Sinking like a stone in the sea.

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I can’t breathe.

My body feels heavy and the more I gasp for air, the more I can’t breathe. The air fills every open space  and I still clench my chest for more. I am suffocating in this dry land, I am suffocating with thoughts closing in on every last bit of my heart. This is the end. This is how I go. The thoughts that cloud my thinking and suffocating my breathing. This is how I disappear, how the memories vanish and wash away to shore. I need a clean escape, a new beginning and everything else that follows with that.

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We all want that escape to take us away from this reality. Take us far away from whats familiar and lead us straight into the unknown. All I want is some piece of mind. Some place that helps me breathe again. Some place so deep within my soul that I can find everything I am looking for. Its not here on land, its not here in this city, its somewhere near the water with its clear blue oceanic views. Take me to the ocean with this clear blue waters. Take me to the sands as white as snow. Take me far away from this reality and help me reach the shore. Let the waters run through my body and allow the currents to wash me out to sea.

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If I sink to the bottom of the ocean, no one will find me. They’ll mourn my life but they’ll never have me. I watch every inch of my skin become consumed under water. Watch the tides come tell me their secrets as they reach the shore.  I’ll let the water fill my lungs and only then will I breathe again. It’s only in water that I feel whole again. It’s only in water that the heaviness in my heart becomes completely weightless. My body is the stone that slowly sinks down in the sea. Watching the water consume my body, I feel weightless. I am sinking but I feel weightless. As cliche as it sounds, I feel like I am finding my way back home.

Its in this water that I feel like this life wasn’t good enough for me. That I could have been anything I wanted to be, but failed miserably. I could change my life into whatever I want it to be. I can finally find my way back home. Its in these waters that I feel clean. Clean from the bullshit necessities of yesterday. Clean from the juvenile way of thinking. Clean from the belief that I haven’t done anything with my life. I clench my chest and for the first time I can breathe again. I don’t find myself gasping for air. Instead I find my beating heart, its in the moment, I feel home.

1/12/2010

Fix you.

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Days come and days go. There are people you remember and people you want to forget. You keep the memories of the past closely guarded around your heart. There are times you wish you truly could let go, let go with every broken way you possibly could. When life happens to hurt more than it should, you retreat back into your broken shell. Back to every broken memory you could possibly think of.

We are all broken battered people. People so broken with life that not even a single light could guide us home. We beg to the skies to make everything better. To give us just a better way to fall gracefully. We can’t help but feel the way we do. We want to be fixed of our broken wings and nursed back to good health. We want our shattered pieces to be pieced back together, ever so gently. Anything to cure us from our brokenness and broken ways.

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No matter what I do I am drawn to the broken ones. The people so broken by life that nothing seems to get through to them. Its the broken ones that need the most help. The most love out of all of us. No matter what I do, I can’t escape them. They’re drawn to me, and I can’t help but want to help them. Be there for them. Fix the broken parts and find a way to get through to them. I want to put a bandaid around all the cuts. I want to glue together all the broken shattered parts. I want to dry all the tears and make everything feel better.

But I can’t.

The more I try to fix a broken person the more it hurts. The more I try to piece back together someone, the more I find myself falling apart. I take all the broken pieces from everyone else and cut them deep inside of me. After all the broken ones are fixed they latch on to the light of someone else. All I am left is the remains of the broken hearted shattered pieces. Its when the broken ones have gone to live their lives, that I am left wondering what to do with mine. When do I get someone to save me from my broken self? When do I get a chance to patch up all the cuts and glue together all the shattered strands?

But I want to fix you. I want to guide the light to light your path to find what you’re looking for. Patch up all your broken bones and guide you home. Take every pain you feel and make it my own. Only then would you understand that I feel exactly as you do. That even the ones that stand tall, feel broken too. Every inch of my heart is broken but to take away my broken pride, I want to fix you. I want to help and cure and mend, every sense of the brokenness. But I can’t. The more I think I am helping, the more I make it worse.

