"And in that internal explanation
the only answer I have
is that she was the moon"
My senses are assaulted as I snap back and forth between reality and dreamscapes. Standing on a beach, I look around me and all I see is muted darkness. The water is black, the sand is grey. I am still in color. A familiar voice is shouting in the distance, "Let go!" This is a person I know. This is a person I haven't seen or heard from in years. This is a person I know doesn't like me. I'm dreaming. A flash of white behind me. I turn around to see the sky in a calendar. The number three stands out to me. a circle forms around the date I've been staring and a word appears, "her". The sky returns to an almost black shade with this circle staring me in the face. "3 her", it says. I open my eyes to the sun shining. This is real. The first words I can think of fall from my lips and crash as wet spots on my blankets. "She is the moon."
Four times today I have slept. This is unnatural.
Step two: Belladonna and the Working Man
"My entire body is screaming in a language I don't understand. The vessel doesn't think but knows to survive. My mind has given up countless times, and yet, my arms refuse to move. My fingers protest and my throat tightens."
It's unfair. I see your eyes on every sunny day. I can't escape the color behind the clouds. What exactly do I have here? Plastic shackles, visual poetry. Little bits and pieces I've collected over these past few months. They add up to nothing. I can't make you out of tiny beads and bruises. I can only try to remember what your lips feel like on my skin and how your voice makes every inch of my body sigh.
With all the time I've spent bettering myself, you've seen no progress. I can't say I have either. I don't blame you for what you do or think. I blame myself for all the things I didn't change when I had time. It's too late. Someone better is waiting for you.
In a haze between what is and isn't, I find myself skipping stones and singing songs of longing. This could be a dream. In fact, I'm fairly certain it is. In a vain attempt to recollect all the times I've failed myself for the sake of someone else the ground opens beneath me and I am pulled to the center of the Earth by arms of sand and sea shells and skipping stones. Breath in the dust from shelves long forgotten and collapsed from the weight of damaged memories. It smells like heart break and abandonment. Miles down a hallway I see an old friend. His razor sharp fingers beckon me with their brilliant shine and red varnish. He never was all that kind, but he never judged me either. He was simply a vice that I ultimately controlled. And I never truly abused him. He never had to leave. More than I can say for most people. I can understand now what makes him so appealing.
My footsteps are so quiet I can hear every creak in this house. What was once a castle of sand became a mountain of broken glass from a picture frame left neglected for generations, knocked down so carelessly by someone who couldn't appreciate your flaws and wonderful features. Millions of tiny reflections remind me that I'm running towards something. Someone, even. Another friend. Her wisdom is unsurpassed by my greatest elder. She stands with great pride written in her posture. The curves of her witch-like figure look to me like satin feels. I want to see her face.
It's 6:30 AM. Dressing for failure has become the last hobby I'll ever keep.
Step Three: Blister Tongue
"No one should ever tell me I don't have a right to complain. Our problems may differ but all issues of this nature are severe. Are you worried yet?"
Yet again I sit here contemplating my existence. Just now it has dawned upon me that my life is so small, so insignificant, that simply being is no reason to suffer. To the ants, we are Gods. To the Gods, we are ants. To the universe, the Gods are nothing but fictitious energies created by our collective insanity as a way of coping with what we cannot comprehend. The placement of all these things is too convenient. Every moment in history has led up to one teenage girl having an existential crisis on the floor of her room while her drunk mother sobs in her sleep. Somewhere across the world it is entirely possible that someone is doing or thinking the same thing I am. It is entirely plausible that out of the millions of bedrooms in this country, one of them could be exactly like mine. We could have parallel lives. She could be working retail for the Devil's spawn and loathing every second she has to waste on putting other's pleasure above her own. She could be dreaming of finding a true family that wont fall victim to vices. She could be exactly, undeniably identical to me. And I will never meet her.
The world is fading. There are no colors. Every scent you once knew now smells like plain paper and black ink. You're just a child with a blank coloring book and a box of broken crayons. You could swear you tasted tears but your tongue has been missing since you could remember. Restricted senses have molded your mind into an expression of fear and apathy. God forbid you should ever feel. It would be chaos. Anarchy, even.
