you are more than the scars on your face
and the curves that don’t fit
into the jeans made by another’s eyes
You are just material
a vessel for that which cannot be undone
by the history of images
thrown at women
even when you’re so sad
a smile feels like climbing a mountain
on a stormy day
when the winds are so strong
your face becomes ice
and your arms flap wildly about
unable to tether you
for the sake of tomorrow
when the sun will surely shine again
when the rain retreats
so that you are stronger
when it returns again
When I think about the day my eyes close
and my last breath has made it’s way out
into the world
never to return again
I know that I’ll care nothing for all these clothes
that never stood a chance to survive
in this mind
that calls out for a true life…
no moving train can stop
this mind that sees empty tracks
unbound by time
Today I want to talk about strangers.
We live in a world full of strangers. They walk amongst us, thinking all sorts of thoughts and guess what: You’re never going to know what goes on in another person’s head.
Just stop it, right now. Stop thinking that you’ll ever know anything outside of yourself. It’s an impossible feat. A task unworthy of your time and energy. When it really comes down to it, we are all strangers on a train to nowhere. Maybe you think they have got it all figured out. You know who I’m talking about. Them. They. Others. Not you basically.
Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.
Shout it out loud if that helps. The smartest person in the room is the smartest person in the room because you gave them that title. At this current moment in time I work in a profession where everyone is clawing for that title in particular. I sit in the back of every staff meeting watching the birds pick at each other, grasping for worms.
Sometimes, when the moment drifts and their voices mute I can see right through the walls to the trees outside. The wind scrapes against the leaves and wisps by my face with an exciting aura of unpredictability. That’s when I know they have no idea.
I’m back. I smile, and I know what really matters. Me. My thoughts. The mirror that makes me is the one I choose to look at, not the other way around.
As I continue to listen I am no longer afraid of my own voice. My mouth opens. I speak. And it really does not matter what these strangers fucking think of me.
I think the secret to life is defeating your brain. The one you never designed in the first place.
I wish you knew
not everyone is a thief
Your days are stolen by eyes
that cry out for acceptance
while walking past forests
without a glance to the left
You misread my calm
when the truth is
I could care less for thoughts
that aim to turn my vision red
For all I see are green trees
and each leaf
as it edges further
to the forest floor
Walk with me
in the darkest of woods
breathe the wet air
and throw your fair skin
into the muddy path beneath your feet
thrash around for a while
and let the thunder die
Girl talk is not about what we say to other girls
It is about what we say to ourselves
It is what happens when we see mostly mirrors
and stitch words into our skin
as though we were taught
right from the beginning
to wear the whispers of other people
On my way to meditation class I felt the urge to drive into a tree. On the way home I just wanted to drive.
Some days are like that. It’s like experiencing blindness with too much visual stimulation. Walking around as the ultimate contradiction.
Meditate. Strip it all away. Peel back all the pieces you thought really mattered and stop to feel the ground beneath your feet. Don’t just know that it’s there like some concept you can analyse.
At least once a day, find the truth behind all the ideas.
At least once a day, find some time to find you.
…and so today
I’ll let myself be
from a yellow coffee cup
I won’t worry about loving trees
or even loving me
I’ll just sit
and read this book
and for once
let myself off the hook…