Cross The Line

Never tell other people about your personal problems.

Never ever reveal how vulnerable you are to situations found common in every life.

Never expose yourself to others.

I have been told by family and strangers also that my problems, any person’s problem, are to be kept private. We, generally typing here, may feel inclined to inquire about a person’s woes and sorrows but that is only ‘polite’. No one wishes to be burden by what we all go through, especially at present.

No one wish to know that you too are struggling to afford rent, mortgage or a bill necessary to shelter life.

If you ever mention your troubles with work, finding a job adequate or simple enough to afford the necessities…find yourself chasing after a person to listen.

Why is that the case with our society? To avoid troubles and difficulties of others, yet to demand a persuasion of happiness.

If we are not creating an illusion, then why must we speak? Motivational speakers in our everyday life speak of overcoming a situation with applause in agreement. Don’t speak of it, simply overcome in order to prove that ‘this too shall pass’.

I’ll tell you something here: I want to listen.

Tell me more about your situation-a bank teller that smiles all day until you inquire more about her. She struggles to financially support her children.

A homeless man sits at the same corner all day and all night, until you inquire as to why he sits. He lost his way years ago, as a veteran and husband.

A crew member working alone to provide service to customers coming in all direction. She’s yelled at and scoffed; considered to be too incompetent. She was convinced by her manager that if she can handle this then a promotion will be handed to her. Disappointed now as she remains in her current position until quitting day.

A man steals and is caught. In jail he faces his time and I’ll ask why. He couldn’t afford what was needed so he took the items instead. So I ask, why not ask a stranger if they could help you with a purchase? To ask is to be considered a burden and and more of a reason for them to clutch their purses tighter. Not to be judgmental necessarily but to warn off those that have reached the breaking point they’ll never consider.

I find this all to be peculiarly devastating. Rallying in the polls we demand a politician to represent our interest to overcome. Though so polarized, one believes the other is not adequately heard by simple slight difference of opinion. A slight disagreement to alleviate the suffering of all others. This then, creates a bubble of arguments on top of the issue we all share. We are all troubled and struggling in some way and at some point in our lives.

You know, we could allow time to actively listen. If we can pull together in times of national crisis televised then we can do so for any and all people. To consider one stranger as person, then to understand that person being no different than our self.

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Luke

Corruption begins when a person thinks of their self and personal afflictions. Corruption continues because this person cannot keep their own secret. They must share it and share with someone feeling obligated to comply to a demand.

You do this for me because I do for you. What you do for me, I’ll ensure to return the favor.

Lies are spun from the first panic effort to now a routine of lies to justify a system. Honesty, then, is seen as a threat and the first to reveal the lies are now a conflict of interest.

What you have done is complicate my benefit. What I will do to you is now a misplaced truth.

Guilty conscience is taught by nurture, for the most part, so we cannot lie or do so for long. We must tell, if ever the truth is told. We must reveal now but blame it on the most fair among us.

He did it and this is how it was done. I would have said something but to say anything at all would make me a target.

Some think to comply is more just than to be seen as an accomplice. The benefits seems to be like a cherry, in order to not consider the dire consequences.

The lost of a job, a career, a home, a family and any honor to your name is less important than the cherry on top.

And then to feel the bearing weight of a system crashing down on the tune of your whistle is seemingly too much to witness.

There is always a chance to evade consequences if someone else is to blame.

Here I think, why go through the trouble?

If you are stressed for money, why not choose honesty?

If you are stressed for an opportunity, why not choose honesty?

And if you are ever pressed to participate in either, then why not expose the selfish?

The attention is drawn to you and that is nerve racking. To speak up for oneself is nerve racking, however it is necessary if you ever want to clear your name. Make it be known to all that I care for integrity. I want for better, yet I’m not desperate. My actions are usually justified in its truth.

Let it be known what you stand for if so or if not pressured another way.

Angel Hollywood

“Now you understand

just why my head’s not bowed.

I don’t shout or jump about

or have to talk real loud.

When you see me passing

it ought to make you proud.”

A Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou

Some young women are naturally esteemed. Their aura commanding attention, even while expressing insecurities, playfully to reassure again that they are admired. For what it is worth, to be regarded so, is a breathable life sentence. Unless she forgets again that we all age, and fail to understand the remarkable attraction of matured beauty too. She’ll compare to what was yesterday and not to factor in her progression: a beautiful girl to young woman and now this, a matured lady. Beauty is as it is seen by her admirers, especially one so naturally gifted, but importantly as seen of herself. And so it seems most women may lose that sense of their self.

