No matter how I knew that it wasn't meant to be; that I was so much better off without you, I never got you out of my heart.
I still felt a hole in my chest.
It was a monstrous being that sucked the life out of me and left me bore open and heavily weighed down by emptiness.
I used to think one person could never love another forever, but you my sweet selfish Destroyer, you are proving me wrong.
Months later, 1000 empty days later, too much dignity lost later, and you still creep in everyday.
All I ever asked was for your love, but even the small bits you gifted me were never enough.
Let me be the one you will always regret losing.
Let me be the one you hate yourself for not being ready for.
Let me be anything of meaning.
Otherwise, I am just a sad girl who will never let go of something that was never holding on in the first place.
T'Rave About Writing
Inspiration. When I find inspiration, I like to write. It doesn't last forever, but what it creates is what I love. I want to share my inspiration with you. This blog consists of all my moments of inspiration, put down in words and shared with you.
Wednesday, December 2, 2015
Thursday, June 11, 2015
Abandon in Her Eyes.
She finds herself looking up at the clouds often. She lays
outside and stares straight out, blocking out the buildings around her and
losing herself in the endless sea of blue and white. She sits on her couch and
looks outward through the glass windows, high enough up that she can’t see the
life below. The clouds seem to expand towards her, as if offering to swallow
her up. There is a peaceful notion in being swallowed up and lost at sea in the
sky. Movement catches her eye. She sees that it is a small bird. It looks like
a speck of dust; its wings are fluttering almost as hard and fast as her
heartbeat. It is doing circles and going back and forth. There does not seem to
be any rhyme or reason to its movements. She remembers that when she saw birds
doing this in the past, it annoyed her. They seemed so helpless and lost just
flying in circles in the sky. Now, with new eyes, her chest lifts in inspiration
as she peers at the small bird with envy. Her eyes hang onto its every dive
with excitement, her heart picking up and waiting for the next swoop in giddy anticipation.
She wonders what it must be like up there: to be so free. She wonders what it
must be like to be so sure of yourself, to swoop and dive in an abyss of blue
knowing all that is keeping you up is the power of your own self. She wishes
she could be lost and free and powerful up in the sky with the birds too.
Her shaking fingers turn on a soft melody where the voice of
an angel rips at the stitches she so carefully sewed. The melody curls through
the empty apartment, finding every crevice and forcing itself in. The coffee
grinds make a grating sound as she scoops a big pile and pours it. Sizzling and
steaming, the pot begins to fill. Her lips: soft and slightly open. A breath
struggles in sympathetically, if you weren’t paying close enough attention you
wouldn’t realize she was struggling. Her shaking fingers find a lighter. She shakenly
puts a cigarette between her lifeless lips. With a flick of her thumb, an angry
flame bursts up and touches the tip of the cigarette. The end comes to life
with orange embers. A snakelike smoke cloud slithers slowly out of her lips and
up into the rafters. Outside it has already begun to rain.
She takes a deep breath, not too deep, afraid that the
stitches will tear. She can feel the hole in her chest growing. It is all too
familiar; a malicious monster that she knew for too long. She sucks in another
drag and her throat burns. She tries to pretend it doesn’t hurt, it seems as if
this has become her biggest skill. She likes the smell that is now occupying
the lonely apartment. Coffee and cigarettes. She tries not to let it bring the
memories it so eagerly wants her to remember. Instead, she turns to the window
and stares up at the clouds. The rain falls slowly down the glass and she
stares out into the clouds hoping to find a bird there; free.
Friday, April 24, 2015
Survival
The smell. That’s what I remember most. It was fresh earth,
wet from the rain. The grass was blindingly neon green, the way it always is
after a big storm. The ground was soft and I was getting water splashed in my
face as I tore by the branches in my path. Now that I look back on it, that is
all I can remember; not the blood curdling screams behind me or the small
springs turned red with blood and bodies.
My heart was in my throat and I
thought that if I tried to open my mouth to scream it would just fall out. But
I didn’t scream. I couldn’t if I wanted to survive. As I ran, the sound of my
movement and the jolt of each foot hitting the ground was what I held onto. All
of a sudden a big blur stepped out from behind a tree and we collided. As I
landed on top of him I felt the skin on my forehead tear as my head slammed
into something hard. There was immediately blood everywhere. It was pouring
down into my eyes and giving the world a red tint. It was as if it was taunting
me, reminding me that this is a place of murder. I tried to scramble away from
what I ran into, but I knew. I knew this was death. I locked eyes with him. His
eyes were large and light brown, so much lighter than his dark skin. He looked
just as horrified as I was. We stood there, our knees slightly bent and our
arms up ready to attack. The seconds ticked by and it was excruciating. A
scream erupted behind us, so close, and our heads snapped around. We looked
back at each other and in a split second, he was gone. He was running. Another
scream. I ran again. I tried to stop the bleeding so I wouldn’t leave a trail,
but at this point I didn’t have a choice. I began to choke on the air and I
realized it was the spirits of those burning slowly behind me; their skin
melting off of them and seeping into the ground.
