I miss something that wasn't really there.
To all those that I’ve been distant towards in the past week:
I’m sorry. I want to be honest with you. I’ve been too busy feeling sorry for myself to open my eyes up to the world around me. I’ve numbed my feelings, with the help of pot, and have preformed almost robotically, keeping busy with work and school. In those rare moments of silence I have, I feel like crumpling up in a little ball and crying it all out, but I never do. In this week of ‘loss’, I’ve discovered that my Father loves me more than anything, and is so afraid to let me down. And my Mother wishes she had the opportunities that I happen to take for granted.
All is not lost.
Love blinds me. And perhaps I can finally admit that I am someone who is lonely, looking for love in all the wrong places, when I should open my arms up to the love that I need. The love that is willing to love back. I have unfinished business with my family, and before I can fully open up and love someone genuinely, I need to explore that.
As I was walking downtown this morning, trying to make it on time to class, I passed by a homeless woman. She was sitting on the ground, cross-legged, her back against an old building. She smiled at me, her face crinkling, the blinding winter light reflecting off her eyes. I felt the crisp air sting my cheeks as I rushed past her, and the instant I received that kind smile, my stride slowed down. I looked back at her, visually took her in, and wondered how someone could almost look happy considering they owned such an awful situation. How could she even muster a smile, offering it to a stranger without any hidden intentions? And that’s when I realized I must stop feeling sorry for myself.
The only way you can really see someone’s beauty is when they keep their chin up.
1 day ago • 4 notesephiphany
maybe it’s not me that is the problem.
maybe it’s them.
maybe i seriously just choose the wrong guys to be with.
1 week ago • 0 notesThis is my first performance poem. Read at Blaze Hookah Lounge in Kalamazoo, Michigan, January 19, 2010.
I apologize about the quality of the video. Thank you for listening! I appreciate your feedback.
2 weeks ago • 0 notes
3 weeks ago • 14 notestöölönlahti (via europics)
Villa Kivi, the villa on the left, is used by the Finnish writers’ associations and provides a place for writers to work. If I could charge in like a viking and claim it as my own, I would. Then, I would fill it with antique furniture, bright colors, and the pitter-pattery of little feet. I’d sit in whichever room I claimed as my study and pound words onto pages from my big chair at a big desk. And I’d hoop. All while wearing a frilly dress.
Saturday night status: Alone. (cont.)
I think what I’m really waiting for is a man who has the ability to see though me. See right through all the games and all the ups and downs, realize they are all defense mechanisms, and immediately calm my irrational fears. A man to sit me down and look me in the eye and say “hey you, I know you’ve been hurt and I understand that. But I want to assure you that I want that place in your heart, more than anything, and I’m willing to work for it. You’re safe with me, you don’t have to push me away.” And he won’t ever take no for an answer. He’ll go above and beyond to show me that I mean the world to him.
3 weeks ago • 3 notes