Other women attempt to achieve this sense, too, though unsuccessful with their pride diminished upon each word, look, or gesture that causes hurt. About other women, every possible chance to crush the glimpse of pride in her eyes most likely by an acquaintance. She is so often taunted and told otherwise of what she may state so boldly. My smile, is the best part of me. Your smile, as gaped as can be seen, why do you smile so often and about everything? She fades away to the eye. Her stance, then it is critiqued and criticized. You could be yourself, but not with the others, especially those that hold attention with high regard. You could be this way but you are always that way and now so easily pushed. Last, a comment made with a side eye and a sneer, any one made surely to break away attention; a gaze in her direction. A trick so often played by the acquaintance. Here I witness so many women held back by their own awakening – a sense of her own beauty.

To Angelou, we share our fascination of her. Her words and her wisdom, may I say her views of herself. How she could turn the heads of influential, remarkable, brilliant men to listen to her as equal. What was that sense about her? Angelou wrote of it, of herself, a phenomenal woman. You are one among many, a phenomenal woman. As you sing and dance, yet too shy to do before company . I still envision the same confidence within you. A phenomenal woman, despite what they say that may bring you down some.

To you I write, I see where you may be flawed. Whenever I see your head bowed with a voice whispered so low about being not pretty, I’m lost. Your eyes smile along with you as you express any thought of joy. Then without embarrassment you may sing to yourself and dance along to an image of yourself, but to stop if someone may take an interest. Why? In embarrassment, for so long you are told you cannot do what someone so naturally gifted may do. To be put down and criticized for every thought you may have of your own beauty. This is why I am lost, you are convinced of what others taunt while misunderstanding or timid. What they may refuse to acknowledge is not for you to expect in validation. As a young woman you must see, over time, that you are made as you may feel. You appear as you may have yourself. And that you can be renewed again, of confidence, if you so choose to see it.

Bullied

Another yesterday news described the sudden death of a 10 year old. Under the constant agony of children too limited to understand that words in fact hurt, the young child had committed suicide.

Some of the first defense by adults is to blame the victim. The victim was not tough enough. The victim should have been taught to fight back. The victim should have been taught to meet violence with violence, and to equal harsh words with their own. Why the need to ‘toughen’ the victim with this idiocy-a world where we are expected to be cruel and nasty? Why? It’s with this understanding that the world isn’t nice and life isn’t fair, therefore only the ‘weak minded’ may slip away as the ‘strong willed’ succeed. This is life and this is the first lesson.

What, just why should there be a need to defend at all? Not just a child, as this issue extends well into adulthood- and we wonder how young bullies are shaped and made. We are always taught to, or even expected to allow the bully to win over our minds and confidence by engaging them in their own struggle. If we lose, yet live we proved our worth still, even if it may escalate the bully’s intentions. If we win, we proved our worth, may even expose the cowardice of the bully. If we fail to meet the pointless challenge to the bully’s ego it is then society that hounds us for not defending our worth. And it is pointless to engage as with this understanding we allow the bully to control the situations of either a life scarred or of sudden death. We then make it seem as if the bully is in the ‘right’, while all others unable to or not willing to engage are in the ‘wrong’.

I mean I understand the pointless matter of this challenge all too well. Growing up not understanding why I, quiet and only concerned with myself, would find harsh words lashed at me. Or to hear of false assumptions about my character used as a weapon. Or in some cases, being physically ridiculed in front of witnesses to test my patience. I had only lost my patience once. This extends from memories of an 8 year old to that of 21 year old in college, in a communal situation. For the life of me I could not understand why I was tested, essentially. Comments made about my appearance, lack of engagement in social settings, etc, etc. I had to be told that it’s a game we play to disturb the peace of an individual so that their worth is proved. Again, only once did I engage. He kicked me and laughed so I kicked him back, madly. All that I learned is that I was furious that my peace was disturbed and I didn’t feel any better being just as equally cruel and nasty. He had won me over, and I played his game. All other altercations I ignored with my face quenched or to show that I was slightly annoyed but no longer listening. At some point I had allowed them to talk, to laugh and to point at me until this became ‘boring’ to them. Left alone only for a moment, for another person or group to test me yet again. Until now no longer.