Sometimes I need fixing too. Sometimes I need a light to steer me in the right direction. Need someone to pick up all my broken pieces and glue them back together. Seldom do I find a person that will help guide me through. Instead of helping all the broken ones, I should start with my own broken self. I can’t fix you, as much as I wish I could. I can’t put back together all the broken strands of pieces and make you whole again. I need to fix myself before I can think of fixing you. I need to help myself before I can help someone else who thinks they need me too. It’s only after I help myself that I can ever think of fixing you. But I could never fix you. You need to look into your broken heart and let the pieces fall back together on their own. Stop searching for people to help you from your broken shell. Because even the people that are helping you, can’t help but be broken too.

And I feel more broken then I am suppose to feel. I just wish I could find a way to fix you by fixing myself too.

2/16/2012

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My dress it hangs there.

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Life has a funny way of imitating art. Which is why I find myself loving so many photographs, paintings, and writings of everything. Art has a way of captivating you deep down into your soul. Pulling something out of you that at times you forget you still had. I think of how much my life has changed and yet, I find myself so in touch with the past. How things from our present find ways to remind us of things from years prior.

Its when I think of the past that it reminds of me of the dress. The last dress I purchased that held so much promise of color and new beginnings. How the colors so different found a way to compliment each other. I think of the last moments I wore that dress, and how after so many years the image of that dress never seems to escape me. It continues to remind me of a halfway point. The point between here and there, never fully grasping the concept of being home. Home was where I was suppose to want to be, but being in between here and there I never understood. It took a while to get myself to pick up the dress and find it a home. Because keeping it stationary meant that it would last forever in that in-between places. That seeing it day after day and how it would just hang there for the world to see. Hang there for me to one day come to conclusion that this was home again. It was my own fear of returning home and counting my losses. My own fear of seeing my life for what it was, and not some in-between place journey but coming home to pick at my scabs and start over. The dress it just hung there, waiting, patiently to be put away.

It’s been months since I’ve put the dress away. Months since I’ve worn and seen the dress. Still the image of the dress hanging between rooms, doesn’t seem to escape me. It sits waiting patiently to be put away. I think of it as the last of the decades of leaving. The last escape of this godforsaken town. But still even months after it’s been put away, I can still see it. I see the blue, green, and navy. I see the image of the dress just swaying back and forth with the life surrounding it. I see how much I loved that dress when I purchased it, I see how I couldn’t wait to never see it again.

Art has a funny way of imitating life. I can sit and stare at a painting of a dress hanging between the chaos of New York, and still think of that dress. How the dress just hung in-between here and there. How much I wished for the dress to be leaving to far off distant places and instead watched it be buried to the back of the closet. Still that image beckons to me, haunts me. I watch the life of the dress disappear into the dark mysteries of life. Waiting, patiently for the day to reappear. Waiting for the day to be brought back to life. I just can’t bring myself to wear that dress but its memory still haunts my mind from time to time. On the days when I feel like I am in-between places. I’ll never know where I am going but I know eventually I will leave this place and with me that dress will join me. Maybe soon.

But still it waits.

Patiently.

4/14/2012

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Feel again.

I’ve been everywhere and back trying to replace

Songs feel like heart beats. Another line to add to the thousand of lines already floating through your heart and bloodstream. Every once in a while a line of melody will hit you that it resuscitates you back to life. The melancholy feeling you felt years prior, slowly starts drifting away piece by piece. Songs have the same effect as people do. Just finding the right notes to reach through to you. It’ll happen in an instant and before you know it, you’re hooked.

You want to be believe that you’re invincible to the world. That through everything you’ve been through, there is no way to reach you. Its when you let your guard completely down that the walls around you start to crumble. It when you’ve let your walls come down that you let the right one in. Well, at least that’s what you want to believe. Because people always start out as pure as you want them to be. As good as its going to get. Its in that moment, that moment that you start to feel something. You feel it in your bones, moving through your veins and pumping through your heart. Just like a melody that jump starts your heart, you start to feel again.

But with you
I feel again
Yeah, with you
I can feel again

The past is the past and all you’re sure of is whats standing right in front of you. It’s not love, its not infatuation, it’s just something you can’t quite point a finger at. For this moment, this one pure moment you allow all the flaws to crumble. You allow the walls to breakdown and in the destruction, you still find your heart beating. The thousands of lines of every song you remember. The countless melodies you never forget. In that moment you feel something for someone, so much that it hurts your head.

