Monthly Archives: November 2015

At the Onset of 2 AM

What do I do when I’m not with you?

Sitting in the empty space of time and history,
The cracks in between the cogwheels creaking  with loneliness,
Moaning gears of the clocks enough to tear a soul apart,
With crooked fingers extending from fragmented hands,
Aligning with the right numbers at the wrong time,
Wrong day, cocking its head at the blank slate eyes,
Embedded in my silent head, its tick tock fills the gaps
Between one consciousness and the next,
Anxious heartbeats tick tock with the rest, an infallible rhythm

Palms open, narrow fingertips reaching for the next number
On the scale that measures my existence in quantities,
My moods in the insignificant tick marks between the finite infinities
Waking my dead mind from its shallow slumber–

Reluctantly conscious until it remembers it died to live,
Enslaved itself to time in return for a minute of freedom to roam,
As minute as it may have been, it was enough to not think of “home”,
Cradled in between your immobile hands, peace was all you could give,

And it was all I could ask for,
But it wasn’t enough after all, wasn’t permanent–
Such temporaries played with my sanity, distorted my sentiments,
Your hands moved away, couldn’t give more,
And I fell apart slowly, rusting and failing with time,
It wasn’t your fault, nothing you could do,
It’s just that

Time gets to me when I’m not with you.

Withering

Strong walls regardless of strength can be torn down brick by brick picked apart until that strong wall falls to the ground Red core and burning ferocity simmer down last flames smothered out Stronger elements wearing it down until its physical strength mental fervor die out extinguished without a sound None can hear its struggle as it crumbles to the ground stomped on battered beaten until it is ground like a limp carcass heaving its last breaths left out of the sun never to be found Strong walls with thick tears can rebuild themselves takes time Time it does not have in the breaths between one night and the next when the darkness takes over Time and it can no longer breathe It will only have night when rough brick by rough brick its hardened skin disintegrates leaving nothing but softened sand those pieces of itself that slip through the crevices of our minds grains of its essence sliding in and out of our consciousness unable to be grasped for more than

one single breath.

The Liebster Award

liebster-1

Hello! I was nominated for the Liebster Award by erika! Thank you for giving me something fun to do, haha. I love making these kinds of posts because they’re more lighthearted.

Rules

1) Make a post thanking and linking the person who nominated you.
2) Include the Liebster Award sticker in the post.
3) Nominate 5-10 other bloggers and notify them of this in one of their posts.
4) All nominated bloggers are to have less than 200 followers.
5) Answer the 10 questions posed by your nominator, create 10 questions for your nominees to answer (or, you can repeat the same questions.)
6) Copy these rules into your post.

Answers

What gives your life meaning?

For sure, it’s my relationships with those around me. The relationships with my family, friends, mentors, teachers, etc are some of the most important aspects of my life. Being an extrovert, I am nothing without the people around me, especially those who are closer. They give me energy and happiness. When I am isolation, I’m just a lump. My loves, passions, and goals also make my life meaningful and vibrant.

What has brought you joy and happiness lately?

My best friends, meeting new people, trying new things, and being away at college! I’ve had a lot of fun while learning a lot of things, and it’s been a great time.

How old were you when you felt like an adult?

I think every year of my life I felt like I was grown up or mature even when I really wasn’t (like when I was 10), but in terms of adulthood, I still haven’t really reached that point. I’m 19 now, but I probably won’t feel like an adult until I’m 25 or something.

What is something you ask yourself all the time, that no one else asks you?

“What do you really want in life?” and “What would make you happy?”

Why did you start your blog?

I’m just going to copy and paste this one because I’ve answered it at least 5 times, haha.

“Like I’ve said many times, I started the blog because I wanted to try something new as I started a new life at college, and I wanted a space to put all of my ideas and share my writing with a community of people who relate to me (without being self-conscious, hence the anonymity). Over time, this blog has also become a motivator for me to write more often and with more variety, so I’m extremely glad I started this, and extremely grateful to everyone who has ever liked, followed, commented, or supported me in any way through this blog (or even just glanced at it).

This blog started as an experiment that I wasn’t sure if I would continue, but it has become a successful support system in its own way, a motivator consisting of small orange dots and stars and little icon faces that I am happy to see every day (and all appearing in such little time, wow). Not only does it motivate me to write often, it motivates me to write more things outside of my comfort zone and try different styles and topics that I’ve never touched before and never thought I would touch.

So, I guess this answer sort of went from why did I start blogging to why do I continue to blog. To summarize this, I started this blog as an experiment/new thing and as an anonymous outlet for my work. I continue to blog because it is a motivator in terms of writing frequency, writing variety (style, length, genre), and it lifts my mood in small ways every day.”

What change in the world would you like to see in your life time?