I was never driven to suicide or self harm, but depression did take a hold of me during these times. Not that their words and actions hurt me, just that I was more so hurt that this is how they were towards someone seemingly different. And hurt by that I must endure this treatment to be taught a lesson, or to be told ‘this is simply how people are so get on board and play along or become left.’ For others like myself we may move along and endure, others play, and some others ‘fail to defend’.

We shouldn’t have to allow our world to be met and decided by that of a bully. We should not have to defend, to allow the peace of an individual to be disturbed. This too should be taught and engrained into our children so that they may forever silence the adult bully. We should not have to do anything other than to counsel the bully, to source the root of their unwillingness to live peacefully-as the problem lies and first begin with that person.

Quirk

Online dating has become a new way to stare at someone from across the bar, the room, the Mall, the way without actually speaking. We may appreciate the beauty but never to stop and say hello… You never know if the person staring back at you screams internally with all signals pointing ‘yes’. ‘Yes please speak to me, introduce yourself and be as awkward as you can be, so we may speak of this again when asked’. 

It’s become a pointless matter of ‘likes’. Perhaps on my end it’s a matter of ‘likes’ without a message. A kind indicator that they are intrigued, interested but never a message. A simple way to let you know that they are curious though not that interested, so I take it upon myself to message first. 

Thoughtful messages worded as questions to women that read but never reply. They are not interested for sure but as well hinting that I’m a terrible flirt. I’m too technical, too serious, too textbook and like a teacher asking you about something you’ve written but cannot explain. So I ask ‘why do you enjoy this subject, book or author?’ She most likely will not reply but if she does it’s along the lines of ‘oh I’ve mentioned something that I’ve forgotten’. Or sometimes ‘oh what are you talking about?’ And so the conversations end before they begin. 
Though there are few others that’ll happily message back until each one die off as if we had never seemed intrigued. I’m puzzled here. I had asked one person a question instead of guessing and assuming common disinterest. So I had asked her ‘Why do you seem less inclined to talk with me?’ 

Her answer summarized as: 

The way you asked the question. Why do you have to try so hard to ask or to say something. Like I can tell that you are intelligent but you don’t need to be that deep. And I come from a long day and the last thing I need to read is a message I have to break down to get what you want. When I do answer it’s not enough for you and sometimes I can’t respond really with what you’re giving me. So I thought to let the conservations die slowly. 

I’ll be honest to say my feelings were hurt. I took to deleting every word or link to who I am as a person. I left my profile blank with only a single picture and my gender and relationship preference listed. I became more sadden that once I had deleted everything about myself and what I wanted the ‘likes’ increased exponentially within 10 minutes. 

My feelings were hurt as this is a common criticism that has followed me from childhood. I’m speaking mere friendship seeking on the playground as I had no one but I couldn’t relate to the other children and they too couldn’t relate to me. As one girl came up to me and said ‘this is why no one likes you’ and throughout years ’til graduation day she never liked me. I’m confused; I didn’t understand what was the matter with me. And over time I realized by the questions I was asked from elementary school to high school that they assumed everything false. 

I’ve never thought highly of myself in terms of intelligence and manner of speaking. I speak and write a certain way but I didn’t know it was so different from the way others speak and write until I was told and asked. I understand you just fine regardless of your vernacular or broken English I understand you; therefore no need on my end to mock you.  I never actually thought anything more or less of you. How do I explain that when I meet a person my mind is free of judgement, entirely blank until you fill in my mind of who you are. I will speak to you as I speak to everyone-with clarity and without assumption. No I’m not trying hard to word my responses or questions as this manner of speaking is clear and concise to me. 

But all others read and hear are riddles. As my mom asked my brother and I ‘why do y’all talk in riddles?’ An air of quiet as I sat to think what did she mean… I lookto my brother to see if he was just as confused. A blank expression upon his face. I don’t know but what I say to you seems direct. What I ask seems like an indication that a conversation is wanted. The simple fact that I’m speaking to you, sharing my experience and the like is a way to produce a response for a conversation to flow naturally. However to you and most people this is an oddity. 

