Float and to Fly

It's like standing on the edge of a pool,
with the rubber of your sneakers hanging over the concrete edge.
Moonlight reflecting in the solemn waves.

Never before has the water seemed so appealing.
To be engulfed in its chilling but somehow soothing grasp
would be learning to float and to fly.


--Disclaimer: I'm a terrible swimmer. I frequently find myself using my fear of swimming as a comparison to other fears I have. Unfortunately, when I write about it it can be easily misinterpreted to have suicidal tie-ins. This is not my intention, but for those who may themselves have suicidal thoughts, remember that it is always better to float and to fly.--

Sewing the Mind Shut

This is a speech I wrote in loose poetic form back in high school, so picture me reading it in a grandiose voice. This really is how I feel about the education system in the United States sometimes, by the way. ;)

Sewing the Mind Shut

In a world where creativity is loved, 

inspiration is dreamt of, 

and creations are praised:

The young are taught facts.

Their opinions are shushed. 

Their minds becoming singular. 

The mind is too valuable to waste. 

That's what they're told,

yet their ambitions are razed.

Memorize this;

this is what you must know.

I sit here and wonder,

should it be so?

You are too young. 

You'll understand soon.

But now you're too old.

Your mind is not yours,

it has become theirs.

What's happened to the individual?

Does it even exist anymore?

Why must I be like them?

Must I?

Can I be no one?

Someone?

Anyone?

Can I be something new?

Some minds are stronger,

but no minds are weak. 

Imagination holds us together,

makes us human.

When we try to be different,

to stray outside the box,

we are slapped back

like we've done something wrong.

 Schools hold the mind in stasis.

As a student we've learned:

What is beauty,

what to know,

what is acceptable,

and what is not.

If we try to be different

our grade suffers.

We won't go to college.

To the world we become expendable.

Even art has succumbed 

in some places.

Suddenly projects have rules  

and measurements that we 

must follow.

 To get the grade.

Expectations. 

We're not learning to be our own self. 

Is this some sort of game?

Every person looks different,

so why should we all think the same?

They say we must learn,

and we'll grow,

be like them.

But what if I want to be me?

Not them.

Shall we just watch,

as our minds,

and our children's minds are sewn shut?

As imagination rusts from disuse?

Change is what's needed.

And it's not being taught. 

An endless paradox, 

unless we make it stop. 

The mind is a sponge,

capable of holding only so much.

If we fill the mind with facts then what room is left

for creativity?

The system of learning

is broken and wrecked. 

the rules are too strict,

thoughts were meant to be bent.

To state your ideas

is dangerous at best.

And only a few

are brave enough to try.

To be part of that few,

strong mind and stronger heart,

they are the truly successful,

though their grades might

not match the part. 

Why are they punished?

Are their minds not functioning?

Instead of science,

math,

and English,

their minds are focused on the surreal,

the beautiful,

the unknown.

Today's learning is based on what's known.

Is that how we progress?

By focusing on the facts? 

Why not focus on what is yet to be understood?

Teach the mind to ponder,

to question everything,

to think past the "facts". 

  Don't be afraid,

to take back your mind.

Oil your imagination.

Cut the bands that are holding you back.

Look past the facts, 

open your heart to the surreal. 

What more can I say then to let your opinions be known?

Together, we can change the system.

Because the mind,

truly,

is too valuable to waste.

So that's that. Remember to subscribe on the right side of the screen if you want to make my day. Feedback is lovely as well. Thanks, pilgrims.

 

 

With Hands Outstretched

      The light at the end of my tunnel sometimes seems so faint that I stop believing in it. It becomes a tiny speck so distant that it gets lost in the suffocating, blackening distractions of life.
      When this happens I stumble through my tunnel in fear. It seems like there's nothing but the cold air and damp walls to remind me that I should keep walking--Keep living. Sometimes I even fall. I catch myself, sacrificing my palms to whatever fate they may meet as they make contact with the unknown darkness beneath me.
      The hardest thing is pushing yourself back onto your feet once you're down with your face against the cool floor, rocks digging into your cheek. When your palms are bleeding it can feel easier to just give up and simply endure the constant pain you are currently experiencing, rather than risk a higher level of pain in the future should you continue.
      But, regardless, you manage to pick yourself up again eventually. I personally often find myself leaning against the unstable tunnel wall at this point, trying to build up the courage to face the unknown, often sharp, obstacles again. This is also usually the time when I remember about that little speck of light that I can barely make out far in the distance.
      If I focus intently enough on it I swear that I can almost feel its warmth. I find the strength to release myself from the cold companionship of the wall and take a shaky, careful step towards it. I can definitely feel it now, and as my steps towards it slowly grow more confident. I can make out silhouettes of the rocks and challenges that tripped me up so easily before, allowing me to start distinguishing a simpler path through them.
      I suddenly realize that all along I have been wrong. It's not MY tunnel at all. I take my eyes off of the obstacles in front of me and see others along the path. Some, like I had been, lay fallen in the distance, hopelessness showing in their eyes even from afar. Others were more near. One girl in particular clenched her fists and teeth as she struggled to push herself back onto her feet. She had fallen hard. The fight in her eyes was beginning to fade as she tried unsuccessfully to hold back the tears that mixed with the blood pooling beneath her torn palms.
      I desert my path and backtrack haphazardly towards her. Somehow I manage to keep my footing on my way to her. She doesn't notice me until I kneel down to her level.
      "Hey. Everything is going to be okay."
      She looks up in surprise for a moment, relief floods through her and without a word she silently leans forward and sobs silently on my shoulder. Once her sobs settle to hoarse but steady breathing, I rise and lift her by her wrists, careful not to touch the tender lacerations on her hands. They'll need time to heal on their own, as mine are.
      I realize that the light has grown enough that now I can see her perfectly. She is held up by a frail frame, the frame of someone who has fallen again and again. But the fight has returned to her eyes, and I could walk away. I've done my part; she's back on her feet. Instead, I put my arm around her and we turn around back towards the light--together.
      The light rushes over us like a wave, enveloping us it in its reassuring heat like a coastal summer's breeze. Tears form in both of our eyes this time. Together we will never have to be afraid again. Neither of us can fall when the other is supporting them with their everything. And even if we fall together, we know the light will gently lend its hand, catching and lifting us even higher than before.
     We take our first step together towards the next nearest broken figure,  with hands outstretched.



