Birds and Graduation

In the back, he stands.  Crying, he searches for stability; for some sort of sanity amidst the chaos of the day.  inside, he knows that graduation means things he's not ready to face: kindergarten, a new school, new teachers who may or may not care about him-- leaving him to fend for himself in a world of emotional abuse by his drunken mother who destroys every man he becomes attached to.  Alone he'll remain.  But not with us.  Not with the teachers who've cared for him since he was a toddler.

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Just as she begins to breathe again, she feels  the familiar tug on her dress, belonging only to that little girl with the most beautiful hair and eyes that can kill you.  Slightly relieved by the little girl's touch, she begins to fiddle with the graduation cap, desperate to fit and affix it before anyone comes over  to assist.  It doesn't work.  Her heart begins to pound hard as she continues on with her business: help children with their caps and gowns, make sure the balloons are tied to the chairs, ensure the music will be played accordingly, take pictures, and, most importantly, avoid him.  That's impossible, though.  Every time she sees that little girl, she's reminded of him.  Reminded of the rapidly approaching kindergarten.  She shakes the anxiety away just before the 'Pomp and Circumstance' ends for the first go-around.  "I can do this," she says quietly as she readies herself to maneuver between parents to get good pictures.  In, out, over, behind... she manages to click away at the camera without regard to what he's doing.  Then, in the middle of emotional chaos, that sweet little girl's hat falls off.  She looks at the little girl, desperate to help her as a mother would, but she can't.  It's in that instant that she wants to seek refuge in his eyes for an answer, but she can't.  Because he won't look back.  So, she does nothing.  The little girl puts her hat back on herself and sits back down like nothing happened.  That little girl's got serious dignity and class.


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I wish I was a bird sometimes.  I watched them today.  I was at the beach.  They looked so peaceful.  I'd kill for peace like that.  I'm constantly arguing with myself; burdened with 'what if's' and 'why's'.  I second-guess my actions a lot lately, and often, it's too late.

I'm moving out in August.
I miss being vulnerable.
Everyone should converse to a soundtrack.
There's someone for everyone.
Change has to happen.
I need to wash away the sand from my car.

End of story.

Infection

Into a sea of endless conversation
Falling deeper and deeper; becoming one
Together they ache in anticipation


Though a calloused heart he caries
She's let into his hidden world
"This is it", she says, but oh! quite the contrary


Suffocation fuels the raging fire
Denied any chance; any future
Poise and dignity is the attire


A distant dream it has become
But to destiny, they shall succumb.





People.  They're not nice.  (Well, except the WalMart worker who offered to let me skip in front of someone who had a gazzillion items while I only had three-- HE was nice).  But in general, they're just not.  It doesn't pay to be genuine anymore.  You won't be successful if you allow all of your walls to be broken down in a matter of weeks because you're vulnerable.  Actually, vulnerability gets you into a land of nothing.  Nowhere.  A dead end.  It gets you on a drunken drive home at 3am trying to remember what it was that you said because, really, you don't remember, yet somehow wishing you could take it all back because if you never said it, whatever it is that's happening wouldn't be happening.  Then, it gets you to the morning after when you -really- don't remember what happened, though somehow you keep replaying it in your mind.  But, remember-- you -don't- remember.

But the truth is, I miss being vulnerable.  I miss pouring my heart out.  I miss the challenge I used to have that wasn't really a challenge because I was damn good at tearing it down.  But, things happen.  I get it.  I just wish they didn't.  Not yet.  Not over something so stupid that could have been prevented anyway.  -That's- stupid.  You don't often find things to be genuine.  But when they are, it's like everyone just wants to throw them away.  It's because they're scared, I guess.  I know I am.  But I'm more scared of not finding it again.  It's kind of like a three-day weekend for me:  I want it, I want it, I want it.  Then when it's here, I don't want it because I miss working because I can't sit around and do nothing.  But then when it's gone, I want it back. (That's a bad analogy, but it works).

My thoughts are infected.  I want new ones.  I wonder how long it will be until I'm finally rid of the infection which consumes me.  I'm willing to bet it'll be a while.

Dating

It's weird.  It just is.

What do you say?

Dress or jeans?

Flats, sandals, or heels?

Hair up or down?

Perfume? Then, which one?

... and the list goes on...

The truth of the matter is, if the person you're going on a date with is worth anything anyway, then they won't really care.  They'll -get- that you're nervous, so what you say won't always come out right.  They'll care enough about what you're wearing to compliment you, but really, if they're worth keeping around, they'll like you in whatever you're wearing.  As far as the shoe thing is concerned, don't you know it's in every woman's best interest to have a spare pair in her car, so it's your own fault if you're not prepared for that walk he suggests after dinner.  And, your hair always depends on the outfit.  Afterall, you wouldn't want your gorgeous locks to cover up  that detailed lace back on your vintage dress, would you?

Regardless of all the prep work that goes into dating, you have to remember that it's nerve-racking for the guy too.  But guys, if -she's- worth keeping, she'll like -you- regardless too.  And she'll be understanding.  And flexible.  Dating isn't perfect.  Everyone gets that.  And those who don't, well... they shouldn't be in the 'sea' anyway.

Espresso

This is a rant.  Be prepared.

It's kind of a wonder how you can be so outside of yourself, but the instant you get that wonderful coffee frappuccino (made with soy milk and two shots of espresso... and of course! whipped cream...) you're back in action!  Ohhh the wonders of good espresso and all of is caffeinated goodness.  It gives you that feeling of being invincible and vulnerable all at the same time.  Kind of reminiscent of driving a Jeep for the first time or making love after a bad argument.  Those are the good things in life:  Jeep drives, espresso, and -making love-.