I’m a firm beleiver that I should be able to be myself as I relate to other people. But then I find that people like me best when I at least try to speak and behave as they do. A headache for sure as I have to actually think and try to be vague-in my mind over simplicity. To have short burst of phrases and one worded responses, or else to read a few sentences punctuated is equivalent to a boring chapter read in that one class yesterday.  Then I think it sad to read that a  few sentences is considered a chore by most people. 

Well then if how I express myself is not to your liking then most kindly I’m not for you. I’m coming to accept that I’m not for most people. 

As I go over previous relationships, as bitter memories as they are, they all told me the same. I deserve someone better or someone like myself. Someone more understanding and appreciative that this quirky woman would like to share the world and the night sky with her. So I am sadden, but I’ll wait.

I Wish I Had Not

Thought the world of you when my world was slowly becoming filled. Or to think that you would fulfill all that I have ever wanted, then needed, as a companion. 

I wish I had not pursued you in youthful anticipation of something everlasting. As you know-as you are a part of a question involving society, people, and the distrust of simply uttering the words ‘I love you too’. 

I wish that I could have canceled the meeting of our first date. You were smiling so brightly and intrigued. I for sure thought after all of our previous conversations that you knew something of me-wanted to hold me selfishly to yourself. On that day I thought of you curiously. On this page; these pages I’ve written in my journal actually, I think of how selfish I was to pursue a stranger simply infatuated, fascinated that someone like myself exist. And as I write I think how foolish I am to cry, and to cloud my mind with thoughts of you. As you go over the first date, now, with your girlfriend…with her not I. I sit to contemplate and rewind daily-not of your smiles and overly politiness that brought us together. Instead I think of bitter headeaches; eyes rolled so far back; eyes shifted in glance, away from my own eyes; sighs of frustrations of you telling me that who I am as a person is not what you wanted. And that the love you expressed to me is not what you meant, now. Here I think of the seconds measured in songs, mental raps and rants. I add an explanation to others inquiring about my heavy eyes and heart. I tell them it is you that I think of-and as I think to myself ‘I wish’. As she is a reminder to why my love is denied. So I write, and to think without end about how ‘I wish had not’ spent so much of my effort on you. 

To beg and to plead with you.

To stare into your face of apathy once you wanted no more. 

I see now that I’m triggered by every musical notes, melody to memories of you. 

As I wish I had not pursued you. 

About A Girl

Hair wavy and damp, brushed back away from her face. Her nose is running-decorated in glitter. Now her nose, finger and hair glimmers with colors of blue. “I’m fucked up” she says as her body waves and her thoughts come out aloud disconnected. She drops her phone for the second time beside her foot. She’s searching for something, perhaps a tissue, her lighter, no actually her phone. Again, for the third time she has forgotten something again. She looks down and around; raises her head. A smile lights up across her face-on to find something to drink, preferably water. In the kitchen now to stare at the stove then the fridge. Though she grabs a beer too-a decision to make of which to have first as she quenches both her habit and her thirst. 

Lisa looks into her in blank observation. For a moment she studies the girl before her in her body movements mocking the conflicting options going over in her mind. The move for the night was to make plans for a chill night, a smoke session. But now the dealer is too incompetent as the girl explains. She tells Lisa that he deserves his shitty job at Nachos and Bar. Lisa chuckles slightly to hear the girl’s frustration. In Lisa’s mind now going over what is actually unfortunate. 

An apology to Lisa is begged as the night extends to another hour without progress. “It’s alight, drink something.” Lisa beckons her to come closer. As she does, for a longing hug and a light kiss upon he lips. “It’s okay, do you need to sit?” Lisa pauses as she rubs the girl’s back. “You seem dizz.” 

“Oh no I’m fine, thank you.” The girl smiles again. 

Turning away from the embrace, the girl places her elbows onto the island countertop. Her head rest between her palms. “I’m sorry, just I took too many drugs and then I drank alcohol… and I don’t think that was a great idea now that I’m so fucked. I was looking for a good high and now I’m just.. I feel bad.” She raises her head from her palms to sniff, to wipe her nose again. “Do you mind?” Lisa tells her “no, you’re alright with me.” 

The girl lays her head on Lisa’s shoulder; brushing back her damp hair now. She kisses her on top her head. “You’re alright with me.”

