness
and the importance of Self.

I believe in rebirth
failure
laughter
pain
I believe in pushing yourself
I believe in Passion
in hunger
in heartbreak
in panic attacks
in dark places
and in finding the Light.

I believe in holy nights
and the even more holy sunrise:

this is Life
this is all there is
all there will ever be
this is everything.

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