A can of spray paint rolls across the floor and bumps your foot. It's time you took your art to the streets. Prove you have a voice regardless of what the authority thinks. And maybe you'll find that person who thinks exactly like you. You'll find your reason to truly live. You are the product of natural selection. This is the way of nature and no one can stop you.
Step Four: Bile Burns
I'm physically ill tonight with fears and thoughts of wonders lost. Opportunity at the loss of ones happiness is the farthest thing from fair. The world doesn't have to be so cruel. We need not be so pessimistic in our ways and makes others suffer, like pawns that we may use and abuse to make our own way in life. Which brings another searing question into my mind, why is there no love for self expression? As children we are encouraged, (forced on occasions!) to be different, to stand out as an individual. Wear these clothes and do this to your hair or what have you, just be yourself. At this age, being an individual is synonymous with "attention-seeker". What harm is it to go against the grain every now and again? How many cashiers do you see with rainbow hair or maybe even just a pin on their shirt because they like it? "Dare to be different," was the motto when we were young. Now it's a threat to your future. God forbid you should come to work wearing anything even remotely against the dress code. You'll be sent home to change, or worse, to not come back. Like a rebellious teenager wearing menacing attire to match the expression on their face. It's degrading and judgmental and above all, unnecessary. We put on this face for the outside world hiding who we are and then we do the unthinkable: wonder why we can't find genuine friendships. Maybe if you hadn't hidden yourself from everyone you might've found someone just like you, or unlike you, or whatever you look for in a person. We cannot continue to lie to ourselves and everyone else and expect to find companions. We do a huge disservice to ourselves by following the rules. I will continue to be who I am until is kills me, and it never really will, will it? Can it, even? Is it possible that one's self-identity is self destructive? What it all boils down to is this: You can let rules tie you down or make them yourself and be free.
Step Five: Deep End Dependence
Captivity, in correspondence with purple lightning. I still taste your tears, I feel your finger tips, like cashmere. Feeling change like seasons. Oh, cliche, where would I be without the smell of your skin on my lips. A blanket of hair keeps me safe. I will wrap myself in you at my next chance... Chances. I need to take more chances.
Step six: Philophobic
"For what seems to be the first time in my life,
I pray to God that I'm not right.
What is my life without your light?"
It's so surreal, like winter is all I've ever known. This doubt is colder than the ice you helped me walk over. How blessed was I to have been graced with your presence. I don't think you ever truly understood how much I needed you or why.
Waves of you pass through my mind indefinitely. Your eyes are skies in which I see the future. Warm touches tease my skin. You are the ground beneath a weary dreamer. As I walk along the coast it seems my destination changes with ever foot step. Home is here, home is you.
***
Living between houses made me realize that home is not a place, but a state of being. Sometimes that feeling is only found in certain people. I don't feel the need to justify my thoughts, though I won't assume you'll understand. Through all the stories I tell, I get the farthest by saying the least. Communication isn't always necessary. I found out that sometimes, no response is the best response.
Step seven: Reimagine
"You know everything."
One day you will too. And you will find out, hopefully not too soon, that knowing everything is a very sad thing. One day you will need to explain everything to someone as blissfully ignorant as you are now. And you will pray to god that they stay innocent forever just as I wish for you now, despite how impossible it is to hope for something so absurd. You'll find out at such a young age that nothing is fair. The world is an awful place.
"Why?"
...Your mother's a whore.
Step Eight: The Silly Hat Club
Step Three: Blister Tongue
"No one should ever tell me I don't have a right to complain. Our problems may differ but all issues of this nature are severe. Are you worried yet?"
