I was watching the musical Grease again and as I watched it, I recalled a conversation a had with my mother several years ago about my unease of Sandy changing so much for her man in a way that I had deemed as inappropriate. I could appreciate Danny changing for Sandy seeing as I saw him as a rascal who needed to earn her affections but I wasn't really okay with her change. Explaining this to my mother, she explained softly that when it comes to love, both parties have to be willing to compromise and change. When it came to love, you are willing to bend your boundaries and your standards for them.
It's not one perfect person fixing one bad person... it's two broken people whose broken pieces fit together so that they can build each other up... realizing that you have to take care of yourself before you can take care of others.
I didn't really understand this until I was within my own love journey and became dissatisfied with every man that was offered to me. They weren't bad people. But they weren't people I could fix. I could not heal their brokenness... and they did not understand my heart. I became tired of explanations and trying to modify myself to their needs. It was physically tiring. I gave up and let myself be waste. After all, if I couldn't find what I was looking for, maybe it didn't exist. This pain was intentional so even though it was more extreme, I could call it mine. My choice.
I knew I found love when he found me in that low place and saw me glorified. He did not intentionally fix my hurt nor tend my wounds yet... wounds scarred and scars faded under his gaze. He called me beautiful not for my sake but as a comment of thought when I felt unworthy. He never said anything for my sake and he never lied. This was a person I could trust my thoughts, my life, my heart to. I dedicated early, 100%, and he did not reject me. Guiding, teasing, tormenting, leading. Never rejection. Never 'no'. That didn't mean 'yes'. How did he know? I didn't know myself that well yet... here I was. And his pain was mine. His heart was mine. His thoughts were mine alone to know. I brought out the man in him as he nourished the woman in me. So I could do things that I could not accomplish with any other because he gave me new strength, new confidence. I am his. His woman.
So I re-evaluated my priorities and I changed. I don't regret it. He's changed too.
Thursday, August 31, 2017
Wednesday, August 30, 2017
My Faith
You are the salt of the earth. But if salt loses its taste, with what can it be seasoned? It is no longer good for anything but to be thrown out and trampled underfoot.
Matthew 5:13
I have always believed, as far back as I can remember. There isn't a day I can recall whereupon I have doubted or wouldn't fight for what I believe. I have lost friends, been severely bullied, and falsely stereotyped all of my life. I remember in kindergarten this one girl named Jade was popular. Her mother was a model or something and her father was terrifying due to his build and massive amount of tattoos. Her prissy attitude annoyed me and I wished that she were transferred to the afternoon section on a few occasions. When she found out my faith, I remember the look of horror that passed over her eyes. The next day and every day after that, I played at recess alone. I didn't mind so much because I didn't really like playing with other children (especially since I wasn't close with any of them) but I still felt the impact. In elementary school, several of my good friends refused to talk or play with me after they decided that I wasn't worthy of their time because I was not a Mormon. I developed a few nicknames then that I didn't understand and in an effort to not feel their betrayal deeply I dove into my love of literature even further, consuming all of my time so that I wouldn't have to face my lonely reality.
When I visited the houses of my friends and saw their differing spiritual practices, I wanted to learn and understand. This one friend of mine in 5th grade would pray before each dish in a meal. She prayed over 10 times when we sat down for dinner and I had only prayed the once before and the once after. I didn't know whether to be impressed or what. I highly suspected that she was just showing off but... still. She had shown me something that I didn't have and I didn't know if I should be grateful or mourn. I came to the conclusion that her religious regime was "too strict" and I left her ways to her. I didn't need that kind of nonsense.
When I was still in elementary school, I decided that I wanted to read "The Golden Compass", which if you are religious you would know was written by an atheist for the intent of converting the faithful away from God. My mother allowed me to but with the warning: Be careful. Perhaps I was too young to fully see his plan in action, but caught up in the story I only saw glimpses of this malicious intent. But I read with fear and prayed that I wouldn't lose my precious Lord from ink on paper. (I didn't) However, while reading the series, I visited my great aunt's house. Her children (my father's cousins) were several years younger than I due to her delay in marriage and she freaked out that I was holding something she considered so evil around her children. As a Calvinist, she is pretty extreme about the type of content allowed near her young. I couldn't understand her extreme reaction as I believed even back then that knowledge and understanding is essential to "holding your own". Why live with such fear? I knew then that I as much as I loved her and her family, I could never be a Calvinist because those with the Truth should never fear any lie.
