Tag Archives: writing

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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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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Christmas Insomnia

Living on bright pink Benadryls and melatonin
to try to make half dreams
seem more real to try to get through the lonely
distant too hot too cold nights glowing
with those fake plastic plug-in candles
with bulbs that get too hot
for Christmas. Keep throwing
the covers back
to stop the sweat keep pulling them over
legs to warm naked toes. No amount of blankets
will warm hearts not even
an amount comparable to the Princess and the Pea.
Afraid to close eyes for what
demons hide behind eyelids. Afraid
to open lips
to pray or cry out
for what evil sounds await on sour
tongues. Dreams that are not dreams
at all but terrible memories
from the VHS tapes of last week
the last too quick touch
and dreams that are not dreams
at all but cringeworthy situations
that play out
in the deepest depths of minds.
Where has the World put it’s
ancient Choose Your Own Adventure books
from the Long Beach Island
library on the boulevard
with crinkled pages
torn covers
and bookmarked endings: hearts don’t hurt
between pages.

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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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Life

Life is not quiet.
Life is loud.
Let it be loud.
Let it burst and rumble,
ravage and smoke,
let it tremble and tumble,
let it shake, let it jangle.

Never try to quiet your life,
give it speakers,
give it amplification.

Stand steadfast, but be ready
to be moved,
be ready to run.
Be ready for the crash
of the ocean waves,
be ready for the chirping birds,
the sirens that make you stand still
and freeze,
wondering who they are for
and who they are taking away.
Be ready for the silence of the
friendly touch,
be ready for soft conversations
and comfort.
Be ready to be rattled.

You were born to live a messy,
troublesome, graceful, awakening life.
Let it be loud.

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How to Live Better

HOW TO LIVE BETTER.

Or rather 
what I should do to enjoy life more,
to be happier,
to become the better person that I want to be:

1. SLEEP MORE. (And enjoy it)

2. RUN AND BIKE MORE. (Feel alive. Be healthy. Drink more water.)

3. BE MORE INTENTIONAL. ENJOY THE SIMPLE THINGS. APPRECIATE EVERYTHING.

4. SMILE MORE. LAUGH MORE. BE ALIVE.

5. LEARN THINGS. GROW AS A PERSON. CONTRIBUTE TO SOCIETY. 

6. DO THE THINGS YOU LOVE: read books, write poetry, try new recipes, cook for friends, go on long walks, explore, be with friends, drink coffee, make new friends, be creative, plan adventures, listen to old music, keep your house clean. 

7. BE BRAVE.

8. APPRECIATE THE PEOPLE IN YOUR LIFE. SHOW THEM AND TELL THEM SO. Be a good friend when they need you and when they don’t.

9. ADMIT YOU HAVE FLAWS, AND BE OKAY WITH THEM.

10. BE RESPONSIBLE. Learn from your choices. 

We’ll see how this checklist shakes out. When it comes down to it, I’ve been stuck in a weird restless wanting to do something big, wanting to become a much better person, bored with the day to day drag, needing mountains and nature and fresh air and crime free streets, needing to feel safe and free, and I’m sick of it all. I know I don’t actually need to go somewhere else to become better, to be happy, and I do so much love this city and my people here, and part of me wants to leave and part of me wants to stay forever. I know I just want to and need to work on me.

Bottom line: I need to always do what is most important RIGHT NOW. “Be here now.” Trust myself and enjoy my life.

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Silence in the city

Silent reflection
silent meditation
but there’s no silence in the city,
only breathing sounds of life
that splinter in the silent
breaking of the calm.
Power tools and power trips,
constructions,
distraction,
breaking the silence.
Sirens, horns
whooshing cars,
radio conversations
humming rumbling monsters
drilling our minds,
disturb our silent
wishful awake dreams
in this unsettled
crackled
frightening place.
We must find peace within ourselves –
WE MUST –
or we’ll rot and decay our dreams
grow wasted and weary
and forgotten – 
don’t become the forgotten silence.

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