Yet again I sit here contemplating my existence. Just now it has dawned upon me that my life is so small, so insignificant, that simply being is no reason to suffer. To the ants, we are Gods. To the Gods, we are ants. To the universe, the Gods are nothing but fictitious energies created by our collective insanity as a way of coping with what we cannot comprehend. The placement of all these things is too convenient. Every moment in history has led up to one teenage girl having an existential crisis on the floor of her room while her drunk mother sobs in her sleep. Somewhere across the world it is entirely possible that someone is doing or thinking the same thing I am. It is entirely plausible that out of the millions of bedrooms in this country, one of them could be exactly like mine. We could have parallel lives. She could be working retail for the Devil's spawn and loathing every second she has to waste on putting other's pleasure above her own. She could be dreaming of finding a true family that wont fall victim to vices. She could be exactly, undeniably identical to me. And I will never meet her.
The world is fading. There are no colors. Every scent you once knew now smells like plain paper and black ink. You're just a child with a blank coloring book and a box of broken crayons. You could swear you tasted tears but your tongue has been missing since you could remember. Restricted senses have molded your mind into an expression of fear and apathy. God forbid you should ever feel. It would be chaos. Anarchy, even.
A can of spray paint rolls across the floor and bumps your foot. It's time you took your art to the streets. Prove you have a voice regardless of what the authority thinks. And maybe you'll find that person who thinks exactly like you. You'll find your reason to truly live. You are the product of natural selection. This is the way of nature and no one can stop you.
Step Four: Bile Burns
I'm physically ill tonight with fears and thoughts of wonders lost. Opportunity at the loss of ones happiness is the farthest thing from fair. The world doesn't have to be so cruel. We need not be so pessimistic in our ways and makes others suffer, like pawns that we may use and abuse to make our own way in life. Which brings another searing question into my mind, why is there no love for self expression? As children we are encouraged, (forced on occasions!) to be different, to stand out as an individual. Wear these clothes and do this to your hair or what have you, just be yourself. At this age, being an individual is synonymous with "attention-seeker". What harm is it to go against the grain every now and again? How many cashiers do you see with rainbow hair or maybe even just a pin on their shirt because they like it? "Dare to be different," was the motto when we were young. Now it's a threat to your future. God forbid you should come to work wearing anything even remotely against the dress code. You'll be sent home to change, or worse, to not come back. Like a rebellious teenager wearing menacing attire to match the expression on their face. It's degrading and judgmental and above all, unnecessary. We put on this face for the outside world hiding who we are and then we do the unthinkable: wonder why we can't find genuine friendships. Maybe if you hadn't hidden yourself from everyone you might've found someone just like you, or unlike you, or whatever you look for in a person. We cannot continue to lie to ourselves and everyone else and expect to find companions. We do a huge disservice to ourselves by following the rules. I will continue to be who I am until is kills me, and it never really will, will it? Can it, even? Is it possible that one's self-identity is self destructive? What it all boils down to is this: You can let rules tie you down or make them yourself and be free.
Step Five: Deep End Dependence
Captivity, in correspondence with purple lightning. I still taste your tears, I feel your finger tips, like cashmere. Feeling change like seasons. Oh, cliche, where would I be without the smell of your skin on my lips. A blanket of hair keeps me safe. I will wrap myself in you at my next chance... Chances. I need to take more chances.
Step six: Philophobic
"For what seems to be the first time in my life,
I pray to God that I'm not right.
What is my life without your light?"
It's so surreal, like winter is all I've ever known. This doubt is colder than the ice you helped me walk over. How blessed was I to have been graced with your presence. I don't think you ever truly understood how much I needed you or why.
Waves of you pass through my mind indefinitely. Your eyes are skies in which I see the future. Warm touches tease my skin. You are the ground beneath a weary dreamer. As I walk along the coast it seems my destination changes with ever foot step. Home is here, home is you.
***
Living between houses made me realize that home is not a place, but a state of being. Sometimes that feeling is only found in certain people. I don't feel the need to justify my thoughts, though I won't assume you'll understand. Through all the stories I tell, I get the farthest by saying the least. Communication isn't always necessary. I found out that sometimes, no response is the best response.
Step seven: Reimagine
"You know everything."
One day you will too. And you will find out, hopefully not too soon, that knowing everything is a very sad thing. One day you will need to explain everything to someone as blissfully ignorant as you are now. And you will pray to god that they stay innocent forever just as I wish for you now, despite how impossible it is to hope for something so absurd. You'll find out at such a young age that nothing is fair. The world is an awful place.