“Thank you”, the girl whispers. She breaks away from the embrace to search her dazzled, glittered pocket purse. A pack of Marblos in hand now as she searches the living room for her lighter. “I need to smoke. Do you want to come outside?” 

“Sure.”

Lisa makes a motion with her feet. Bridget sniffs her shoes, paws at her shoelaces. Only startled for a moment, Lisa shakes her shoe -turns to make her way to the balcony. The girl ahead of her, and now the dog picks up into a pace to follow outdoors. 

The darkness is approaching midnight. 

What source of light allowed is the latter above their heads, a low tone of yellow. A wind chime matching the movement of a warm breeze. The two sit, offering one another a story about their day. As one tells the other, one may have a sense that both here are not altogether right mentally. Something in their respective past has affected them emotionally. And what they do to themselves physically expresses all that is wrong with someone else now a distant, painful memory.

Free Time

I’ve thought of a few short stories to write over the course of days. The subjects are varied, though all relating to some abstact thought. The summary of them all is that my mind is longing for an ever presence that will transcend time. At this moment I think of how to adequately express what I am writing first in my journal. What I am to present here for mild interest. What I wish to make known to the world in writing will not be justified here. Instead what I wish to relate requires hours of patience and understanding.  

Ditto on love said that we seek immortality. Meaning once we have come to understand that childhood last briefly, we see the time to do something last a short life. The world is full of wonder and inspiration yet so little time to experience it all. And so we find ways to matter to someone, to a whole of society. I think that is what I seek too… to make my presence known and to make an impact of some kind. 


As of now I’m looking over my left shoulder. A spontaneous decision some days ago for a tattoo. It’s a moon, closer to the reality we may view at night. Underneath are Greek letters saying “you’re missing without me”. What it means is something I wish to witness myself. Time to move forward, to change. As I-as a person without a physical sense-to witness something remarkable while timeless. I wish to witness the impossible with no one else to tell. Perhaps a summation of what I’m thinking, what all I wish to write is a sense of longing. 

Before You Waste Her Time

I’m training a new team member twice my age. She tells me of heart ache and troubles everyone seem to suffer through lately. She’s part of the homeless that swear and beg for hours to pay for the extended stay hotels in Gwinnett County. 

In telling me about her situation; a corporate worker lost her job and home in a financial bind. Her eldest daughter is miles away in another state, desperate and heart broken. The daughter left to be with a man in age only, to live and to grow together. But as all relationships, really, they end. Her daughter is now depressed, in distress attempting suicide almost. I told the lady that’s my situation too. 

I didn’t travel miles to be with her, just decided to live with her in the current city.  I was warned and cautioned but it was love I told myself. I told her since you know me since I relayed all that I am on a dating site. The only means I may find someone. I took to a dating site for a serious relationship. Not a fairy tale forever, but something that will grow and last as we mature and understand the other. Apparently, despite her education being equal to my own, failed at reading and listening comprehension. A roller coaster of emotions about situations that I had told her that I been through before, yet nothing came of it. Reassured after a powwow and again…that everything is fine and that she wished to marry me. I continued with high hopes. It’s like what music tells me that relationships are a struggle, but so long as we struggle together for positive it’ll be well worth the time. No, my time, our time wasted. 

Dumped after my college graduation, dumped after resigning an agreement to live together in financial bondage. I lost it. I lost my temper, emotions overwhelmed me. As I told her that will happen-depressing episode. Her response was not that of love, it was the best way to contact the police officers. Yelling and tearing down my belongings so I could move out easier, though I did so in a fit of rage and I understand her confusion then, is grounds for my arrest and death. Again, a week after my graduation. 

I lost it. I lost myself in emotions. A heart and stress that shows on my face. My color has changed, become darkened. How long has it been since then? Nine months has passed and she is in her eighth month ‘anniversary’ with another woman. I’m tormented and devastated, constantly reminded of her. Always reminded of bullshit as I try again to keep my mind off of it. She wasted my time. Filled me up with hopes, said we could do it again some point. No I wasn’t listening to that part. I listened when she rolled her eyes as I tried to explain, calmly that I could not afford to live with her and her friend, now that there wasn’t a love bondage to ensure we would take care of each other. 