I’m feeling better ever since you know me
I was a lonely soul but that’s the old me

Maybe nothing will become of what you feel. In a day it will all go away. Feelings don’t last forever and eventually people always turn out the way you don’t want them to be. But for a moment you felt something that took away the darkness you used to feel. Something that took all the old feelings of hurt disappear. Something that only appears in songs and through melodies that reach through your heart. Its in that song of life that allows you to feel again.

Anything and everything.

4/16/2013

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When you were young.

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Life is full of ghosts. Dancing shadows that we seldom confuse for skeletons. The history is the past and what continues in our present are just distant memories of who we used to be. We watch what fraction of ourselves we have left over from the wars of our memories. The battle cries of good vs. evil. We each find ourselves picking sides eventually. What good is the good without a little evil, we say? What good is life, if we haven’t truly lived it?

I watch the memories of my nostalgic mind slowly turn to dust trying to remember everything. Every last detail. From the colors of my childhood to the weight of an embrace. Everything. Every last emotional moment to every everlasting memory. Going through the photo album of my memory and wanting to hold on to the last of a dying era. We are growing older at warped speed but have a hard time with the growing up. I slowly watch my body decompose and shut down. When all I want is just another moment to shine and dance amongst the thousand of stars. When you are young, you’re cavalier about how you view the world. You believe that every night is going to last forever, that someone is going to save you from all your pain and suffering. Its funny how we used to think when we were young. That people, places, and things, would last forever, knowing very well it was moments before everything fell apart. We love that illusion that moments have a way of repeating themselves. That memories have a way of coming back to us. Instead we are left with high hopes and even higher expectations.

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When you grow up your heart dies. You stop believing in all things you once did when you were younger. You stop hiding in the shadows and start living in the present times and present tense. You watch every last one of your friends grow up and you’re still trying to figure out how. Watching your childhood home become nothing but a rusted memory. I don’t feel any older than I did yesterday, even though my body does. Sometimes on the days when I don’t feel like myself I want to hold on to everything. Hold on to the photographs and the people housed inside of them. Its the ghosts that keep me occupied with the memories of what used to be. Eventually we all have to grow up sometime, even if the memories haunt us.

Even if it hurts us. Even if we are not ready, we have to grow up. When you were young you had this anticipation of growing up, and now it’s here. That time is now.

5/3/2015

St. Jude.

I wear my crown of thorns better than the rest of you. I carry forth my sins surrounded by the thousands of saints before me. Because we are all saints, afraid of being sinners. Losing ourselves in this righteous need to be better. Even in our quest of righteousness, we forget that we can still be sinners. We can still fail in the smallest wonders of our need to be great. I forget at times that I can’t always be right, but everyone can’t always point out my wrongs. I may not always be right, but I am not always wrong.

My selfish nature gets the best of me. This constant need to want all the wrong things. Searching through the faces of my wrongs and coming up empty handed. I see these saints with their wooden crosses glued across their chests. Waiting patiently for me to fail, fall, and point out all my wrong doings. I am just one person. Just one person with a life full of sins and a lifetime of making up to do. It doesn’t take a day to build Rome, but takes more than a few words to break down a spirit. I could spend a lifetime changing my ways but its the past that comes back to haunt me. Its my past that doesn’t allow the present to shine through. Its the errors of my ways that allows the countless saints to come forth to “save” me. I don’t need to be saved. I don’t need anything. When its my sins that are counted against me.

Its in this life that I feel like a lost cause. That even praying to St. Jude himself wouldn’t save me. That lighting a thousand candles wouldn’t grant me this one miracle. Cleansing this life clean and washing this slate a thousand times over. Starting over would only bring forth the saints to chase after me with their righteousness. Because everyone else is always right. Its the saints with their fear in the wrong that causes them to believe in their own perfection. Maybe I just need to pretend with the rest of them. Wear my wooden cross glued across my chest to point out the sins of the sinners freely. Even I can’t hide behind a wooden cross. Even saints can be sinners.

St. Jude, I pray to thee to save me from my hopelessness. It’s this life thats a lost cause that needs to be found again. This crown of thorns that has become to unbearable to wear. Its with your will that will help my hopelessness. Its with this power that will cleanse this slate clean. I may not always right, but I know I am not always wrong.

I just wish others saw it too.

7/17/2008

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Stay with me.

