Left From My Right

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I sprinted from my mission.
I was afraid of what submission,
Would mean for me;
Whether I’d be free.
But am I free if I’m lost?
Then again that idea never crossed,
My mind,
My spirit.

I didn’t know I was lost.
Someone had to tell me.
I couldn’t tell my left hand from my right.
Someone had to show me.

So I have to race back to my mission.
I have to move from my contrition.
It’s holding us back,
And it blurs our track.

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Pikes to the Floor

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Mama I let you down.

Papa I’ve brought shame to your name.

I’m that sad, invisible clown.

That elephant in the room.

You can’t see that I’m pushed up against the wall.

They’re holding me there.

They’re tying me here.

See the pikes in the floor where they’re setting my chains.

Mama, my energy wanes.

Papa, they’re blowing my brains.

Papa don’t go;

Mama don’t leave.

I know I hit a low,

But don’t leave me here to grieve.

Journal – “I Am Not Fireproof”

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Topic: Be real for a second, and shake things up. Put a spin on the day, and freeze the frame. Magnify the view, and share it with the world.

Do you ever hear something, and you’re left with that resonating impact? I feel it vibrating under my skin, and it’s lingering in my mind.

“Fallin’ again, I need a pick-me-up. I’ve been callin’ you ‘friend,’ I might need to give it up. I’m sick and I’m tired too. I can admit, I am not fireproof. I feel it burning me. I feel it burning you.”

– The NBHD

It’s weird how we all interpret lyrics to fit into our own form of consciousness. I’ll say this entirely relates to me, and you can say the same for yourself. But we will hold onto two different meanings. My environment and my experiences colored my lens. And now I see things through maroon eyes. Don’t tell me that I’m wrong and that I have it all mixed up if your lenses are hunter green or coral pink. We walk in different shoes, and we wear different emotions and labels. Let me see the world the way that I think it relates to me. Don’t subject me to your woven consciousness.

Poetic spin: I am not fireproof. I have thick skin, but I can still get burned. Maybe we don’t want to notice the flames, but babe, we’re walking through some heightening flames.

Metaphysical spin: Call it a friend. Call it by it’s nature. Admit that we’re sick and dying; that there are too many injuries to tend. We got burns over our burns. Nightmares causing our tosses and turns.

Journal #72 – Supportive People

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Topic: Make a list of the people in your life who genuinely support you, and who you can genuinely trust.
           My family in general genuinely support me. I don’t think any of them have it on their agenda to harm me or anything.
           If I had to narrow this list of people to five people outside of family, I’d have to say: Kelly, Deepti, Kim, Allen, and Jasmine. That’s a hard list to narrow down too. There are definitely others that I’d like to add, but I’ll focus on these five. It’s not even so much that I’m constantly in touch with these five people, but I do trust them tremendously.
          If I did something huge and out there, I know that Deepti and Kelly would have my back. It would take a lot for me to not trust Kelly. Deepti knows so much about me, and we’re close on so many levels. There’s no way I could not add her to the list. As for Kim, there’s no one more openly kind that I know. I could be drowning in anxieties or regret, and she would be there to pull me back up. I trust her with my life because she’s always looking out for me.
           And then there’s Allen. I haven’t talked much to Allen recently,  but I definitely trust him. He’s the logical one who says what needs to be said. I trust him his opinion above a lot of peoples’. Lastly, there’s Jasmine. Jasmine knows a solid portion of my life. She knows what’s up all the time. I trust her ideas and her remarks, as well as I trust her in general.
          I’m a very open person, but it takes a lot for me to genuinely trust someone. Time and commitment has to be thrown into the mix too. The friends that I trust are friends for a lifetime. That I know for sure.

Journal #64 – Not That I Remember

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Topic: Write about your first love — whether a person, place or thing.

My first love is one that I don’t remember. I’ve seen pictures of him recently, and I’ve heard more about him in the past year or two. He was my great-grandfather on my dad’s side of family. He used to absolutely love to spend time with me.

My mom would come home and ask where I was, and I was usually outside somewhere with him, walking. He adored me, and I loved to be with him. He would take me to the park or anywhere nearby, and I would just brighten his day.

I’m sad because I can’t remember all of these things, considering the fact that I was just a small girl. I’m also sad because I know that I will never be able to get know him now.

He passed away when I was pretty little during one of his trips to Mexico. He had fallen in his house, and he had hit his head. Not long after that he died.

I know that I loved him so much. Everyone that knew him would tell me that. I wish I could remember what they remember.

—–late journal—-

Plateau

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I know those eyes.
They’re genuine and kind.
They follow my movements,
Gaze at my shadow.
The owner is wise,
Can sort out my lies.
The owner is old,
Or so I’ve been told.

In these eyes I hold much hope.
I can see a sparkle as bright as ever.
Even when my shadow meets it’s slope,
That sparkle is constant;
That sparkle wanes, never.

These eyes are being pryed off of me.
And it hurts to not see what they see.
Neither of us wants this,
Yet neither of us pleas.
Words can’t bring back these eyes.
These eyes are all that I know.
Though that sparkle will soon likely die,
I think my shadow has reached a very new low.

We know it too,
So it hurts all the more.
These eyes drown in blue,
As I head to the door.

With nothing to watch, not even my shadow,
These eyes grow dim, as it meets it’s empty plateau.