Depression has overcome me. I’m no longer living in anxiety of her presence since she has moved to live with her girlfriend, yet still reminded of a few family members I have met. Trying my best to avoid their presence and scene. Heart break turned into pessimism, almost given up. Trying my best to have goals in mind to keep me going. Homelessness is temporary, work menial task jobs for now to save for your MA degree and home. Continue to find a purpose, by weight training and writing. Even still there in my gym or here on this site I cannot avoid the overwhelming emotion of a heart break. Again I see it in my face, see it as I see my body as plump though I’m skinny. Stopping tears during random moments of songs reminiscing what I thought I had. 

As what most people, as it seems, think that they have is something forever. Combining finances and planning for the future as if it is marriage already. Why? We are taught to never be alone, yet I have witnessed a marriage where being alone is more preferreable than to fall into expectations. Expecting tradition, order in a world full of possibilities and options. Though if that had happened I would not have been born… I sit and think in the pointless mater of forming relationships. You’re infatuated, this person is your everything. Your milk to your chocolate, in my case I like it. It feels good but people cannot stomach bad moments. It just wasn’t going to work, as I was told. What the hell does that mean? Oh it means that love doesn’t exist. Every situation is treated like a stepping stone to something out there ‘better’ without conflict. I typed a post about this, while in a sad state, people want someone to confirm their bias. As she told me, her girlfriend-that’s ignorant of all details previous of her-told her that her causes and concerns were correct. 

What was there to argue about? Abuse. I was used and abused and did not know how to cope and to relate this to my now ex. She interpreted this as untrustworthiness, really cheating. Young as I am forming relationships I never had before. I could not shake the feeling that I had been forced into something previous of my ex. I’ll handle it alone as I tell myself, address the one responsible alone. I suppose this is the incorrect way to handle such a situation as it means one is cheating. Unable to comfort someone in need is her flaw. I suppose she’s right, it just was not going to work. 

Here I am 9 months later sniffling, going over my mind a hundred times more before I rest my eyes in my car. My temporary home. I think again in obsession as I wash dishes at one job; travel. My first job people are looking for a joke and a smile per usual from me. I tell them I’m going through some life troubles but I’m alright. It’s time to work, customers do not want to hear your story in addition so remained focused. 

I did contact her for an apology. Worst decision to make as she affirms she had done nothing wrong per usual. As I knew she would say stubbornly that she was in a dark place, depressed. Well better now it seems with someone new. She tells me this isn’t about ‘race’, since she’s not racist. I never mentioned color difference to her. 

Whatever, whatever a broken record of her words and her apathy and rude, immature behavior towards me plays over again. My reaction reminded to me again. Again, and again. I know why someone may commit suicide. 

I know what the love songs are talking about. It hurts. Wait, every reaction similar in my experience hurts. I understand the hurt as I listen to others or about others hurting. The more aged adults singing about how young a heart may become and it’ll pass. However they too at the age 45 and over dealing with heart breaks and longings, making it seem as if there is an age restriction to this feeling. It’s not immature, it hurts. 

And I listen to others and see why they are hurting. They, like myself, take matters of the heart seriously. Cannot stomach another commitment witnessing the same or similar patterns of behavior. With the common expectation of bitterness. It’s the person, the individual they say. Well I’m referring to her and other people in my past, hence why I made a dating profile address this exact point. In my ignorant assumption thinking she had read the terms and conditions to being with me. 

I digress, not actually, but for now I’m tired. It shows physically as my feet swell. In need of two jobs to afford a place and my education in addition. Sore and exhausted thinking work and working will keep me busy from the obsssesive troubles on my mind. I’m open an honesty about my struggles so I’m not stifling through tears trying to come up with a lie about my situation. Honestly I’m stressed and in need of sleep. 

As a child I slept away my loneliness-inability to connect with others, self hatred of my actual plump body, etc. So much sleeping to do as an activity,  I became pale and soft. My mom told me she thought she was doing us a favor by leaving us alone in our bedrooms.  No I tell her I anticipated bed after school so I may continue the story dream and to cry myself to sleep. 10, 12, 23 years old my more bullish family members tell me that I just cannot cope with life.
A funny world that we live in. It’s not funny. The lady’s daughter is being institutionalize, miles away from home, because of someone else. Someone else being inconsiderate means the person damaged is need of medication. If we are a danger to ourselves then we need to be institutionalized. I knew my ex was depressed and I tried my best to relate to her by sharing my own experience. Perhaps if I remained patient and supportive she would see that I love her dearly. No, this acknowledgement required love on her part as well. As I told her I’m sure she feels more appreciated now with someone new. It killed me inside when she said yes. It’s not you, it’s just me. It’s just me. My heart ripping to shreds. How do I cope? 

