Another Mask

It has come to my attention that second is not something that I should strive for. I have always been told “do the best that you can and come in at your top regardless of others” but now I’m being told that this is my game to live and whatever place I pick is the one I will get if i but wait for it. It seems a contridiction of terms to me. I “don’t deserve to be number two”. I wish I had enough stamina to do more than just believe that. I should act. At least thats what I'm told. It is amazing and condemning that humans have hearts big enough to feel two kinds of relief, a type of failure the need for escape and a contentment with placement all at once. And to throw in a lack of belief is an expediential crime. Frustration riddles me when I think of how small I really am and how light my burdens are. This is just a preparation of my bridge of accomplishments to get my past strife later, I just hope that I finally find the ability to understand the rules before it grows too late. I have so many joys about me it hurts that my heart wont let them in. I know what it does and I know what it should but no matter how hard I try I just seem to hurt myself in order to heal. Like bloodletting that is not the proper solution and I need to find an alternate rout. In 4 months I will have officially left my teens so I have plenty of years ahead of me but I feel as if anything past what my emotions can contemplate is too far to be worth waiting for. I know without a doubt the one thing that I want more than the entire world. If I had it I know that my fears would be replaced with ones that I cant wait to have. How will my darling do on their first day of school, what will I do to keep them strong enough to make the proper choices so I don’t have to fear for their decisions when they are out in the world, I just have to fear for how the world treats them. I want to have the fear of having a sick child and needing to decide on what I am going to give up so that they can have a Christmas they understand and appreciate.

I need to keep growing.

Being emergent is my favorite quality and I wish that I did not reach a plateau in my needs, I wish it were easer to sort than having to wait on the choices of others. "If you wish, act." Yeah well I'm trying, i just dont understand it yet. There are people at my back. And I am more than glad for their support. Without them I would not be here or I would be even more damaged than I am. I just wish I had enough self esteem to realize how wonderful I really have it. I’m like a rock, you throw me around and I can handle it. We all can. However if you get just the right amount of pressure in just the right place I split down the middle and into a few pieces. The pressure might not have been much but it was so precisely added that there is no way the devil cannot exist. I’ve broken in such a way I need time to understand my weak point so that I can defend it by changing myself. I just hope I will change, and not put on another mask. I hope I can do this in time to recognize the most important number one from the great people guarding my back so that I can invite him to walk astride me to face together the sharpest point of the adversary and conquer the world and be honored into eternal life and eternal salvation. I just hope I can find a number one that thinks of methe same. I cant make it as two. I cant accept that fate. I know I can choose to be Number one. I know I can choose the one that holds me at that point. Who has that respect ofr me. However, I just hope that I can trust myself enough to let the Lord guide me and make my life shed as much light on others so they can see their own runway while he lets me amble down mine.Maybe I will finally understand what I know rather than attempting to persuade myself with basic knowledge. Maybe I will be given the chance to remember the child I left behind in the name of preservation. Maybe i will finally believe that im beautiful. Only time will tell.

Thanx to all who love me be it from a simple one time antic to the feeling of need for my soul. I love through admoration all of those who enter my life for I know you’ve left at least a thumbprint in the smoke paper of my heart, if not whole handprints.

Letting Go

"Nothing will ever change if you don't communicate," he said as the small red car drove down the mostly deserted road. I was sitting on my hands out of nervous habit, and him being who he was actually noticed. I didn’t say anything, I was concentrating too hard on steadily bringing my hands into my lap and holding them there. "I can drive for hours," he responded.

Glancing at his dashboard I replied, "no you can't. The car only has a few more miles before it is out of gas," I inclined my head so as to point without using my hands. He was quiet a moment and as we drove by a closed gas station I said, "and it does look like I am not supposed to talk."

"Not true," he said, looking at me and wiggling his eyebrows asymmetrically, getting g me to giggle like always. Just then we hit another gas station, that’s what happens in a dense suburb, and he pulled into it.

As he was getting out of the car I said, “Well, I guess I will talk now that your out of the car.”

Shaking his head he pulls his wallet out of his pocket as he horridly shuts the door to keep the heat in. Animatedly lip talking away I went into a huge story about rabbits. Continuing the head shaking after he say me again he called out that he could not hear me. I told him I know in sign language and he raises an eyebrow in question before lifting his shoulders to block his neck from the gust of wind that just whipped through his vicinity.

