:On The Past

I keep taking for granted all I have --and resolving that it's my personality.  That my reclusivity is simply the most beautiful thing about me because it's real.  But honestly I experiencing a lot of guilt.  I feel horrible that I make promises I do not keep and that I am rampant in my own wants. 
It's difficult to try to balance the things I want verses the things I need.  If I've learned anything in the last five years it's that keeping your past too close to you can lead to a very destructive future.  But how does that account in the grand scheme of things?
Everyone we're supposed to love and connect with are also from the "before" stage.  The 'when I was younger'. And maybe those old roots are what keep pulling us back to the beginning.  Wanting to better ourselves...to get back to when it was good.
When was that for me? I haven't been able to learn to enjoy whole memories mostly.  Just minute times I recall --the sound of my mom's car alarm as she unlocks to go to work.  My sister's knock at my door when I don't want to be bothered.  My brother ringing open my door; the back of the hinges hitting my trophy case --rattling all my gold medals.  But I can also see myself sitting in the basement, reading a book cover to cover; drowned inside a ton of dirty laundry.  Washing clothes and reading...hearing my mom leaving for work.
So why is our past so important?  Why does the hurt we have in our heart take us down in our happiest of moments and drag us to the depths in our worse?  It's not really the questions you have to ask yourself.  It's the answers you have to look for.  The people worth keeping in your present so that one day they too will be in your future --and thus a part of your past.

Poetry [Plug: Notifications]

Begging for that trackball to gleam

                Hoping your thought to me

                                Is more than what it seems.

  Trying to read between the lines of your lust.

                Learning little, less your music is about to bust.           

  Ooze that lyric out; that: say it.  I hear you back in my September

                    Your fingers on guitar’s spout –that: play it.

                                                                                Don’t you remember?

   Wishing for that nightmare to end; to wake to curls again.

     Drinking on your honey.  Your milk filling even the corners of my

                                                Despair.

                Replaying that video just to lose my mind again…

     inside of your stare.

I’m down with just the way you are

                                                                Stubborn in your stars and sweet in the

                                                   back of my car.

  Seeing the light stroke off and on

                                Dreaming about your ringtone

                 I don’t know about my…anymore.

   All those iotas of passion; leaving breadcrumbs back to my front door.

                So post me up; on and always against my wall.

                                Tweet me down, but if only it be to the source.

         Kill me for being at your knees; but that’s how I fall.

                                                                All I feel I have…is this unyielding course.

                Stretching my arms long in wild angst

                      Praising to your thoughts

                Shedding tears                      giving thanks.

                                Soon we’ll be back to laying

                                                                        talking

                                                grinding         facing

                                Damn girl; I love receiving

                                     your notifications.

:On Misery

You get very few times in your life where you can be perfectly miserable

Completely content in the anguish that is onset by the stress surrounding what seem to be your never-ending problems.

It kind of arouses my interests; tickles my spine a bit. To think I can completely rely on the falling down of my realm. That no matter how built up and mundane it all gets. There is the steady release of overwhelming that just takes my breath from me.

It excites my high to be so low –to get lost in the tears and the memories. To think that you are thinking of me too. It makes me feel dangerous. At the edge of my seat type of mystery. I want to know what’s next; and sometimes I do. But mostly I just love the fear of rejection.

The constant nag of your absence and the longing I feel inside my chest for having such a big heart. For being truly a hopeless sap in a romance that is no longer my own. It is as if the story is already written and I’ve seen the movie twice over. And yet it never gets old. The world is still flat on my end of the meridian. 

So I continue to write in symbols and keep praying that my phone vibrates on low at 3am. I still glance back over my shoulder and read rear view poetry. I still walk many miles and daydream of day trips. Of homemade self-cooked messes that didn’t matter.

I still owe half my art and the whole of my salvation to this very misery.