This post ended VERY differently than I had originally planned. I guess that that girl reached out and found ME in the dark. I hope that all of you have some sort of light at the end of the tunnel to reach for, regardless of what you believe in. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed it, and just so you all know I LOVE when people follow this blog (see the followers app on the right of the blog). I also love feedback and shares. ;) Thanks everyone!

Everything

I can feel the warmth of your breath
through the chink in my armor;
your heart so close to mine that
the beats fall in and out of sync. 

The comfortable heat incites both
a thrill and a terror inside me.
Now the moment of decision:
Do I run or do I stay?

There's a million things inside me
you should fear.  Demons with
sunken eyes swallowed by shadows
in dark corners.

But. 

Would you just be afraid?
Or could you be the one that takes
me by the hand and whispers that
we'll fight them together?

And when I could finally burst
from my cages and chains I would
hold you tight and love you
with everything that I am.

 For that chance I would tear
open my chest and let you
examine my heart. A single
moment of infinite vulnerability.

Because maybe you
are
my everything.

Hide and Seek

Some who hide
 do not desire to be found.

---

I have always been partial
to hiding.
 
Hiding where it's dark,
and sometimes cold,
but it's worth it.

They all whisper
when they can see me.
So I hide somewhere deep,

because then they can't
see the fear in my eyes.

I run internally from
the people, the trials
and often forced smiles.

The key to hiding is
for no one to know you're hiding.

Show them only the surface.
Let them only see an inch of
what I really am:

Terrified of my potential,
for darkness or for light.

In that way even when they
see me and speak to me
I'm not truly there.

I slowly mastered this game
every time I felt threatened.

Every time I was pushed down,
put down, teased, bullied,
laughed at or punished.

But more, even, when I let down
those who were around me.

Eventually it consumed me.
For when you hide from
yourself, within yourself,

You can lose yourself.
And that's when it gets scary.

To remember who you really
are requires you to tear
down the very walls you built

to keep everyone out.
The walls made of whispers

and lies that cover up
all of your flaws. All of your
insecurities and doubts.

To tear them down is to leave
yourself completely vulnerable.

I ask you this, is it better to be
lonely,
vulnerable,
or invisible?

I have always been partial
to hiding.

Leave it Behind

Leave it Behind
     
      The breath of your last word fades away. You can see the pain in her eyes, and feel it in yours. You knew it would end this way some day, but she held on like a vine; the kind of vine that you never pulled away from because it seemed a shame to break its delicate, wandering stems.
      You tear your gaze from her glistening eyes, take a step back. You reach behind you and grab the brass knob to the back door. Your wrist turns to stone. Every memory you've shared courses through your vision, a waterfall of moments. She whispers, soft as silk, "Please don't go."
       Here is the moment. The awful moment when you choose to either turn your back on someone that once gave you happiness, or fall back into her now suffocating arms.

      You turn the knob. The door creaks open. The sunlight is freedom on your face.

      You turn back for one last look and she is no longer the gentle young lady you once held close. Her face contorts, disfigures. All beauty melts away. Her grace disappears, leaving only an unnatural frame behind, looking more like a beast than the woman you knew before. Yet it's still the same voice that whispers, "You won't go."
      It's not a plea this time. She rushes at you, startlingly quickly. You should never have turned back for one last look. It holds you by your hair, sickly sweet voice whispering of love in your ear. Fear courses through you as you struggle. Long, coarse fingers wrap around your neck, choking the life from your lungs.
      You can no longer just struggle. You must fight. With all of the strength you can muster you rip its fingers from your throat and throw it from you. Without a moment to spare you fly through the door, slamming it shut behind you.
      All you can think to do is to run. Run as far and as fast as you can.
      Once your legs can carry you no further, only then can you bring yourself to turn around. In the distance you can still clearly see the house. And in the window you can see the girl with the glistening eyes. Hoping patiently for your return.

Between You and I

There's another world in your eyes.
I can see it when I stare:
a heartbeat in time with the flicker of a candle's light.

I can hear it in your voice,
something familiar.
A bridge between your world and mine.

Can I leave, though, my own world
which I have so carefully assembled?
Can I hide forever?

Meet me on the bridge.
We'll sit with our legs dangling off the side.
You can whisper in my ear.

Words like silk.

Still water or flash floods?
Warm meadows or mountain ridges?
Crisp autumns or perpetual spring?

Your world or mine?