prose
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A man said to me Memory stuff will haunt you I said, will it cease?
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Who really listens to jazz music? I would love to know. Sat in a coffe shop listening to jazz. I’m curious if people hear the music or if it just turns to static. Or worse Silence. Silence is the worst. It takes up so much space. I feel the silence with every inhale and exhale.
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Imperfect (written October 20th, 2015) For as long as I can remember, I have chased the idea of perfection. I don’t know from where this idea came. It’s been a part of me for so long that I no longer know what I am chasing. It’s become a phantom that I cannot see. I know
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I was named after the strongest women that my father knew. Two forces worked their way through my veins. Two storms that could never be quieted. The ghost of one began to slowly break through my skin. I had been marked. There is no way to shake the weight of the dead from my skin.
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Dancing to the beat of my own drum. Singing the words to songs never written down. I long for the day that the world stops spinning out of control. There is no end to this madness. Only a girl and the songs inside her bones. Hoping one day that they’d break so that those songs
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recovery is a tricky word for me. it means that i am no longer the person that I was. isn’t this what I wanted? i don’t know who I am without my demons. I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t battling something. what do I do without something to fight against? when does I
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I don’t know what’s more twisted, my dear. The fact that I let you go Or The fact that you keep coming back. Maybe I’m the one that returns But Only in moments of weakness Like This one.
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I am not as strong. I have to be sure. To describe my feelings Toward you. Dear future me, you’ve got a storm coming.
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I am concrete. I am hard yet porous. I am cracked concrete. Beautiful AND Dangerous. I am wet concrete. I take the shape of where I am poured. I am all of these things and more. You never knew how complex concrete could be. If only you stopped to take notice.
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Yesterday was the end of an era. I got my clean slate after all. I am done digging up skeletons. I will put this shovel to good use. It’s time to plant some trees and flowers. The world could use some more beauty Instead of madness.
Trapped In The Margins 