After spending 38 dollars for approximately 300 miles of gas he got in the car and drove away. After a few looks and dígame’s he managed to get me to start to talk. Which of course consisted of about fifty, well, you see’s. Pulling onto my street and parking in front of my house he parks and looks at me. Not baring to have the ability to look at his person at all I look up and down the street and at the ceiling or the floor. “Okay, I’m going to go now,” I announce as I attempt to pull my heavy book bag from the back seat of his car. It gets stuck and I lean towards it laughing nervously. He nudges my hands aside and pulls the book bag out and sets it gently on my lap.

“You can leave if you want to, but there’s no growth if you don’t communicate.”

Following wigging in my seat and laughing a few hundred times I let go of the door handle and we both sigh. I find this hysterical and give into bouts of laughter. He watches me closely, the look on his face is completely nonjudgmental and it hurts to look at it so I immediately grow silent and look away, remembering my dilemma. “I am making this harder than it is and I don’t mean to do that.”

After much bringing up of other subjects I manage to announce to him that, “This is too terribly hard, so you cannot say a word till I’m done because otherwise I cannot get it all out. I know what I need to say, exactly what the sentence is, but I can not physically say the words, it’s my own personal defect,” even without having him in my view I know that he tensed because it is in his nature. Not being able to reply is an unusual occurrence for him, I have gained some pleasure in stopping him in his tracks, and occasionally getting him to blush from laughter. Either way to not be able to defend my honor from myself is distressing to him.

After much starting and stopping and attempting to just get one word out I say “It’s, Wow there you go I got a word out,” glancing at him I see him smile at me. As I look away I somehow exploded “its kinda like, cool! That was three words. Okay I’m never going to say it if I keep going off like this,” he nods. “remember you cant talk till I’m done or I cant use enough words to explain myself.”

Keeping his face blank of mostly everything but reassurance, oh how I envy his control, he nudges me to go on without moving a muscle.

“This has been an interesting week preceding this conversation, I don’t know if it is to set me up or to get me to truly think about it, but, like our conversation this morning, it is kinda like your situation with Sherise, only that I need to do the separating myself rather that you being the one who chooses it.”

I glance at him and he stays still.

“I have two ways I can choose a relationship,“ I inform him while I look down at my hands in the shape of a ‘V’, “Typically I can mentally choose the way a relationship goes,” I tilt my right hand to close against my left, pausing I think through what I am to say next, “however with you being you,” I open them again, “I can not mentally do that. Like I warned you I would, in the parking lot forever ago, I have grown quite attached. Not in the same ways as Sherise, but enough to have to choose to either make a commitment or to stand off.”

I sigh and think a moment and in a very timid voice he says, “I cant see you as much?”

“Not unless a commitment is made I cant handle it.”

“Amount of time or length of time?”

I consider for a moment, “I don’t know yet,” he shakes his head in affirmation and looks out the window.

“I like you too, and for me its more the length of time,” I shake my head and watch him while I sit on my hands again. “You are very mature to be able to decide this, not many recognize it.”

“I recognize a lot, defects and all,” I find the gear shift quite interesting.

“Don‘t say that, no one has defects, change it.”

“With all my defects.”

“No. Fine,” I look out of the window and hide a smile, “I have errors in my making.”

“Say ‘it is something I am working on changing,’”

“But im not its who I am,” we bickered on this a bit before he gave up.

I agree and find the gear shift quite interesting. “Well, what I don‘t,” I pause, not wanting to come off completely backwards. “Don‘t get me wrong in the least. I am happy for the you and Purity situation if it were to work out. It would gladden me that your happy, however I just don’t understand how she can know, for certain, from both God and yourself, that she can have you but not take you.”

“Yeah.”

“I obviously do not know her side of things but still.”

We theorized on that a moment, much like one of our typical conversations minus the jokes and then I told him, “See you later Mace,” and I started to open the car door.

“Hablaré contigo despues entonces, Kyrene.”

