stories

Liar, Liar.

I am attracted to liars. People that stretch the truth farther than Pinochio’s nose ever could go. Their personified existence that stand in the balance of reality and dreaming. Words are more believable than actions, everyone knows that. Oh, how I love the words that spill out of your tongue and out onto the open spaces of air between us. You’re always right, and I am always wrong.

You think I don’t know that everything you say, never matches up to what you mean. That every single conversation you expect me to believe, is just another fabricated idea you wished were true. Because a lie is far too beautiful to be untrue. Lies are more beautiful than the vicious honest truth. I love words more than I love people, because even people let you down. But words? They’re just little letters and sounds that clutter up open spaces.

Will you let me down? Will you let me down this time?

Standing tall on clouds and building castles in the skies. The words you say in the clear cold air becomes the clouds that fog through the city and the streets. People never want to hurt you. People never mean what they say. All they want is for you to believe them and never leave their side. Tell me what I want to hear, tell me all the pretty things I need to believe. Tell me everything and then when I am gone tell me nothing in return.

Everything you say is lies and every day I keep fighting for whats true. Every single day I believe you and every single time I know that it’s not true. But then a light shines down from your clouds, down from beneath your castles, and in that moment I believe in you just a little bit longer.

You’re nothing but a liar. Liar, Liar, every things untrue.

8/8/2015

 

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Homecoming.

Do you think about me now and then. 

Home is where the heart is, but my heart’s already broken. You could always come home. Come home to the familiar sounds, from the familiar streets, where the familiar faces meet. Come home to where the roads point back to the familiar memories, familiar stories that make up who you are. You could always come home, you tell yourself. Home is where the heart is, but my heart has been shattered. Where do I go from here?

Life doesn’t stop because you’ve left and gone. Life goes on even when you’ve forgotten where you came from. People grow up after saying they never would. People change when they said they’d stay the same. But I’m still figuring out this life I see before me. Failing, falling, sinning, and watching everything that’s familiar change before me. We’re all in a changing game and memories are all that’s left of this nostalgic ship that’s sinking. But I can’t change when I am not ready too. I can’t change when I need something to hold on too.

Watching seasons change in my hometown, the colors turn from gold to brown. I could always come home. Come home to the people that grow up from their juvenile tendencies. Watch familiar faces start families and mold their kids to make up their past mistakes. We’re afraid of our pasts, so we grow up in our present. Breaking hearts in ourselves that don’t dent the armor in our future. Don’t be like me, don’t be like you, change everything you once were into something you could never be. We all need a clean slate to change into who we want to be. Leaving hometowns and starting some place better than this.

I could go from here to there and everywhere, but coming home always breaks my heart. Faces are changing faster than seasons do. People are leaving before they get driven out, because everything that was once familiar is dead and gone. There’s nothing for me now. There’s nothing in this town but coming home means starting over and changing everything now. Home is where the heart is, but I don’t know where home is now.

Where do I belong.

3/13/2009

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.

 

All the pretty girls.

He was a master of taking hearts but no hearts were ever broken. I never cried for him, I don’t believe anyone else did either. Not that I was aware of, not that I even cared. But the girls like moths flocked to his light. Always all the pretty girls with broken prides and promises. A master of disguise and a gentleman with charming words that entrances even the darkest of hearts. The light that over shadows the illusion of right from wrong. Speaking the words they longed to hear, always there for the taking. Never giving much of anything, but paid no mind taking the countless of hearts that graced his path. A heart lined path that were prized like trophies.

He was so fucking cool.

It was the impression that he gave that made us all wonder. The talking salesman that spoke the words but never cared enough about what the words would mean. His appearance was nothing more than smoke and mirrors, an illusion everyone wanted but nobody could ever attain. The girls knew in the end they were lies but couldn’t help but be wooed in the play. It was always just a play. Just another game that no one ever bothered to win. He won, he lost, most times he just broke even. At least in his mind. The lies out weighed the words and sometimes people would get hurt. Sometimes, but not all the time. He failed to mention certain aspects of his life and in the end everything would come tumbling down. At least that’s what we all wanted. We waited for the demise of the smooth talking man with the cool demeanor. His smooth talking ways would save the world if it could, instead it saved his performance and again he went on his way.

You are so cool.

We all had our part to play. We all had our purpose. All the pretty girls knew to imagine it was over. Don’t believe the gentleman in the sharp suit and the cool talking ways. She knew it all but as silly as girls are believed every lie to be truth. Silly girls believe anything if there’s a feeling involved. Silly girls would drop everything before they fall. Silly girls are silly to believe in the charms of a salesman feeding them lies. We knew it. We all knew it. But we couldn’t help but be silly and foolish in the webs of these lies. We wanted to be the cool girls. The cool girls that could play their part. The cool girls that could match wits with the cool gentleman in the sharp suit. Instead we were all stupid silly girls. Stupid, stupid girls. It wasn’t love, it was lust. It wasn’t fun, it was funny. It was nothing more than a game that we were all sure to lose. No hearts were broken, no hearts were lost. Still he carried our hearts like trophies through paths. The path of victory to the path of our own foolish sorrow. We were all stupid in falling again. Why does this keep happening? Who is the next victim in this play? The play that’s a game and it ends with a loss. What did we lose in the end if it wasn’t our hearts? Just our pride with our dignity in the shameful deceit.