"Why?"
...Your mother's a whore.
Step Eight: The Silly Hat Club
I was just told that life is about doing things you don’t want to do. What the fuck kind of outlook on life is that? And from a man no less. That’s the kind of argument a rapist makes to the girl who turned him down at the bar. Fuckin’ incredible. What kind of shit are people being fed these days? I’m not even mad at the guy. If anything I’m sad for him. This poor man lives to work. Who the fuck decided what life is about? Not a single fuckin’ one of us deserve that kind of privilege.
The cycle always goes like this: When you’re a kid you’re supposed to enjoy being a kid. No responsibilities, just making friends and having fun. When you’re a teenager, you’re supposed to be a little reckless and learn from your mistakes. You get a little older and go for drinks with your friends, and soon after that you’ve got a career set for yourself and the hardest part is making sure your budget stays balanced. At least, that’s what you’re told. You’re lead to believe that one day, all of your worldly experiences will lead to a midlife where you’ve got a decent house with equally decent company.
But how often does it actually work out like that? Chances are your parents are divorced or just plain crazy. They made your childhood miserable, especially if you’re an only child or the oldest sibling. Being a teen was full of more angst than necessary and by the time you got away from you restricting life at home, you exploded into a hurricane of even more bad decisions. Maybe you tattooed your face, or failed school just to spite your family. Maybe you developed a habit to forget. Now you’re 28, you’ve been living on your best friends couch and working a dead end job. By this time your future is set. Your life will continue to be as mediocre as it is now.
Life isn’t about doing things you don’t want to do. That’s the kind of attitude you’re conditioned to have. Sometimes you do have to do some trivial bullshit to get ahead, but that’s not what it’s all about. Enjoy yourself sometime. You’d be a lot more pleasant to talk to.
Step nine: Whiskey Lisping
"It's frustrating, ya know? I see all these people and I wonder how they all did it."
It truly does feel like I'll never get there. I'll be 19, laying on the floor in my mom's house forever. Permanently broke, jobless, hopeless. A quitter, a drop out, a child. Though my body grows older, I'm not ready. Time went too fast.
Imagine the time you were hunting crickets at your step-sister's house, and when you cried because her daughter kicked you out of her club after you'd just bought them flowers. Go back to the time you were robbed of, when you were too young to speak. You didn't know the words you needed yet, so you cried and it made everyone angry. They still get mad to this day. You were never allowed to disagree.
You were made up, imagined, like all of their stupid rules. You were made to be broken.
A mirror shatters and the noise is just enough to start a motion in you. You're running somewhere, anywhere away from here. Through your periphery pass images of everything you used to be. A uniform, a number, a student, an infant. You're going back in time. The past is the only thing that's real. The future may not exist. Within seconds your hourglass can run out and you'll never see it coming.
Suicide was never the answer. It was a power-play with God. If it is his design, what greater sin than to destroy it? Those who opt out early aren't punished for selfishness, but for challenging God himself. The ultimate act of anarchy in existence is against a being that may not exist.
We value the thought of someone over what we know is real. What we can actually see. We are blind and unworthy of such a beautiful Earth.
Step Ten: Bus Monkey
"Will she look at you the way I do, and wonder if what she wants to say is important enough to wake you up for?"
It's 4 AM and I'm sitting on the floor, freezing. Though I shiver from my thoughts rather than the cold. Nothing chills my soul like the fear of watching you fall in love with someone else. But I'm lucky, she isn't like me. She's as frigid as my ideas. A girl cold as ice has no place in your warm heart. You won't melt her before there's frost in your aorta.