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There was this desperation to have you. Even if it meant risking everything. If it meant lying to everyone, including myself, I just wanted you. I stopped loving you a long time ago, but I hate to lose. And I was always losing. You see it was always a game. This game between us to see who could put up with the most. I didn’t give two fucks about you, but I wanted you. I didn’t need you, I wanted you.

No it’s not a good look
Gain some self control

It’s was a push and pull and at times it didn’t feel like a game. Most times it felt like we were worlds apart. I wanted different things but you are always what I was certain of.  I look back now and realized it was all a game. Just a stupid fucking game, and I hated to lose.  We were comfortable leaving, when all I really wanted was an excuse to stay. I ran out of excuses and the desperation weighed in. I could have lied until I was blue in my face to make you stay. To make your decisions change, all to prove this point that I was right and you were always wrong.

And deep down I know this never works, but you can lay with me so it doesn’t hurt

I couldn’t have been more wrong. My heart couldn’t pretend any longer. The more I pushed the more I begged for you to pull me back. To you this was all just one silly game and I was on the outside begging to play. It was easy for you to leave and all I wanted was for you to stay. This desperation, this need to have you, was just to hide my loneliness from the masses. Maybe it wasn’t love. Maybe it wasn’t what I deserved but still I wanted everything you threw at me. It’s amazing the things we put our heart through in this desperation to be loved and desired. Thats all I could have ever wanted. This feeling of being wanted and loved. This feeling of curing my loneliness and fighting back the tears of being alone.

I don’t want you to leave
Will you hold my hand

Even if this hurts. Even if it makes us miserable. Even if this never works out. Stay. Stay with me, until the feeling comes back. Stay with me, until I find someone new. Give me a reason to believe this game was worth it. A reason to believe that all this push and pull was worth it. Stay. Stay with me until the loneliness disappears. If only for a moment. If only until my heart puts itself back together. Stay.

Won’t you, stay with me.

Please.

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And I’m still hurting.

Heartbreak has a way of changing a person. It breaks down every vulnerability and locks it away under a dark heart of emotion. Lessons learned and the reality of letting go. You begin to build up these walls with the bricks that have been thrown at you. It was always your fault. Your fault in believing in the wrong people. Your fault in choosing the wrong person. Your fault in every argument, in every tear drop, in every vulnerability you’ve ever felt.

Always your fault.

Covered with scars I did nothing to earn.

After a year it’s suppose to be different. You’re suppose to feel better. It’s so easy for others to move on to bigger, better, brighter, and beautiful things. Still you sit with your sadness and bitterness. I always envied the people who can jump from people to people. All to mask their sadness of being alone. Meanwhile, I wallowed in my darkness and sadness. I allowed these feelings to consume me as my own coat of bad failures. Allowing the bitterness to eat away at the layers of goodness I had left. I hate when people expect you to wake up one day and stop loving someone. That falling out of love is just as easy as falling in love, it’s not. It breaks even more then putting your heart into someone else’s hands. Because everyone else is so good with forgetting and moving on. Placing someone else’s face in the frame to make up for their losses. But it hurts even more than before.

A year goes by and you still live with the bitterness and sadness. A year goes by and you find yourself still hurting worse than before. Because everything was always your fault. No matter how many people you kiss, how many people you say goodnight to, they never replace what broke you. Broken is what you feel through the night, until the sun comes up. Its through the day that you can suppress the hurt, but its at night when you’re alone with your thoughts that it all comes back. You pretend to move on and go through the motions. You pretend just as well as the others. Everyone else is just fine and still you sit with your words and broken promises. Promises of a better life and new beginnings. Promises that at the end of the day, everything will be better for you.

What about lies?
What about things that you swore to be true?

It’s days like these that I can’t help but wish you would feel an ounce of what I felt. That your heart would rot and break into a thousand miserable pieces. That someone would come along and blame you for everything that is wrong. The 1 finger that you graciously pointed at me, you’d find 3 more pointed directly at you. In so many ways, I just wished that you would feel every single human emotion that I felt. If there was anything that I wanted from you, I just wished to have my heart back. But getting my heart back wouldn’t change anything. It would only continue to hurt.

Eventually everything will change. One day, I’ll fall in love again and this will start all over. Being broken doesn’t last forever, maybe someday this will all be just a distant memory. At this current time, and at this current state, it still hurts. No matter what I say, I am still hurting.

and I’m still hurting.

