Free Write · Poetry · Pondering · Sleepy · Writing

When you forgot about what you started last night…

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Sometimes I drive through the city at night.

There is no reason or purpose.

The smell of night and I listen in silence.

There is a sadness.

A melancholy.

The kind of moment made of whispers that no one else will hear.

I roll down the street.

The city lights in the distance and all I can think of is you.

You.

And the earth turns gently and with reason even though you are not beside me.

I remember your words. Begging for me.

Please please please you tell me.

You say it like I owe you.

Like I am the one who left.

Flashes of half felt and unmet images pass within me.

I see a funeral.

I see a laugh and a boy I fell in love with.

I see the man I begged to come.

All these things that you will never know and did not care to remember.

In the house on the hill, the home in the hole, the rooms built of stone I found you.

Creative Writing · Free Write · Healing · I Miss You · Melancholy · Personal · Poetry · Pondering · Reflection · Relationships · Sleepy · Writing

I Always Will

I loved you more than any other chosen person in my life.

I still do.

I still miss so many pieces of you.


Sometimes I hear or see something that only you would get.

And I hear your voice echoing in my mind.

I hear your laugh next to me.

It is almost like you are here again.

And all the terrible things you did never happened.

Other times I feel lonely because I know there are

Aspects of this life, of this world that only you and I could ever remember and find special.

There are so many generic things in this world.

Repeats and reproductions.

But you are not one of them, not even close.


You are more special and beautiful to me than words can ever describe.

Trust me, I have tried over and over again for close to a decade.


My only wish after all this time, is that you could somehow see what I could.

Oh how I tred for all these years to give you what will take a lifetime to discover.

I wanted it now and that was selfish of me.

I know that.

But still, I miss you.


I wish everyday that we could have been, should have been…but I am slowly letting that go because I have to for my own sanity.


Please know that when I sit alone at night, wrapped in a blanket or looking up at the stars on a warm summer night that I remember you.


Not the ugly.

Not the lies.

Not the addictions.


I remember the soul I fell in love with.

That person exists.

The goodness you fear and the struggles you tried to hide.

I remember your excitement and your eyes and your pain.

I remember that I loved you purely.


Everyday since the beginning of time and into our next lives, a piece of me will always be waiting for you.

I will love you always, even when I know I must do it from afar  

Creative Writing · Free Write · Melancholy · Poetry · Pondering · Reflection · Writing

Free Write: Exhausted Reflections

I am sorry for being a terrible person. I am sensitive and it is hard for me to exist in this world.

I have a hard time going to work and committing to work and school and jobs.

I hate that part of me. I hate that people can’t trust me.

I am an honest person, I am just tired and out of place.

This feeling persists.

Sometimes it’s easier to stay in bed and not move for hours?

I wish I could explain this…spell it out eloquently and in serenity.

You were beautiful but created  dust.

Creative Writing · Depression · Free Write · Letter · Melancholy · Personal · Pondering · Prose · Reflection · Writing

Lost in the Supermarket

I visit often, mostly just to see you. Sometimes I feel we have a connection. Other times I am unsure if it’s just politeness. I have been hurt a million times and my heart is fragile. Mostly I am okay. I sleep alone. I eat alone. I feel okay on my own. But it’s been two years for me and I miss having a man’s arms around me and feeling enclosed, inside of another. I miss having someone to look forward to. Someone to share life with. Laugh with.

I see you and think, you could be that person. I am not often attracted to others but I feel strangely drawn to you. When we speak, I want to keep talking. To ask you questions about life and death and the universe.  Find out why you love Deftones so much and how I lost my virginity to White Pony. I think if you cared, if you were interested, you would have inquired by now. I have presented ample opportunity for it.


So here I sit writing to no one, or possibly the entire world. I think there is not one for me but that hopeful piece asks, maybe? Still do I wonder at your mysterious aura. I think about you as I walk away to my car again. I like to imagine you looking back or at least wanting to, and maybe even you wonder of me too…


More likely we will continue to pass each other in this market. Red shirt and a basket in my hand. I will smile and you will smile but go on in our own ways.


“I’m all lost in the supermarket
I can no longer shop happily
I came in here for that special offer
A guaranteed personality”

—-name that band

Anger · Free Write · Personal · Poetry · Pondering · Relationships

WTF

I sit here wondering what the fuck is wrong with me.

I mean it seriously, am I really a terrible person?

I can only imagine that answer is yes.

What kind of pathetic woman am I?

I get left by men for taller, skinnier people.


Every. Damn. Time.


What the hell am I supposed to think of that?

It is too coincidental to happen again.


The problem is me. It is always me.

The constant factor.

The known variable.

Excuse me while I hide in my corner and pretend to not be alive anymore.


You told me you loved me.

You told me you cared.

But I am still here alone

and I see you smiling with her. 

Creative Writing · Free Write · Poetry · Pondering · Radical Self Love · Relationships · Writing

A Piece of Universe

I may not be the prettiest woman. I am not tall nor slender. My thighs are strong but rub together when I walk. My back is curved and my neck is short, but my hands are warm and my heart is full of love. I’m loyal to the core. I would do anything for my loved ones. I am creative and silly and love to laugh.

I probably won’t cook you dinner. I definitely will not do your fucking laundry or pretend to even want to. I am not the golden woman or the trophy wife. However, I am a down ass bitch.



I would fight for you. I would die for you. That kind of commitment does not come around everyday. If I choose you, I have chosen all of you. Your scars, your addictions, your pain, because your scars and your pain become my own.


I believe in oneness and hope. I have seen the darkness and embrace it. I have bathed in light and rose petals. It’s all the same; a moment in time and passing of the planets. A piece of star dust. A bit of universe.

Apathy · Chronic Illness · Creative Writing · Death · Depression · Free Write · Pondering · Prose · Suicide · Writing

We Are Waiting on Death

Often times, I do not feel anything at all, but when I do it’s raw and real and full of passion. I have been berated many times in my life for my intensity and sensitivity, which is why I am usually turned off.

I have hated this part of me for many years and pushed down so much of who I am. Yes, most have only seen the less extreme version. I have hidden away pieces of me, the parts I am told are too much, too intense, sad or crazy.


The ugly parts.

These experiences that made me real are the things the world is afraid to share, yet is the the thing we yearn to see, and when done can set one free.


We crave this vulnerability and yet run from it.

Afraid to show anyone we care, we hide from our truths, because caring means love, and love is eventual pain or abandonment.


It’s 3 a.m. and looking in the mirrior wondering why I couldn’t be his and why my stomach isn’t smaller, my legs not slender or my heart less fragile?

Why I was given this broken back with uneven shoulders? Why her arms could bring the comfort I no longer could but sought to give every moment?


The pain of inevitable loss is so immense that we can not even bare to look rejection in the eyes. So we don’t. We do not try.

We live only half in love and waiting for something that will fill us. Someone better, someone more than anything we could imagine.  Something to make us feel alive again…


But the truth is we are all terribly broken and we are all dying. Some of us at a  faster rate, but the end result is the same. We’re all looking for something to slow down death or speed it up. Or perhaps a distraction great enough to make us momentarily forget our human frailty.


I am, in fact tired of hating myself, tired of feeling like dying and done with trying to fight it off. I am genuinely trying to love who I am. But I have a lifetime of suppression of pain to work through. I look at myself and see crumbles of a person and I do not know if I can ever become more, except a greater mass of such.


Perhaps there is a chance out there. The piece of the puzzle I will eventually stumble upon. The moments to distract me from my own mortality. I wait for these times on bated breath and with a broken heart.