During my middle school years, I started to attend the youth group at my parish. We met weekly and usually discussed some topic that was chosen while munching on snacks. Every month or so we would do a service project but most meetings were just the group of us sitting in the basement discussing faith and enjoying each other's company. I've always seen a difference in amount of devotion between me and my peers in Sunday school but it really started to sink in here. The flippancy of faith, the embracing of social lies, the desire to no longer be virgin. When I was the only one who knew how to locate a section of the Bible, when I was the only one who had our basic prayers memorized, when I was the only one who actually knew the hymns that we constantly sung during mass... these things become apparent. Summer church camp was even worse. These that were supposed to believe like me, desperate to give away their morals to the world in an effort to belong and feel connected. It scared me. It made me indignant. How do I convince them to listen? I couldn't. Not when our peers spoke of loss of virginity. Not when they described the sensations of being high. Not when they knew the answers from experience which lay unsettled in many a heart.
High school was almost worse. I started my own dating journey and there is a lot of confusion in trying to navigate romance while holding onto purity. It was very hard to stay out of the trap of thinking that my worth depended on a man instead of Son of Man. When everything in our culture is based around romance and sex, it's very easy to get pulled into thinking of sin as "not that bad". It was a struggle to stay pure and it always was a cause of argument that ended with everyone bitter.
In addition to that drama, many of my friends in faith started to fall away as they had already gone through Confirmation and therefore no longer cared. (more accurately, their parents no longer cared and therefore they no longer had to put up a facade) Many others got torn between social justice and faith doctrine... usually choosing to stick with their political views over their faith. It's when I really started to appreciate atheists. They know where they stand and they live it. Too many Christians are cafeteria-Christians. Diet Christians. Choosing one thing to believe and rejecting others. Not actually following through but rather morphing their faith into their lives for purposes of comfort. It's also when I developed a strong distaste for evangelization. When the Mormons of my childhood who abandoned me due to faith reasons started coming at me from all sides, from all sorts of tactics... it became obvious that their intent was my conversion. Getting in some practice before their mission trips, I suppose. Their ways were numerous and highly devious. I wasn't given a chance to trust any of them because literally anything and everything was a tactic and I had to be on high alert in order not to fall victim. To this day, I cannot see "The Great Commission" as anything but a heartless, ruthless attack to force perspective upon others by manipulation. It feels so wrong to force another to come to the Cross. Let them get there without throwing Bibles in their faces and talking about Jesus as if he is dead or no longer a man.
Speaking of Confirmation, I became a "reasonable skeptic" for the entirety of that year: questioning everything I heard and was told, truly making sure that I believed to the point of torture and death that what was presented was true. It was a rough yet quiet process. The hardest part was choosing a saint. I had a lot of difficulty choosing someone whose life inspired me to become better, be purer. The desire of every Catholic should be to become a saint. I wanted to find someone whose life would remind me of this divine purpose. But they had to be relatable. Someone whose life I could see myself living if God called me. I had no luck and frankly stopped trying after a time because it just seemed so hopeless to find someone to be my guide, my hero, my mentor. I started judging their names instead of their character and settled with one that I was comfortable with. I learned her story and was okay with it yet kept forgetting it when asked. I felt like a failure surrounded by hoards of flippant characters that made it difficult to improve. After Confirmation I felt like I was given a chance to do and be more. I was able to be more involved in the mass and to start co-teaching some CCD classes. We had switched churches so I was no longer singing but I was still active. However, disagreeing with structure had some very direct ties with loss of passion of service and helping out became a chore more than a gift. It didn't help that my own father stopped coming on Sundays for his own and various reasons.