11/15/2011

 

 

 

 

Courage.

Dumbo always thought he needed a magic feather for the courage to fly. We all rely on crutches to get us through our days. To help us function better, to give us the courage and the will to continue on. I wonder how many things I rely on for the courage to do anything. The multiple times I’ve given up out of fear and then paced myself back into a state of consciousness. I rely on words to be my magic feather, for the fear of things not working out in my daily life. The things I don’t have the will to say out loud, I save until I use the pen as my voice and the paper as my soapbox to escape to.

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Most days I don’t feel brave. Most days I don’t feel anything at all. Most days I want to give up and fall back into the darkness of dependency of my self destructive nature. Just disappear for days on end until the blood flows out of every vein in my body. Until my lifeless soul has nothing to attach itself to. Those are most days. The days were even the brave have a dent in their courageous armor. Whats a little courage without being a little cowardly? I find myself more than usual in a series of fears and panics. Of course it’s all just rather dramatic. Just feeling the weight of the world on my shoulder and wishing for something lighter. Wishing that life could just be a little kinder on the days I need it the most. Then I find myself comparing myself to others and wondering why I can’t be where I need to be. Why can’t I just figure out the tools in life, I need to get a move on in my life. Its having everything you need and not knowing the start from the finish. Where do we get to where we need to be.

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Then I think back to Dumbo. How he believed that with a magic feather he could do anything. With that magic feather he could fly. Instead of holding on to false ideas and illusions, I just have to believe in myself. Find the courage to keep going. Find the courage to be brave and go after what I want. It’s nice to believe that there’s something out there that gives us the magic to believe. In the end thats all what we want, a little magic to find the courage in ourselves. Maybe I don’t need a magic feather, but it’s nice to pretend that I do.

12/22/2013

Crusty Old Chuck Taylors.

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If you could walk a mile in my shoes, oh the stories you would see, the places you would go. It’s weird to think of shoes as a part of a memory. I tend to find myself attached to every article of clothing as a living breathing thing. My chucks are no exception. They’re more than just a pair of shoes, they are an extended part of my being.  Maybe it’s not the miles in the shoes, but the memories of where they carried me.

I wish I could tell you how I was first magically drawn to these shoes. How their magnetism attracted me to them but telling my secrets takes away the magic. Takes away the purity of what you feel once you lace up your first pair of converse. To me, my chucks were my shield. They were my super hero alter ego. Every time I wore them life happened, every experience my chucks were there taking in the moment. They were my snapshot into some of the greatest and even some of the saddest moments of my life. They have taken me to great lengths of the world. They have travelled with me from beyond the states and across the borders. They have seen the lightest happiest moments of my life to the deepest darkest moments of my soul. Its funny how a pair of shoes can carry a soul and still keep you planted on the ground. Every time I laced up my shoes, I felt every bit of my history reappear before my eyes.

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The stories they can tell you from every mile I walked in them. From every venue, to every dark corner of the city, to the arms of loved ones and fallen foes. I loved and I lost, in these shoes. I lived and I breathed, within every mile I walked in these shoes. I’ve picked myself up and reinvent myself and still I carry these shoes with me. They’re a nostalgic part of being young and stupid, and they’re also my growing up and moving forward. I could have an endless supply of chucks, in various styles and colors, and still I stick to my battered down black low tops from my teenage angst years. Still I keep them as a part of who I was and no matter how broken they look, they always make me feel whole.

Looking at them battered, crusted and lived in, I don’t dare let them go. Because letting them go, lets go of the stories that are held together in the holes of the canvas. Letting them go, lets go of the tears the soles of the shoes caught upon the pavement. There’s something beautiful about watching something unravel before your eyes and thats how I feel about my chucks. I will wear them until the laces fray and break apart. Until the canvas becomes unglued, until the soles can’t hold me anymore. Until my feet can’t feel life within those shoes, I won’t dare let them. Because only when those shoes are finished is when a new story begins. Only then will I find a new story in a new pair of chuck taylors. Until then, I will live in the lifetime of memories until these shoes complete disintegrate.

Until my shoes can’t carry me is when I finally let my chucks go.

Until then.