It Ain’t Nothin But The Truth

To say “I don’t know where my inspiration comes from” would be a lie.

A big fat lie. Everyone knows. No one tells.
Who wants to be that blogger searching for pity or praise? Am I being too humble? (Is that pretentious to even suggest???) Or am I just a big coward hiding being a computer screen?

My inspiration comes from life experiences. Should be obvious, right? But not always. Every single poem is about someone. Although, most likely, that person doesn’t know it. Or probably give two hoots about it. And that’s fine with me. I don’t blog for them anyway. I blog for me. I blog to write down my life experiences to maybe reflect upon them in my wiser years. And for whomever finds me interesting enough to know about my boring everyday life.

Also, I’m funny. Or so I’m told.

Many life experiences remain undocumented,  sadly. Many thoughts and opinions stay locked up in my head – on repeat until my brain fixates itself on something else. Usually cheesecake. Or baking. Or something that will undoubtedly make me fat.

This, my friends, is why I work out.

But yes, the truth. You’ve been waiting for it, and it ain’t nothin but the truth. But I’m afraid of vulnerability. I mean, who isn’t right? Seems like a silly unnecessary thing to state. Saying it makes it real. 

I might be only twenty-seven, but I’ve been through some major life experiences. None of which are publicly documented. And most of which many people have never experienced. And every time I try to write about something so personal –  so emotional – I clam up and stop. That delete button needs to disappear. How ironic?

My struggles and triumphs will become faded distant memories if never recorded. I’m never the one to make promises I cannot keep. So I’ll leave you with a real expectation:

I’ll probably be drunk on red wine when I decide to show my real self. Not that I’m fake now; I’m just vague. None of my posts have been fictional, although I wish some were. So here’s to using my blog as a blog.

Who knew that’s what these were for??

Back To September

Suffocating.
Barely breathing.

The lingering throbbing pains in my chest-
Your strong warm hands held tight against my neck,
But I like it.
At least you’re still touching me-
Still within an arm’s reach.
The thought of you vanishing forever
Is like a tapeworm feeding off my emotions,
my pain,
my suffering.
You sucked the life and compassion through my soul
The part that cared,
But now that’s gone—
Faded away into some unknown oblivion
of compassion sucking leeches.

My legs succumb to the numbness,
My knees buckle from the pressure.
Each agonizing step forward is one step further away from you
Away from your boyish grin
Contagious laugh
Spontaneous personality.

I stop and look back.

You’ve become the boy with a crooked smile
Annoying laugh
Reckless personality.

I took one last look at you–
My eyes swollen and red from the tears,
Fragments of mascara smeared down my cheeks–
And I turn back around and walk away.
Far away.
Never to look back at you
Or your face.
Not like I used to look at you.

A miniscule piece of softheartedness and love
escaped the tapeworm’s wrath.
Slowly, your hands surrender,
Freeing my bruised neck
The suffocation ceases
Barely.
It’s still hard to breathe.
Every time I see you,
I won’t forget
But I’m healing
And piecing myself together.

I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul

I love productive days. They make me feel accomplished, even if the tasks are so miniscule, like going to the DMV to get a duplicate driver’s license (because my drunk ass lost it almost two months ago, and I have been using a passport to get into the bars) and taking my car through emissions. I might be the biggest procrastinator in the entire world, but, when it comes down to crunch time, I always get things done on time. It might not be the way someone else intended for it to be done, but it’s the ending result that should matter, right? I could be wrong. It’s been known to happen from time to time. Not often. Just sometimes. Rarely. If ever at all.

(Oh come on, I’m joking! I’m wrong a lot and will be the first to admit it!)

And now you’re smiling. #missionaccomplished. And if you aren’t smiling, well, go read someone else’s blog then. 😉

But really…

Sometimes I need to sit down appreciate the smaller things in life: Instead of complaining that I needed to take my car through emissions, I should just be happy that I HAVE a car to take through emissions. Instead of getting annoyed that I need to wait at the DMV to get a license and watch crazy people, I should be grateful that I have the freedom to drive and the gift of sight. Instead of grumbling about my job, I should be thankful I’m not unemployed.

My life isn’t perfect, nor would I want it to be. Every flaw has its purpose. And every obstacle that comes my way only makes me a stronger person: a person who might not know what she wants out of life, but she continuously gets a new perspective. “I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul” and no one can stand in my way. I’m the only one responsible for my own happiness. If I choose to go through life complaining and grumbling about everything that goes wrong, then it is my own damn fault if I am unhappy. I’ve got a hold on the reigns of my fate and I’m ready to steer myself into the right direction. Hopefully I won’t steer myself into some unknown oblivion. But if I do, I promise to ask for directions.