I try my best to keep my goals in mind. Again, homelessness is temporary, fast food worker as a college graduate is only temporary until I find one less judgemetal and rude employer to give me a chance…and so on. I look forward to purchasing books. I look forward to share my story dream, from my childhood, titled as ‘Rough Draft’. I find something else to do to snap out for only a minute or so until my mind falls back to its broken record.

I gave advice to my ex-essentially stating, please love the woman you’re with now. Nothing worse than time wasted and memories wasted and corrupted. Why? For the simple fact of never being alone. 

I’m sighing, not wanting to culture my space here too, yet feel more relieved as I share.

Girl Blue

Girl turned blue. What did she do?

No I will not attempt to type some elementary rhyme to mention not her hue, but her demeanor. The girl has turned blue.

In a constant to remain hopeful of something to intrigue her mind. What is it? A longing for that star since burnt out beyond her years of existence. She longs to find the other side of the universe. Or perhaps to find that time and space are part of a continuum without a clear beginning or ending. 

How do we imagine the beginning, before the universe as we are becoming to know? A white empty space. How do we imagine the end? A seemingly spontaneous unfortunate event were the moon collapsed and had fallen onto Earth. More accurately, when our star has past its time into death. May we be dragged into the pit. Frightful, panicky, perhaps already extinct. 

This girl is blue because she is unconcerned with what the mundane world, society and life may offer her. There isnt a thing at all imaginative about that relationship to materials; jobs to purchase materials; people around another to reveal, compare, and to relate about materials. 

What is imaginative, inspiring to write what no one would ever be able to read: her trip to visit the stars. A journal of isolationism, omnipotence written for her. A letter to herself in the past about her being so blue. 

She’s lost interest in this mundane world. At some point attempted to reconnect. Only to find the pointlessness of it all. She lost all hope of finding a common understanding in all aspects of appreciating another. Then a slight advice from a concerned spirit raised her interest to rekindle what was lost in the form of communication. What she had found instead was the same, the mundane. Lonely as ever walking through life gazing up and around. Those around staring at someone quite strange, or as some one to take precautionary measures of… she walked alone. 

No one else to understand who she is and why she may appear with her eyes dark and face wet. A polite smile to strangers that walk by in judgement of her. 

How else does she imagine isolation? Oh so much so wanting an unfortunate event to take place where she is then left stranded. On an island that she will not assume possession of, a claim of discovery, and never will deface the nature. What does she imagine? To sit alone on the beach and to stare out at blue. To walk slowly, to feel the sand beneath her toes. She oh so want to feel the deafening silence of loneliness. 

To sit and wait for the sky to turn orange, red, then to turn black. We’ve rotated away to face the moon. She looks up again and imagine the night sky grabbing hold of her body. Shred her being apart so that only in essence does her mind and vision exist. Traveling throughout space to experience the evolutionary happening of possible new beginnings of life-too curious about their purpose. 

To float, no, actually to fall into space forever a wanderer who has lost all sense of contentment. No longer a person, without a pronoun to describe the body’s physicality in a sense. This life falls forever into space for eternity. A blue phenomenon receptive of every other element that extends beyond the universe that was known in the previous history.  

The imagination is extended to spontaneous energy forming to conduct a strike on the blue phenomenon. Hurt in a way, how to rejuvenate in this vastness? As in the previous history, to find a source of energy, perhaps a comet. No cosmic rays existing as natural sources of energy. The blue phenomenon latching on again. The uncoordinated destination is Earth.

Dead stars become blurred, new formations become seemingly rapid. A color of blanketed clouds, or as it seems in a stand still. Swirls of light, color, pressure all around. The blue phenomenon overwhelmed. Snatched and sling forward, thrown from its attachment, declining back down to Earth at an ever increasing speed.

The girl wakes from her trance. Where is she? ‘She’ is I, and I am here walking past hotels. Sitting alone at a table abandoned somewhere that was once something. I am she dozing off thinking of an island with the sky reflecting the ocean blue. This is me, my upset, my longing and so forth. A life lived in the present has nothing to offer for a curious star gazer.