I went off to college around this point in time, desperately hoping to find some spiritual guidance and to form relations with actual believers instead of flippant ones. I had missed the deadline for serving during mass but I went to every service I could and became a part of the midday choir for about a semester. I would bring friends with me to mass sometimes, Catholic and not alike... but, I still didn't feel like it was mine. I prayed and slept with the Eucharist. I went on their fall retreat but it felt so hollow to me-- and I knew that this was one of the deeper retreats offered anywhere on campus; Catholic or otherwise. I tried going to Confession often. But the priest seemed more interested in passively accepting my sins as life instead of giving actual penance and the guidance I was desperate for. Then, when I went through training, I discovered that he did not hold the Eucharist to be sacred and thus Jesus and it broke my heart. Around this time, I was pretty consistently going to a Baptist church with a friend because he wanted me to go to his church and I viewed it as a doctrinally incorrect Bible study. But it made me feel like a traitor to my own faith to go so consistently especially with this new-found news about my priest and my reluctance to confess at all because of my experiences with him. When my friendship with this Baptist blew up, it was almost as if all desire for me to be a God-driven woman died too.
That summer was pretty rocky for me. I learned some things that made it hard to continue forward quietly. My siblings and I bonded over this shared pain. Due to my work schedule, I often could not go to mass which made my mother disappointed. It became a habit to avoid the building. Find other things to do. Remain busy. Put my sleep deprivation above serving the Lord. I went back to school hoping to go to the other church, desperately looking to find something to ignite my faith again. I could not return to the first church because that priest was toxic to me and I did not feel like I belonged to the ones that my family attended. I was hoping for a fresh start.
Well, I went for two, maybe three weeks and I couldn't find anything particular about it that would make me stay. The music played oddly for me to sing to, the homilies were mediocre, and it felt like most of the attendees were just going through the motions. Honestly, it felt all too similar to the one my mother attends-- without me being able to name the faces. Needless to say, it did not reawaken me and despite my internal urgency to confess to the priest, I could not urge myself to do so. It was easy to find excuses to not go or plan my life so that I was too busy to attend. I stopped consistently praying and found it all together too challenging due to lack of motivation to properly fast and devote time to the Lord.
I am not saying that I'm an atheist. I'm not. But all of my spiritual vigor and desire is gone. My spirit itself has died and I don't know how or even if I want to reawaken it. I consider myself a member of my faith because I have yet to see anything to indicate that it's wrong. There's just too much logic and documentation to abandon the beliefs simply because of a dead spirit.
The year ended and I hadn't once gone to Confession. I went abroad to an atheist country and they were more loving and Christ-filled than most Christians I've ever met. They cared about others and lived their lives quietly. It wasn't a perfect system by any means but the government's ban on evangelization in country was only good.
I came back to the States and went to church twice as an obligation. A large part of me doesn't want to go until I have a 2-3 hour confession first... And I've sinned. Deliberately. This past year I've made active choices to reassemble my priority list and God is no longer number one. But this is just part of growing and discovering myself. I don't regret my life. I live without regret.
Let's see what awaits me next.
Matthew 5:13
I have always believed, as far back as I can remember. There isn't a day I can recall whereupon I have doubted or wouldn't fight for what I believe. I have lost friends, been severely bullied, and falsely stereotyped all of my life. I remember in kindergarten this one girl named Jade was popular. Her mother was a model or something and her father was terrifying due to his build and massive amount of tattoos. Her prissy attitude annoyed me and I wished that she were transferred to the afternoon section on a few occasions. When she found out my faith, I remember the look of horror that passed over her eyes. The next day and every day after that, I played at recess alone. I didn't mind so much because I didn't really like playing with other children (especially since I wasn't close with any of them) but I still felt the impact. In elementary school, several of my good friends refused to talk or play with me after they decided that I wasn't worthy of their time because I was not a Mormon. I developed a few nicknames then that I didn't understand and in an effort to not feel their betrayal deeply I dove into my love of literature even further, consuming all of my time so that I wouldn't have to face my lonely reality.
