Home

He has a home on his tongue, and the house looks like “she”. She also has a home on her tongue, and it looks like “he”. Both homes are made of glass and windows, so it is very easy to be careless with the strength of emotions. Both foundations grow studier with time; they do not degrade. And the sun beams through the windows, and the light reflects off the mirrors, so there is only truth.

Potential vs. Success

Talent, intelligence, love, faith…they all mean nothing without your best work, your best time, your best patience, and pure, best interests.

Your higher power, or your genes, or your upbringing may have instilled in you any potential you have to excel in any aspect of your life, but if that potential is never manifested itself emotionally, mentally, physically, spiritually, it is equal to a dusty lightbulb, never switched on. You wonder why you’ve been hurt or hurt yourself and you don’t fully fathom why: you’ve been stumbling around in the dark.

Broken Dial

I am exhausted from living my life as a safe. I am just a locked box, set in the middle of a hallway used for others’ secrets. I am the middleman, or “person”, like a telegram when needed, because no one can look the person they are addressing in the eyes. I am a place to exhale excess air, excess water that drowns the eyes. I am jaded from this line if work; I wish I could retire and people could learn to dump their secrets onto the people they are withholding things from. However, not everyone has the knowledge to handle what they are holding properly, so there will always be a person to pull into their prison to give them company. So, for some, that person will be me.

Running

You’re running. You’re running and are running in some worn out shoes not made for running. There are holes in the soles of your feet, allowing for entrance of pebbles and dirty water and plenty of blisters. But you think the open crevices are favorable; air flows through your soaked socks and releaves some heat as well as tension. Running keeps your heart rate up, but do you need to run away from something to achieve that? Or are you running towards something? Are you fully prepared to set that goal? Do you have to be? Maybe the pain of your joints slamming into each other without proper support, without proper breathing techniques, makes your path all the more real. You feel every crack in the ground. If you trip, the blood trickling down your knees documents your humanness.

I Am, And I Am Not.

I am like my mother in many ways. I am a guardian. I am paranoid and neurotic. My voice is usually tiny, but I can laugh obnoxiously loud. I enjoy spending time alone, but I also get lonely. I work my ass off, preferring to do things on my own and do not ask for help unless I am desperate. When speaking with others, I only talk about people I love and care for in the best light, even if they have hurt me badly. I have her smile. I have her ability to trail off sentences, leaving them unfinished. I have her ability to constantly nag. I have her ability to keep up appearances, even if my heart and mind are broken, but she is better at lying than I am. I have her self-effacing nature and, paradoxically, her self-centeredness. But I am also not her. I try to not let my past shackle me. I love to write; she hates it. I am no where near considering having a child, and I would prefer to travel alot before I can make that decision.
Every one of our renewing cells is a bit of our personalities, most unknown. But you trust what you do know is essential to know, and you accept all of the lovely and revolting parts.

Protection

I would rather be tortured and killed by honesty, than live blissfully blanketed under lies.

My Chapter

When I conclude a chapter, I never return to it. It’s a closed case, no room for editing; no changing of moods. There is only one chapter of this book that remains an open case, though I have not switched the story, nor the wording, and the aura glows the same. But there may be nothing more to edit. Perhaps there is as unknown, newly written draft, and the story is not mine anymore. If this is so, I hope the colors are crisper, brighter than any other hue I could ever have the ability to describe. I do weep though at my falling short. I hope your new story makes you want to live through it. I am still trying to live through what I have. One day my chapter will flourish, and I could move onto the next one. I could say, “I’ll hope you may present yourself in the next,” but I won’t. I’m closing this chapter of my life for good, because you closed the book first. Parts were good. Parts weren’t. It taught me many things, which I am grateful for. Live in glorious light, stranger.