After figuring out what he said to me I dragged myself away and kept high spirits in knowing he cares, it is just not the right time. After yet another prayer he got a text in the morning, [It is something i am working on changing. There, lastnight i would of been lying, thats y i wouldnt say it. Thankyou.] Life works the way it does because it is supposed to, I just have to do all I can to make it worth living for everyone else.

So you know:

i am writing stuff but im not quite writing enough to make it as posts... heres a tincy thing for you just becasue i love you all (even if i dont know you, and never will)...

Would you rather
be a friend
be a lover
Would you rather
be alone at
all times or
would you rather
spend time with
someone who has
enough meaning to
make you feel
just like the
world is worth
living in?

WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME???

I really do not understand. Something is terribly wrong with me. I am so confused. I am scared. But worst of all I get fustrated becasue I have no reason to be. I have reason, but not really enough to justify. I can nolonger seem to control my thoughts, they run away from me. Current happenstance is an interesting ach. One I must say I have no understanding of, thus the confusion, among other things. I have heard that i am Beautiful. But what does that mean? How do I show it? How do I grow? How have I forgotten?



Missing out on life is to miss out on love. I am standing on the edge of losing my life, and I dont know how I got here.

I think I need help finding it again.

Lab Practical

Well i just got through my lab practical, i think i might write a flash fiction about it later but i think right now i am going to take a nap. I am just happy that it went as well as it did. Awesome beans and later days.

The Dreamer

a re-edit of a previous blog:

Sleep. You are obtaining that gentle thing. There is soft music emanating from my laptop. I am sitting up in bed, contently warm above the covers. I am here with you sleeping at my side, legs angled to cover the bed below my feet. I look past my computer to your face. The occasional twitch, to accompany the gentle ticking of my keys causes a placid twitch at my own lips. The rhythmic dance of my fingers is a jovial moment in which I enjoy for the act is painless, with another so close, so unaware I believe that if I were to have a twinge in my wrists from the labor I might just have the capacity to work beyond it.

Such a wonderful friend, I am glad you feel enough comfort to lay so close and sleep in time to the thoughts in my imagination. Something worth writing is flowing through the room. I am glad to be part of this still and simple moment of life. As you inhale and exhale the tides of breath go so slow. I wonder the dreams, the thoughts the flashes of color you experience as you sleep near to me, dear to me. I am non expectant of being a part of the actualities that you experience in the lands of dreams. What is it you dream? It is something of terror or of joy? It is something of peace, or nothing at all? Do you think in color or grey’s? I need to be careful, my mind might run away again. I think I might have called that too late, I am seeing images pass now. What could you dream?

Is there such a thing as the side of life and the side of death? What if one could cross it? Could that make a dream? It would start with you. Always you, that is how dreams begin. You are in a place that you know well, work, school, possibly church. You stand in the middle of a room, and things begin to happen fast, it starts like a normal day:

Going through things that you would normally do, and believing anything that occurs because it is not a typical reality, you go about your day and when whoever is most precious to you is taken, it seems like it is supposed to happen though it is a horrid circumstance. Because of the awkwardness, and the need for this individual to be returned to the realm that mean the most to them you travel to an old rusted out and weatherworn barn and enter within to call upon the hag that lives there within. Being you, you are not taken aback by her countenance or nauseating habits and you gently ask her how to enter in the realm that this significant other has been taken. The nauseating smell, the grotesque details of the dead corpses and the thick mist that creeps through the dark are so vivid that it is amazing the brain can tell the difference between dreaming and waken states, or that it forgets such details upon awakening. Gaining your instruction you depart, remembering each and every detail of the trip as you would if it were the caress of your first love.

Entering into a maze you find your way to the gate of death by quickly dodging tyrants and fiends with your talents at stealth. Entering in you come across s decent witch in charge of receiving payment for the entrance and exit of the portal. Individuals are placed on a platform that weighs whither they will want to stay or if they will want to leave the place after their trip. On the scale it is deemed that he would want to stay, so the witch takes from him and places the payment in a cage so that the desire to return to life is balanced out and becomes stronger. Looking around, people will want to gain back hearts, (yes the actual things, beating and all) or colors or emotions. To cross the boarder something must be lost to be gained. Noone is ever the same after acrossing, though the actualities are different. Going off to rescue the significant other in the perils of the realm of the dead time is the sacrifice.