When I visited the houses of my friends and saw their differing spiritual practices, I wanted to learn and understand. This one friend of mine in 5th grade would pray before each dish in a meal. She prayed over 10 times when we sat down for dinner and I had only prayed the once before and the once after. I didn't know whether to be impressed or what. I highly suspected that she was just showing off but... still. She had shown me something that I didn't have and I didn't know if I should be grateful or mourn. I came to the conclusion that her religious regime was "too strict" and I left her ways to her. I didn't need that kind of nonsense.
When I was still in elementary school, I decided that I wanted to read "The Golden Compass", which if you are religious you would know was written by an atheist for the intent of converting the faithful away from God. My mother allowed me to but with the warning: Be careful. Perhaps I was too young to fully see his plan in action, but caught up in the story I only saw glimpses of this malicious intent. But I read with fear and prayed that I wouldn't lose my precious Lord from ink on paper. (I didn't) However, while reading the series, I visited my great aunt's house. Her children (my father's cousins) were several years younger than I due to her delay in marriage and she freaked out that I was holding something she considered so evil around her children. As a Calvinist, she is pretty extreme about the type of content allowed near her young. I couldn't understand her extreme reaction as I believed even back then that knowledge and understanding is essential to "holding your own". Why live with such fear? I knew then that I as much as I loved her and her family, I could never be a Calvinist because those with the Truth should never fear any lie.
During my middle school years, I started to attend the youth group at my parish. We met weekly and usually discussed some topic that was chosen while munching on snacks. Every month or so we would do a service project but most meetings were just the group of us sitting in the basement discussing faith and enjoying each other's company. I've always seen a difference in amount of devotion between me and my peers in Sunday school but it really started to sink in here. The flippancy of faith, the embracing of social lies, the desire to no longer be virgin. When I was the only one who knew how to locate a section of the Bible, when I was the only one who had our basic prayers memorized, when I was the only one who actually knew the hymns that we constantly sung during mass... these things become apparent. Summer church camp was even worse. These that were supposed to believe like me, desperate to give away their morals to the world in an effort to belong and feel connected. It scared me. It made me indignant. How do I convince them to listen? I couldn't. Not when our peers spoke of loss of virginity. Not when they described the sensations of being high. Not when they knew the answers from experience which lay unsettled in many a heart.
High school was almost worse. I started my own dating journey and there is a lot of confusion in trying to navigate romance while holding onto purity. It was very hard to stay out of the trap of thinking that my worth depended on a man instead of Son of Man. When everything in our culture is based around romance and sex, it's very easy to get pulled into thinking of sin as "not that bad". It was a struggle to stay pure and it always was a cause of argument that ended with everyone bitter.
In addition to that drama, many of my friends in faith started to fall away as they had already gone through Confirmation and therefore no longer cared. (more accurately, their parents no longer cared and therefore they no longer had to put up a facade) Many others got torn between social justice and faith doctrine... usually choosing to stick with their political views over their faith. It's when I really started to appreciate atheists. They know where they stand and they live it. Too many Christians are cafeteria-Christians. Diet Christians. Choosing one thing to believe and rejecting others. Not actually following through but rather morphing their faith into their lives for purposes of comfort. It's also when I developed a strong distaste for evangelization. When the Mormons of my childhood who abandoned me due to faith reasons started coming at me from all sides, from all sorts of tactics... it became obvious that their intent was my conversion. Getting in some practice before their mission trips, I suppose. Their ways were numerous and highly devious. I wasn't given a chance to trust any of them because literally anything and everything was a tactic and I had to be on high alert in order not to fall victim. To this day, I cannot see "The Great Commission" as anything but a heartless, ruthless attack to force perspective upon others by manipulation. It feels so wrong to force another to come to the Cross. Let them get there without throwing Bibles in their faces and talking about Jesus as if he is dead or no longer a man.