Oh so many things. The amount of people who care about and believe in global warming and the decrease of the effects of climate change, the dwindling of discrimination based on race, sex, sexual orientation, religion, etc, the lowering of sensitivity to non-political correctness, higher literacy rates, among many more things I can’t think of right now. There are also many more specific to America, but I won’t get into it.

How are you helping bring about that change?

I’m not doing the biggest things yet because I’m not in a position to, but through my everyday words and actions, I believe I am helping.

Who is your hero?

Poetry-wise, Edgar Allan Poe and William Wordsworth. In general, I don’t really have a specific one–anyone that is doing something to help people and the world. Maybe my old AP Lit teacher. She’s the best.

What are you passionate about?

Public health, creative writing, poetry specifically, and management.

What is something you are grateful to have learned the hard way?

1) How to be independent and resourceful.
2) How to make myself happy rather than care about what others think.

What do you find inspiring?

Those that have worked hard by themselves or against tough circumstances to get to their definition of success and happiness in life. Those who are open, accepting, forgiving. Those who help others with mostly non-selfish intentions (we’re all at least a little selfish in everything we do, biologically, haha).

Bloggers/Nominees*

1) Ranting Crow
2) People, Things, and Life
3) In Noir Velvet
4) Kosmogonic
5) thefeatheredsleep
6) Everyone else who wants to

*These are some great bloggers. Check them out!
(Totally not following the rules though… hehe).

The questions for them are the same as the ones above that I answered, so if you bloggers have any extra time on your hands, have fun answering them!

The Breakdown

Broken mind, broken soul, unhinged jaws, dimmed eyes staring blankly at an empty world,
Dragging footsteps sound rhythmically with the faint beating of a heavy heart,
Rusty gears struggle to turn, churning the feelings around until they’re tangled and confused,
The film of our memories and adventures scrambled into hysteria, barely grasping the images now,

Split wood in the metal machines, malfunctioning mayhem yearning for something concrete,
Mumbling fingers crawl into my body, search for the error to fix but it’s not that easy,
Because the chain was loose, pieces barely hanging on by the malleable metal thread,
Pieces gone to pieces, these glimmering machines are only peaceful when dead,

When all has been said and done I still believe if I had never had feelings it’d be easier to rest,
No mind, memories, hearts put to the test with unending trials, experiments, experience,
Monotone movements, emotions, and life, so much easier, so much less strife…
Well if you can call that a life.

At least I have the memory of our past happiness no matter how intangible,
However faded that feeling has become, faint glimmers of light are better than never seeing sun,
When I was with you there were rainbows in my mind, gears running smooth, everything just fine,
My hard cold skin melted in your embrace, and nothing can ever take that feeling away,

Such gentle kisses though you knew I could hardly feel pain,
And when it rained in my world, you’d protect me, no matter what lengths you had to go through,
Because the only length too much for you was the distance between our touching palms,
This is the thought I lie here and hold onto–

1, 2, 3, 4

Suffocated in the routines of life and time and time and life,
The same cogwheels turning over and over, again and again,
All the same, all the same, all the time, every time.
The air is thick around this path, so traveled, so breathed,
By the same and the same, this one or that,
It doesn’t matter which, it’s all been done and redone,

Written, and re-written, past lives and past times analogous,
Present lives and present times gone inanimate in our eyes,
Drying the ink in our pens, sketching the same curves again,
And again, the ink bleeds out in the same pattern,
Shapes repeated on paper, undifferentiated from the others,
Colorless in tone, overdone over time, years and centuries old.

Colorless in tone, overdone over time, years and centuries old.
Shapes repeated on paper, undifferentiated from the others,
And again, the ink bleeds out in the same pattern,
Drying the ink in our pens, sketching the same curves again,
Present lives and present times gone inanimate in our eyes,
Written, and re-written, past lives and past times analogous,

It doesn’t matter which, it’s all been done and redone,
By the same and the same, this one or that,
The air is thick around this path, so traveled, so breathed,
All the same, all the same, all the time, every time.
The same cogwheels turning over and over, again and again,
Suffocated in the routines of life and time and time and life,

The Spaces

The spaces between the threads, allow breath, sweater lungs
Holes where your words can seep in, soaking my wrists
Unwinding the knots as they catch wind of your words
Intertwining threads reminiscent of interlocking fingers,
fragile yet strong bonds
of
thin

thin
thread

barely
hanging
on

in
the
s
p
a
c
e
s

The spaces between our fingers, one around the other, allow depth, locked hearts
Buckled down, protect the emptiness waiting to be filled, unwilling to relent
For when the emptiness is filled and frozen, it can be cracked open

Opened                                heart                     for all the world to see and point

Vulnerable on all sides to grotesque laughing faces and sharp words that stab hard

The spaces between the words, allow thought, a pulsing pause
A strange rhythm varying with context and culture,
A breath of unused time, unfulfilled will, unsaid power
But also peace of mind, a blank slate to start over
In all the chaos filling to the brim, overflowing on whim,
There is the unpunctuated space ;