I don’t know how I survived.
Some people say there is a greater being that lives in the sky and protects us.
Some say certain objects bring you good fortune. I didn’t know what to believe
but mystical beings sounded too good to be true to have existed in the woods
that day. I don’t know how I survived and I don’t know why. I think about those
light brown eyes every single day and I wonder if it was his scream that I
heard as I held myself in the woods that night, trembling and alive and alone.
Army Brat
He leans down earnestly and puts his head close to the one
resting on the pillow. The young girl is fast asleep; her lips puckered and her
fine hair sticking to her face with sweat. Her nightgown is tangled around her
gangly legs and her covers are half strewn across her body. He can see her perfectly
despite the darkness. His hand cups her small fragile face and he smoothes her
hair back. A small smile plays on his lips, but the dolls and coloring books
look on sadly from the perimeters once again. He leans down with his lips close
to her ear and small whispers escape his mouth and disperse into thin air. His
words, such words, are gone before they are able to be heard. He kisses her
forehead and looks down on her porcelain face. Outside the wind blows and the
chimes on the outside porch erupt into a faint musical beat. A second clicks by
on the clock on the oven. The moon moves a fraction of an inch towards its exit
and he is gone. The little girl awakes in the morning, her covers perfectly
tucked around her and the whispers in her ears. “Daddy loves you,” he whispered
and the words echo in her mind. She looks at the clock and thinks about what
day it is, then counts out on her fingers how many days until he gets to come
home again. As she wakes and begins to dress for the day, the words that once
seemed gone echo throughout her. She hears it as she dresses, as she eats her
breakfast, as she waves goodbye to her mom. Daddy
loves you.
Monday, April 20, 2015
People may think they know your type,
By the way you dress, or talk or walk,
By the way you hold that cigarette,
Or the music that you listen to,
They classify you by your looks,
But I have had the pleasure of getting to know you.
I have seen you sleep, one hand always searching for me to
assure our togetherness,
I have seen you listen to music and heard your excitement in
your voice as you told me about all the things you love,
I have watched you wake up and make your coffee and I know
exactly how you get dressed,
I have seen you be friendly to strangers and I have seen you
love,
Do the people who think they know you know that you love to
read?
Do they know that you have dreams?
Do they know how hard you study for that one test?
Do they know where you come from or what life you have
lived?
I have witnessed you, I have been the chest you lay your
head on and the body you hold on tightly to after a long day,
They are wrong to assume,
You are a perfectly imperfect angel.
Friday, April 17, 2015
Why is Everything I Write About Love?
I have found a man that when he hugs me his entire body
shakes. It is as if he is squeezing so hard that he is taking away all the pain
either of us has ever endured. It is as if he is hugging me for so long that he
is afraid I will disappear at any moment. In those arms we shake simultaneously
and hold on for our lives as each second passes, never wanting to let go. It is
as if we are stitching up wounds and saying what words cannot. I tuck my head
against his chest and hide my face in his neck, my own personal shell to curl
up in. In those arms nothing can be wrong.
The Fall
I remember that it hurt. As my body slammed against the
ground I felt my flesh tear open. Brown dirt flew up around me, into my eyes
and nose. My head jolted back and forth and I felt the pin ball game of my
brain versus skull begin. My hands began to burn immediately and my chest froze
in panic from the impact. It all happened very suddenly. At first I was still,
then I was falling and then I was still again. My mind’s only priority was
oxygen and my throat made a terrifying noise as I tried to suck in air. My ears
rang and my brain screamed. My eyes bulged out of their sockets as I lay on my
stomach, attempting to get a hold of myself. After a minute of laying there in
agony the world became quiet again. I began to notice that the leaves were
changing color and falling already. The sun was breaking through the tree tops
and reflecting neon green and yellow across the forest. I could hear the birds
atop, singing their songs and oblivious to my body beneath them. Then I heard
the crunches. A twig crack; a rustle of leaves as a branch was pushed forward.
I looked up just in time to see him break through the forest and into the small
clearing I lay in. His jade green eyes found mine immediately and he froze, his
left scarred hand still raised and holding back branches from his tanned and
dirt ridden face. I had almost fully recovered from the fall, but all of the
pain of it came back suddenly as I gazed at him. My heart beat fast and it
seemed that oxygen was hard to come across once again. I didn’t look away
though, no. I stared and he stared back. Oh, yes. I remember that it hurt.
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