Tag: and

1 2 3

I need time to breathe

Or to time my breaths

By 1…2…3

 

But the counting creates a mood of apathy

and emptiness

Like I can’t stay awake like this—

And I’ve missed the reason

For methodically breathing

In and out.

 

It’s broken down for peace,

Not destructive thoughts

That beat up my heart,

But slow beats so I can stop and think,

And count to slow down every word racing

In my mind.

 

I want to stop hiding behind a glass wall.

I don’t want to wait for it to fall

Just so I can tip toe around the glass pieces

Holding distorted reflections of what I used to be.

Or how people see me.

 

1…2…3…

I don’t care what they think.

I care about finding the light behind the door I closed 4 years ago.

I care about holding time close as I think about the future I don’t know.

 

1…2…3…

I know what I need.

I need to stop thinking, keep counting, and move into the place that is meant for me.

 

I want to be free.

I’m Back

What happened to me?

 

When did I decide to give up my soul for a copy?

Copying words and phrases that match the people standing next to me—

And when did I stop myself from being?

 

I can’t think of a moment when I put my wants above someone else—

So I’m reminded that I’ve forgotten how to see myself.

And everything around me seems so grey

That I don’t even know if my likes are mine,

Or just another way

I’ve conformed to find commonality with others.

 

Now I’ve become the stranger. 

 

I look at my image and see pieces thrown together from

other places, other faces,

almost looking natural, 

But something doesn’t add up.

I don’t add up. Not in this way.

 

Because I’m constantly giving and taking away from who I am—

Giving into demands,

Giving up on my plans,

Taking on image after image hoping that they will fit me,

But this is not living.

 

I need to be comfortable in my own skin, so I am choosing myself this time.

I choose to listen to folky tunes blaring from my stereos, no headphones 

 

I choose the place with country food, like cornbread and tomatoes from home.

 

I choose to continue to write down my experiences and speak with honesty,

Connecting my wants and dreams with no apologies.

 

I choose to love the person I can be when no one else  is watching,

 

And I choose to break down each piece I took on in hopes that someone would accept me.

 

I choose to be.

 

I’m scared of the thought of someone seeing me, but it scares me more to lose myself completely, 

So I will stop and listen to the voice inside of me—

 

I choose me.

This is Not a Black and White Story

I am scared of a lot of things.

I’m scared of ISIS, terrorism, disease, and people hiding in the dark, waiting for people like me. I am scared of him. I am scared of being alone, and having no one to go to. I am scared of disappointing my parents, getting pregnant before I get married, and not making it into grad school. I am scared of school. I am scared of losing everything, and dying before I get the chance to live,

But I love running outside in my bare feet, and making up words to songs. I love driving when everyone else is sleeping, and pretending like I am the only person left in a small country town with a name no one seems to remember. I love talking about nonsensical things with friends, and drinking underneath the stars that fall along the river.

My fears will not stop me from walking outside, and breathing in freshly cut grass, or the crisp mornings lining my windows. My fears will never leave me, but my love for life, and for people, will fuel enough excitement and energy to search for more.

More than black and white, and more than memories left behind in pictures.

I am writing this blog so I can continue to move past the darkness pressing into my sides, cutting into my lungs, while I look into my past. I want to breathe again, but first–I need to start from the beginning. Or maybe from the middle.

This is me.