Stupid, silly, girl.

The games are over on my part but I know he still plays. I can’t help but wonder about him from time to time. He liked to talk to all the pretty girls. All the pretty girls at the bar. Sometimes, I want to ask him “Do you still talk to all the pretty girls and lie about all the other girls?”. Is the game still worth the thousands of hearts in your path? Does she know your lies better than the bed you can’t make? I already know all the answers. She makes your bed better than the words that you say. She knows all your lies and still plays all your games. She’s the cool girl in the wave of all the silly stupid girls. But you can’t help but talk to all the pretty girls.

It was always all the pretty girls.

White Blank Page.

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You were brave.

Brave in the notion that you could spit out your frustrations, without a care in the world. Brave in never having to worry about the consequences of your actions. The words spilling out of you like rain in a rainstorm. I wasn’t prepared for your hurricanes and the damage it would leave behind. Brave in thinking that staying quiet would hide your valor in everything that you do. Eventually the armor fades and before we are whole, we bend to break. Like a fool we cling to those words and the choices end with our downfall, still I cling to every word.

Every word.

Things were suppose to be different. You were suppose to be different. Instead like the others you mimic their same notions. Their same mannerisms you studied and kept for yourself. How mighty you felt when you whispered in the dark, yet violently exited as soon as the sun rose. You weren’t different, you just knew how to masquerade all your imperfections. Still you rose from your storms without a scratch. How I clawed and bled through every word, and yet you remain perfectly intact. The slates were wiped clean on your part, and still I struggled to scrub mine. It’s easy to pretend that silence means strength. That somewhere through the storm you come up victorious as the sun shines through the clouds. Instead, I watch the clouds grow darker and angrier through the procession of this storm. The greys through the slates and the ever thunderous rain that follows.

My imperfections made me weak. They created a barrier of sadness that couldn’t be masked. Instead I watched as words went through and scared into my heart. The rain never stopped, even after you left me with the damage of your storm. Was it my fault for believing in someone so brave? Was it my fault for pretending to be fine through it all? I never bothered to notice the flood beneath my feet. All that mattered was the illusion I gave that the storm came and left, once you were gone. I saw the rain as a clean slate. I saw the storm as a warning. I never imagined the hurricane you gave me, once you started the storm. Still I believed your bravery. Word for word.

You were so brave.

Brave in thinking I would stay hurt forever. Brave in thinking no one would ever find out. People change and in the end you weren’t so brave after all.

Now they know.

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Best Friends means…

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Someone once told me that in the course of your life you become friends with 4 people. Out of those 4 people, only 3 of them are your good friends. Out of those 3,  only 2 of them become your best friends. Out of those 2, only 1 of them you can honestly trust. That one person you can trust is yourself. Trust no one and no one will let you down. Of course the first time I heard that I thought it was complete horse shit. What does this person know about friendships? My friends are everything to me, what does this person know about friendship that I don’t already know.  When you’re young, you believe that everyone is your friend. Everyone is just like you, understands all your problems. They’re the family that you choose that you’re not born into. They’re the only people in the world that will have your back when the rest of the world shuns you out.

What a pipe dream.

You wind up becoming friends with a diverse rotating wheel of characters. Some do withstand the testament of time, while others don’t become so lucky. The point of growing up is finding yourself. Finding yourself, discovering who you are and what you’re about. When you’re young, you would do anything for your friends. You would even sacrifice you’re own happiness if that meant you could keep the party going. Keep the motion of staying young forever and live in a time snapshot of all your golden accomplishments with your friends. What you don’t realize when you’re younger is that you grow up eventually. Some of your friends grow up, wise up, and build foundations of their owns. While others dim silently in their plastic red solo cup struggling to adjust to life after the after party. Everyone is different. Every has different aspirations in life. We’re all just one huge hustle after the next. We grow up and hang on to whatever dream we thought we had throughout youth. Most of the time the dreams we hold so close to ourselves are the friendships we base solely on these notions. We’re young, we’re going to live forever, and holding on to those 2am nights were strangers become the only people that understand your deepest darkest secrets.

Of course. I was one of those people.