Speaking of Confirmation, I became a "reasonable skeptic" for the entirety of that year: questioning everything I heard and was told, truly making sure that I believed to the point of torture and death that what was presented was true. It was a rough yet quiet process. The hardest part was choosing a saint. I had a lot of difficulty choosing someone whose life inspired me to become better, be purer. The desire of every Catholic should be to become a saint. I wanted to find someone whose life would remind me of this divine purpose. But they had to be relatable. Someone whose life I could see myself living if God called me. I had no luck and frankly stopped trying after a time because it just seemed so hopeless to find someone to be my guide, my hero, my mentor. I started judging their names instead of their character and settled with one that I was comfortable with. I learned her story and was okay with it yet kept forgetting it when asked. I felt like a failure surrounded by hoards of flippant characters that made it difficult to improve. After Confirmation I felt like I was given a chance to do and be more. I was able to be more involved in the mass and to start co-teaching some CCD classes. We had switched churches so I was no longer singing but I was still active. However, disagreeing with structure had some very direct ties with loss of passion of service and helping out became a chore more than a gift. It didn't help that my own father stopped coming on Sundays for his own and various reasons.
I went off to college around this point in time, desperately hoping to find some spiritual guidance and to form relations with actual believers instead of flippant ones. I had missed the deadline for serving during mass but I went to every service I could and became a part of the midday choir for about a semester. I would bring friends with me to mass sometimes, Catholic and not alike... but, I still didn't feel like it was mine. I prayed and slept with the Eucharist. I went on their fall retreat but it felt so hollow to me-- and I knew that this was one of the deeper retreats offered anywhere on campus; Catholic or otherwise. I tried going to Confession often. But the priest seemed more interested in passively accepting my sins as life instead of giving actual penance and the guidance I was desperate for. Then, when I went through training, I discovered that he did not hold the Eucharist to be sacred and thus Jesus and it broke my heart. Around this time, I was pretty consistently going to a Baptist church with a friend because he wanted me to go to his church and I viewed it as a doctrinally incorrect Bible study. But it made me feel like a traitor to my own faith to go so consistently especially with this new-found news about my priest and my reluctance to confess at all because of my experiences with him. When my friendship with this Baptist blew up, it was almost as if all desire for me to be a God-driven woman died too.
That summer was pretty rocky for me. I learned some things that made it hard to continue forward quietly. My siblings and I bonded over this shared pain. Due to my work schedule, I often could not go to mass which made my mother disappointed. It became a habit to avoid the building. Find other things to do. Remain busy. Put my sleep deprivation above serving the Lord. I went back to school hoping to go to the other church, desperately looking to find something to ignite my faith again. I could not return to the first church because that priest was toxic to me and I did not feel like I belonged to the ones that my family attended. I was hoping for a fresh start.
Well, I went for two, maybe three weeks and I couldn't find anything particular about it that would make me stay. The music played oddly for me to sing to, the homilies were mediocre, and it felt like most of the attendees were just going through the motions. Honestly, it felt all too similar to the one my mother attends-- without me being able to name the faces. Needless to say, it did not reawaken me and despite my internal urgency to confess to the priest, I could not urge myself to do so. It was easy to find excuses to not go or plan my life so that I was too busy to attend. I stopped consistently praying and found it all together too challenging due to lack of motivation to properly fast and devote time to the Lord.
I am not saying that I'm an atheist. I'm not. But all of my spiritual vigor and desire is gone. My spirit itself has died and I don't know how or even if I want to reawaken it. I consider myself a member of my faith because I have yet to see anything to indicate that it's wrong. There's just too much logic and documentation to abandon the beliefs simply because of a dead spirit.
The year ended and I hadn't once gone to Confession. I went abroad to an atheist country and they were more loving and Christ-filled than most Christians I've ever met. They cared about others and lived their lives quietly. It wasn't a perfect system by any means but the government's ban on evangelization in country was only good.
I came back to the States and went to church twice as an obligation. A large part of me doesn't want to go until I have a 2-3 hour confession first... And I've sinned. Deliberately. This past year I've made active choices to reassemble my priority list and God is no longer number one. But this is just part of growing and discovering myself. I don't regret my life. I live without regret.
Let's see what awaits me next.