WAIT!

That is starting to not sound like his personality, and more like what I would do, come to think of it I think that might have been one of my dreams. I pause in typing to reminisce on the fact that it was and his face catches my attention again. His brow furls at the silence in my keys and another possibility enters my head:

Taking into consideration the awkward sound of my music because it is background themes to anime’s or videogames and the frantic clickty-clasck of my keys and occasional whirr of the fan on my computer, I have decided that you might be in a giant sand storm, the clicking resembles the gear of your men and the whirr of the laptop keeping me warm is the bustling winds, for all I know your face is in a position to get the occasional burst of warm air it puts off. The music might add to the mood of the air and whither there is an enemy or a friend to be picked up and carried along. The stopping of my typing might have resembled a frantic pause in which hopes for the enemies passing were filling the soul.

I find myself shrugging and thinking many another scenario but glancing at the clock I realize just how late it is and that everyone is no longer awake. I sense the inappropriateness of the situation, watching your delicate face sleep so calmly next to me alone in my bedroom. However, having the opportunity to ponder on it is one of peace. Peace is such a moment that comes rarely enough that it causes me a tear in each of my eyes at the genuine harmony and ease within this moment in time. I feel the tears caress my cheek as I wish you had the desire to do as I save this entry, and un wishing to disturb you think of how I slip away into the night, turning the covers down and around you after closing my computer and press my hand fondly on your arm. I will say a prayer for comfort for sleep for you lately has been hard to enjoy. Knowing how I will gather some spare blankets from my room as silently as possible I think on how I will turn out the light and slip upstairs to the living room, the couch waiting to take me in its arms. Beginning the process a smile accompanies the gentle swell of tears as I Hope for your simple pleasantries.

Something decent

Here is something i can type.

Sleep. That gentle thing. soft music from my laptop. I am sitting here content with you sleeping at my side and feet. The occational twitch, to accompany the gentle ticking of my keys. the rythmic danc eof my fingers is a jovial moment in that i am actually doing it painlessly and with another so close. Such a wonderfil friend to lay so close and sllep in time to the thoughts in my brain. Letting something worth writing flow through the room i am glad to be part of this still moment of life. Inhale and exhale the tides of breath go so slow. I wonder the dreams, the thoughts the flashes of color you experiance as you sleep near to me. I am non expectant of being a part of the actualities that oyu experiance, however, having the oppertunity to ponder on it is one of peace, a moment that comes rarely enough that i have a tear in my eye at the genuine peace and contentment of this moment in time. Unwishing to disturb you i save this entry now and slip away into the night for sleep for you can be hard to enjoy.

Ignore this post

Light touches, all in mind, all in spirit.

Why can i not seem to write a story, why is it always these short little nonsences. I am in a better mood, but i have no words to convay it. I wish there were a story to write, or a flashfiction with an actual plot, however my mind ust wont accept this yet.

I have to go through every feeling i have had since i have stopped writing and write it out, or think it out before i can get proper words to form in the sence of my norm. I dont wnathis: tto change my style away from novel. I dont want to go to poetry, i have alreay finished that phase and i wnat to write in the form i enjoy reading so that i can create books that i would want to read.

Ahh well. All you get today is this:

Light touches, in mind and spirit.
Gladdining occurances pressing my way.
However they are not the kind to stay,
joyful bliss in anothers life,
causes windows of happyness for me.
GLad for a friend, but still yelling for free.
There is an ever going arguement inside me,
and i can do nought but toss it aside.
Until i write it out, i can not say goodbye.

sry but im not editing this at all.... i just had to type it out.

Someone save me from the little world of barly no torture that i cannot seem to cope with...

Blue Dots

Blue dots and red dots,
and Pink dots galore.
Ivy wants Spagettii,
but there ain't any more.

Laundry

Its currently around, folded, jostled and all to gether clean.

The feeling coming from knowing you have something presentable to wear is just as pleasent as the summer's sun.

Over and around itself, its like creating a hug with every fold.

The occational fabric folds a little harder,

But they all fold the same, identical lines, just larger or smaller.

If only life were as defined as folding laundry.

Where'd my ironing board go?