In the course of my life, I had the privilege of being friends with a wide diversity of people.  Obviously it’s no surprise that in my quest of reinvention that I had a tendency to befriend the wrong types of people. I understand that no one is perfect. Hell, I’ve written post after post of my imperfections. I just find a tendency to find the broken people. The people so done with life that they’d live in a constant state of euphoria and I find myself clinging to that notion. Maybe because I was broken, and finding comfort in the same people just gave me a sense of belonging. We were a set of misfit toys and nobody understood us. It’s funny to look back now because from the time I was 20 to the time I turned 28, it was the same type of people. The faces may have changed but they were all so similar. With their insecurities, their bad habits and all of their bad intentions. It’s funny how much I defended them. To the point that I honestly believed deep down somewhere we were all friends. The reality was I was just a broken chump and they saw that. They saw through my vulnerabilities and broken parts. Instead of being a group of a good friends, I became just another person they manipulated to get everything they wanted.

People have always asked me why I stay so guarded. Even opening up to my own “best” friends was hard. The moment I told my true vulnerabilities was the same moment that my “friends” used those things against me. They did. No matter how many times I heard “I would always have your back”, in every argument I was screamed at the very vulnerabilities I confided in them. It was the never ending cycle of taking their bullshit in because I was too tired to defend myself. Friendships were always one sided with one person always there for the taking, and the other always their metaphorical punching bag (and at times their own personal punching bag). I can be honest and say that at certain times I wasn’t the best person. I lied, cheated, schemed and even manipulated people to get my way. They say that karma happens when you least expect it. It always tends to come back to you with a familiar face of a friend. I couldn’t help myself. In the midst of my own social awkwardness and psychological bullshit, I was blinded to believe people were actually my friends. In 4 years I lost 15 of my allegedly close friends. 15 people that stated they would always be there for me. Always have my back. 10 of them were my good friends, 4 of them were my close friends, and 1 was my best friend. It’s amazing how things and people change in the course of a few years. I went from having countless people call me to complete silence on my phone. Somewhere inside I believed that those people were my friends. That those people that saw me for who I was actually gave a shit about me. Truth was I just their friend. I was there to pick up their broken pieces to lift them up out of a jam. I was the one with the wallet that would take care of everything. Once the party ended, and the money was gone, I was left with the sober reality of complete nothing. You learn a lot about yourself when you start drinking, but you learn more about people once you stop. Once I stopped wanting to make everything a party and living my life for people was the moment everyone became so vile and malicious. I started saying more “NO” than “Yes” and everyone made me out to be the bad guy. Because I stopped being a personal chauffer and stopped paying for things, I was the villain? Once I started asking for money back or wanting to do things by myself, I was the bad guy? Before I knew it the same people that “would take  bullet for me” were creating lies about me. I was difficult. I was a snob. I was the person who was better than everyone.

It’s laughable now. Now that I can see through the bullshit it’s funny. These same people that couldn’t cross the street without holding someone’s hand. Those same people that still cry and complain about their personal relationships to anyone who would listen. The broken people who always believe their problems are bigger than everyone else’s instead of showing an ounce of compassion for another person. They were so vile to point out my flaws but never once realized that the one finger they so violently pointed at me, they had 3 more pointing at themselves. I was done the moment the rumors started and people started turning away. I was done the moment my texts were ignored and they were too chicken shit to tell me the real demise of our friendship. I was through the moment a chunk of my hair was removed from my head and the photo of my hair was posted on social media sites. Here I thought we were all united by our flaws but reality of it all was these friends were just bullies. We weren’t friends because that isn’t friendship. The same honesty they threw at me, they never liked to hear about themselves. I was constantly the villain and their were always the victims. Because I was so fucked up, I believed them. I was naïve to think the number of friends you have meant something. The number of friends I had were nothing more than another debt I had to pay off and pretend to smile through.

When you finally grow up and let go is when you realize the reality of it all. None of those people were my friends. Even the people I considered my best friends, our friendship was  held on by some false illusion of a past that was never great to begin with. Its so easy to say words and convince a person to believe them. That’s the thing with people. Anyone can say words to you, and everyone is a great master manipulator. I just grew tired of words and would rather see actions. You can scream to the rooftops how sorry you are but I won’t believe you. You can tell a person how you can change but people never do. The best thing you can do is give a person a shot at a second chance and if nothing changes just let go. If they’re out of second chances, let them go. If you’re holding on to friendships because of the years you have known each other, that’s not a friendship. If the number of times you have been there for a person out numbers the times they have been there for you, LET THEM GO. The people who are worth it will always show you, and the people who are not always disappear. It sucks and it’s heartbreaking, sometimes friendship breakups hurt more than actual breakups. We all go through them. It hurts to miss them, it hurts to remember, but you grow because of them. They make you realize and appreciate the friendship that you do keep. They teach you that while your trust has been broken eventually you find people that will never hurt you like those people did. While those people weren’t the greatest friend to you, hopefully they find someone that they can be friends with. Learn from their mistakes.

Everyone needs their chance to grow.  When you grow up, you truly realize who your friends are. They’re the people that stay behind you when the rest of the world shuts you out. That’s just another perk of growing up. You live, you learn and eventually you move on. Just have to always remember that the friendship you have within yourself is the only friendship you should always work on. Its through that friendship that you learn to trust others again.