I could see it in your face, confusion and disappointment. I know you were excited, I was too. And despite how painfully awkward it was to walk around and pretend everything was fine I was glad we got to do one of my favorite things together. It was easy to forget she was there until you kissed her. If I could play that scene frame by frame, you would get to watch my stomach crawl out of my mouth and hang itself from a ceiling fan. Never in my life had I wanted- no, needed, to vomit like that. Thinking about it now still makes my feel uneasy. I wanted so badly to talk to you about it later on but my brain was so exhausted all I could do was revel in the moment that I was back in your arms and sleep. We missed out on some things, but you've led me to believe that there will always me a next time. And so I'm banking on the weekend.
Have you ever wished a horrible tragedy upon yourself to escape something? I have, and I do all the time. But surprisingly enough, while I walked up to you holding her close, I couldn't even fathom wanting to be struck by lightning. I watched and I waited and I stayed patient. I kept an open mind until I could tell you my thoughts without being biased. And I hope to god that you listened.
I can't stop you from anything when I'm not around, but for my own sake, just don't tell me. I never want to see that image of your lips on hers again. The thought of what could have happened when I walked away is choking me.
Step Eleven: Master Equation
"I guess that's why they call it puppy love."
This is dangerous territory. A wasteland of the damaged. He comes through playing pick and choose. We all take our turns and burn our numbers. We have no names. We barely have faces. He comes and leaves and shows no remorse. And we are eternally grateful.
*****
Sometimes when I close my eyes I can see the ground moving beneath me. As if I were running though a forest, I see my feet passing over fallen leaves. The question still remains, am I running towards something, or away? Other times, I'm flying over blinking lights. Realistically, this could be compared to jumping off of a high building in a city, but when I see it, I really am flying. Every direction, I speed forward and pass over lights of cars. If I could have it my way, I'd stay up there forever.
*****
Waking up during a long car ride to see that you're not home would usually be upsetting. For me, it was nothing short of fantastic. To see you smile at me every time I looked up at you was something heavenly. I'd do it all again, every second of it, if it was the only way I'd ever see you again.
When your eyes meet mine it's like seeing you for the first time. There's something so refreshing about your expressions, and I thirst for every drop of energy in your smile. I want to be one with you, inside and out.
Spirits collide like atoms and create a new energy, a mass of magic and wonder. I'll be dammed if I let anyone get in my way. I am the bullet sent through oppression and no target is safe. A phoenix rose from today's ashes.
Step 12: Mona Lisa
"She makes me feel so ugly, inside and out."
The back of my neck is on fire and I struggle through tears to see the screen in front of me. Once again, my superior has succeeded in cutting me down. The eternal struggle of youth: fighting for your right to be seen as equal only to eventually become the enemy yourself. I hope my life ends before I become what holds me down.
A torch burns bright with ambition and slowly fades with each passing second. What once was born out of necessity is now an accessory we carry in our pockets.
Only in my dreams I can imagine a life without this kind of pain. I would be packing my things in the middle of the night and walk out the door. Cut my electric ties to New York and leave all the memories behind. No more friends from high school, no ex lovers to run into on the streets. None of what made me who a am would be invited to my new life.
I will be reborn.
Baptized by the pureness of nature, I would walk alongside the river and in my reflection would be who I was meant to be.
Freedom, incarnate.
Step nine: Whiskey Lisping
"It's frustrating, ya know? I see all these people and I wonder how they all did it."
It truly does feel like I'll never get there. I'll be 19, laying on the floor in my mom's house forever. Permanently broke, jobless, hopeless. A quitter, a drop out, a child. Though my body grows older, I'm not ready. Time went too fast.
Imagine the time you were hunting crickets at your step-sister's house, and when you cried because her daughter kicked you out of her club after you'd just bought them flowers. Go back to the time you were robbed of, when you were too young to speak. You didn't know the words you needed yet, so you cried and it made everyone angry. They still get mad to this day. You were never allowed to disagree.
You were made up, imagined, like all of their stupid rules. You were made to be broken.
A mirror shatters and the noise is just enough to start a motion in you. You're running somewhere, anywhere away from here. Through your periphery pass images of everything you used to be. A uniform, a number, a student, an infant. You're going back in time. The past is the only thing that's real. The future may not exist. Within seconds your hourglass can run out and you'll never see it coming.
