It’s easy to say that I miss you- but perhaps that’s a lie, It’s only when the memories rush through my mind, Montages of happy beginnings and abrupt endings, Maybe I miss the memories the most And you the least, I definitely do not miss the pain you caused me, Sometimes if I shut my… Continue reading Valentine’s Fool
What you don't say becomes you. It feels like it's vocalized in the thickness of your silence. The universe is working overtime to correct and rectify the death of your decisions. The less you say, the more you become a permanent fixture of your anti-self. The baritone of your regrets are bellowing out like a… Continue reading Universal Pull
The after effect shocked me to my very core. All this bliss but I still felt torn, All I could think of is the state of you & I, Do you even love her? Or is it just I? You try to have your cake and eat it too, I used to marvel at the… Continue reading INTROSPECTION
I always get into bouts of creative energy- kind of being on a elongated sugar high (see: day after Halloween/Christmas/Valentines Day when you stock up on 50% off chocolate and candy) which tends to last for a few days until I get stuck. Just like that sugar high, I come crashing down and so do all of my ideas. I can't even seem to write about my day- the crippling fear of judgement comes back in huge ways- in a similar way as the sugar high... except I never come down. This was kind of numbed in 2016- I learned how to push past the nervousness and just press 'post' whether or not the material is considered to be 'good'- if it's bad, if it's complete trash, the feeling of posting allows you to finally be finished with a piece. It allows you to share your work with the world and move on to different material. It's one month and 14 days into 2017 and I've forgotten what that feels like. My creativity is still stuck in 2016- unable to make the leap to this brave new world.
The art of rejection and feelings of unrequited love is similar to someone pouring salt into an open wound, it stings and hurts but eventually you clean it out and get over it. Or so we think. I remember as a child, the ideals of love were so simple, you meet someone, and you… Continue reading love me, love me not