You know what else is good?  Pulling song lyrics out of your ass for -two hours- while you're on said espresso high.  I'm tellin' you... all you need for some dank tunes is a maraca (or two in my case), a few cool toddlers, and, well... espresso.  Oh man, me and this Toddler Band I've got goin' on has got some serious swagger.  We've got class.  We've got style.  But best of all, we have EPIC SONGS.

So, needless to say, our songs today were about not eating each other (because  teeth are only for eating monsters) and standing on your own two feet.  Good lessons to learn.

Espresso.  Gives me the courage I need every time I consume it.

Brave on the rocks.  Brave on the rocks.  Brave on the rocks.  BRAVE-- all the time.

Afterwards

You can't erase your actions or your words.  It doesn't work that way.  Once something is put out there in the open, it's out there for good.  But in the midst of trying to take it all back, you ask yourself.. "Why did it happen?"  But you really don't have an answer.  Not one you like, anyway.  You hope that all of the good will outweigh the one bad, but as much as you try, it just doesn't work.  All it takes is one bad apple to ruin the whole bunch.

When you find something unique; something that makes you feel a little bit more whole than you did yesterday... keep it.  Hold on to it.  You don't remember what it feels like to be a little emptier until you are.

This, too, shall pass.  This, too, shall pass.

It's Midnight. And it's dark.

It's so funny to read journals from ten years ago.  You read them, spending hours at this, and something clicks inside you-- you're dramatic.  You're "omg, the world is going to end" dramatic.  You try to blame it on pubescent happenings, but really, who are you kidding?  You're dramatic.

But.. then you get to the more recent entries.  The ones you've kept deep within you.  The ones you've never shared with anyone or talked about.  Those.. aren't so dramatic.  They're raw.  They're filled with real issues that will actually make a difference in your life.  They're scary.  They're things you still haven't figured out.  This is good,  though!  This proves that you're not -really- dramatic.. you're just.. you.  You're.. well.. let's not categorize.  Why analyze people anyway?  Sometimes they don't have an ulterior motive.  Sometimes they just do what they do because it's what they want to do (.. and that's a mouthful).

I learned something.  I learned that nothing that people have any real control over is going to be right.  I mean, c'mon.  Plants grow just fine in nature all by themselves, relying solely on rain water and the lay of the land.  Give a plant to a person in a cute little pot to keep in their cute little office on their cute little desk and what happens?  It dies.  The point here is this:  if you try to take something natural and put it in a pot (thus hindering it's ability to grow anyway...) then it's going to die-- especially if you leave it in the care of flawed human beings.  It's not going to work out.  It won't grow into something beautiful and alive.  It will be hindered.  So, just.. leave it alone.  Let it be in its natural environment.  Let it rely on the rain rain water and the natural cycle of pollination.  If you do, it'll bloom year after year, growing bigger each time.

[sidenote:]

While I was looking through those old journals (and after I pulled an epic paper about math out of my ass).. I decided to rejuvenate myself and get the juices flowing again.  'Tis time to work on  getting a natural high again.

-- For one, this song gets me through everything.  For two, I wrote to it a while back A long while back.  Not my best work, but mine, nonetheless.

Untitled

Starry, Starry night

pain your pallet full of love

with all the colors from above

as I lie desperate, yearning for you

Starry, Starry night

muse me with your blues and grays

protect me from the break of day

for I cannot live my life as true

Starry, starry night

take me as your only one

save me from the wrath of dawn

as scarlet tears become my hue

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So, when all is said and done, just let it grow.  Don't pick it out of the ground to hold it hostage in a pot because you think it'd do better there (stuck in someone's claustrophobic, germ-infested office, mind you).  Let it breathe.  If you want to see it so bad, take a walk outside.  Or open the windows to the 'box' you work in day in and day out.  But don't be selfish.  Don't take it inside with you.  It needs air, sunshine, and rain water.  But you know what it needs most of all?  Patience and class, darling.  Patience and class.

 

Coffee in the Afternoon

Sometimes patience and class aren't adhered to in their entirety.  It happens, though... it's in our animalistic DNA.  But evaluate the situation.  Why did it happen?  It's easy to blame alcohol or desperation or whatever else you'd like to conjure up, but does it have to be a blame game?  Is it really so hard to own up to the fact that you might actually -feel- a little something deeper than the standard 'surface attraction'?  For most, it is.  It's difficult to bring those emotions to reality, especially after failed relationship after failed relationship, dead conversation after dead conversation, and, really... a wasted romantic life thus far.  But you just have to roll with it, you know?  That means that sometimes you have to fess up to what you're feeling.  Leave the facade at the door.

End of rant.

P.S. Norah Jones always puts me in a good mood.

"The Prettiest Thing"

The prettiest thing

I ever did see

Was lightening from the top of a cloud

Moving through the dark a million miles an hour

With somewhere to be

So why does it seem

Like a picture

Hanging up on someone else's wall

Lately I haven't been myself at all

It's heavy on my mind

I'm dreaming again

Like I've always been

And way down low

I know

The prettiest thing

I ever did see 

Was dusty as the handle on the door

Rusty as a nail stuck in the old pine floor

Looks like home to me

I'm dreaming again

Like I've always been

And way down low

I'm thinkin' of the prettiest thing