Suicide was never the answer. It was a power-play with God. If it is his design, what greater sin than to destroy it? Those who opt out early aren't punished for selfishness, but for challenging God himself. The ultimate act of anarchy in existence is against a being that may not exist.
We value the thought of someone over what we know is real. What we can actually see. We are blind and unworthy of such a beautiful Earth.
Step Ten: Bus Monkey
"Will she look at you the way I do, and wonder if what she wants to say is important enough to wake you up for?"
It's 4 AM and I'm sitting on the floor, freezing. Though I shiver from my thoughts rather than the cold. Nothing chills my soul like the fear of watching you fall in love with someone else. But I'm lucky, she isn't like me. She's as frigid as my ideas. A girl cold as ice has no place in your warm heart. You won't melt her before there's frost in your aorta.
I could see it in your face, confusion and disappointment. I know you were excited, I was too. And despite how painfully awkward it was to walk around and pretend everything was fine I was glad we got to do one of my favorite things together. It was easy to forget she was there until you kissed her. If I could play that scene frame by frame, you would get to watch my stomach crawl out of my mouth and hang itself from a ceiling fan. Never in my life had I wanted- no, needed, to vomit like that. Thinking about it now still makes my feel uneasy. I wanted so badly to talk to you about it later on but my brain was so exhausted all I could do was revel in the moment that I was back in your arms and sleep. We missed out on some things, but you've led me to believe that there will always me a next time. And so I'm banking on the weekend.
Have you ever wished a horrible tragedy upon yourself to escape something? I have, and I do all the time. But surprisingly enough, while I walked up to you holding her close, I couldn't even fathom wanting to be struck by lightning. I watched and I waited and I stayed patient. I kept an open mind until I could tell you my thoughts without being biased. And I hope to god that you listened.
I can't stop you from anything when I'm not around, but for my own sake, just don't tell me. I never want to see that image of your lips on hers again. The thought of what could have happened when I walked away is choking me.
Step Eleven: Master Equation
"I guess that's why they call it puppy love."
This is dangerous territory. A wasteland of the damaged. He comes through playing pick and choose. We all take our turns and burn our numbers. We have no names. We barely have faces. He comes and leaves and shows no remorse. And we are eternally grateful.
*****
Sometimes when I close my eyes I can see the ground moving beneath me. As if I were running though a forest, I see my feet passing over fallen leaves. The question still remains, am I running towards something, or away? Other times, I'm flying over blinking lights. Realistically, this could be compared to jumping off of a high building in a city, but when I see it, I really am flying. Every direction, I speed forward and pass over lights of cars. If I could have it my way, I'd stay up there forever.
*****
Waking up during a long car ride to see that you're not home would usually be upsetting. For me, it was nothing short of fantastic. To see you smile at me every time I looked up at you was something heavenly. I'd do it all again, every second of it, if it was the only way I'd ever see you again.
When your eyes meet mine it's like seeing you for the first time. There's something so refreshing about your expressions, and I thirst for every drop of energy in your smile. I want to be one with you, inside and out.
Spirits collide like atoms and create a new energy, a mass of magic and wonder. I'll be dammed if I let anyone get in my way. I am the bullet sent through oppression and no target is safe. A phoenix rose from today's ashes.
Step 12: Mona Lisa
"She makes me feel so ugly, inside and out."
The back of my neck is on fire and I struggle through tears to see the screen in front of me. Once again, my superior has succeeded in cutting me down. The eternal struggle of youth: fighting for your right to be seen as equal only to eventually become the enemy yourself. I hope my life ends before I become what holds me down.
A torch burns bright with ambition and slowly fades with each passing second. What once was born out of necessity is now an accessory we carry in our pockets.
Only in my dreams I can imagine a life without this kind of pain. I would be packing my things in the middle of the night and walk out the door. Cut my electric ties to New York and leave all the memories behind. No more friends from high school, no ex lovers to run into on the streets. None of what made me who a am would be invited to my new life.
I will be reborn.
Baptized by the pureness of nature, I would walk alongside the river and in my reflection would be who I was meant to be.
Freedom, incarnate.