Poetry: Hawk
This is a direct message to a certain individual. I've written about you a few times, you know my words yet rarely my intent. I'll call you the man in the blue jeans so that perhaps you'll realize. I don't know if you'll ever read this... you are a hawk and I a mouse and dusk has fallen so you'll rest your eyes and seek new prey with the new dawn. It is not likely that you will seek me again. I remember well our time together. I pampered your feathers and measured your talons. Can you tell me apart from any other mouse? If you were flying 100 miles high in the sky, looking down on the world as is your normal to find fresh prey and your eyes glazed over me, would you know me as the mouse that you hunted and failed to capture? I would know you instantly.
You left a scar with your passing. I thought it would be near my heart but I was wrong. It is on my feet. And the weight of my burden is carried by it with each step that I take. A bit more fitting for our situation, perhaps. To look for guidance and find apathetic solitude, when challenged to be seen with eyes that did not know nor understand.
You always did confuse the two. Do you have to understand the science of the skies to know that the moon affects the tides? Do you have to understand the mysteries of a woman to know your feelings about one? Do you have to understand the affects of poison ivy to know to leave it alone? Did you really have to try to dissect me to know who I was? My emotions and thoughts cannot be traced on the carcass that I'll leave behind. I never wanted to be understood. I really don't think that you understood that. You don't have to understand God to know... so why couldn't you think similarly with me?
You never wanted to learn; you wanted to know. Instead of watching us mice dance in the grass, you had to pick isolated me up and peck at my fur, believing that seeing me bleed would help you understand. You would take my blood and put it in a dish and look at it so close that I couldn't believe that it belonged to me. You would take your findings and make a box, thinking that it'd be my shape. And you'd try to fit me in the box but I wouldn't fit. So you'd repeat the process, pulling at my hair; filing my nails; chopping my tail, wondering why your process wasn't working.
I created a mannequin and gave you grass instead of hair; water instead of blood; wood instead of my tail. And your box was close enough to the mannequin to satisfy your thirst. But the mannequin couldn't squeak and couldn't dance.
Everything but what was important. No cheese for the one who can't see.
And I was mocked for not being mouse enough by those you knew and you listened. Picked me up one last time to drop me on the hard ground far away from the fields I called my own and left. I play and dance in a different field now and I don't think you understand why. But then again, I never thought that you understood anything.
I lack all religious vigor that I used to possess and a root cause would have to be the Christian hospitality that I was given. Once upon a time, this would have bothered me but it is a needle in my feet and the constant ache has numbed and I walk forward without feeling the ground beneath me. I no longer care. You are a hawk and your purpose was to understand mice well enough to get more quick meals out of us. And I am a mouse who deceived you and became injured in the process. I won't know you again, my failed science project. I hear talk that you found a new mouse with glossy fur and willingly gives you her blood and fur. Maybe one day you'll devour her up. It's not my problem what other mice choose to do.
I am in a cage of my own design and liking: pampered, proud, and owned. I have a dragon and he owns me entirely-- letting me experience his skies and seas. A master of this world who licks my aching feet without knowing of their pain. Brushing my fur in his teeth, a rodent could not feel more clean nor content. I dance on his spine and he knows my movements well, bringing me sweet nectar to nourish our bond and feed our energy.
I am saying, hawk, you are a mere memory, fading more and more each day along with the things that you took from my life. Keep flying high. No matter how high you go, I will never be in view. All commonalities we once shared are erased. I. Am. Me.
You left a scar with your passing. I thought it would be near my heart but I was wrong. It is on my feet. And the weight of my burden is carried by it with each step that I take. A bit more fitting for our situation, perhaps. To look for guidance and find apathetic solitude, when challenged to be seen with eyes that did not know nor understand.
You always did confuse the two. Do you have to understand the science of the skies to know that the moon affects the tides? Do you have to understand the mysteries of a woman to know your feelings about one? Do you have to understand the affects of poison ivy to know to leave it alone? Did you really have to try to dissect me to know who I was? My emotions and thoughts cannot be traced on the carcass that I'll leave behind. I never wanted to be understood. I really don't think that you understood that. You don't have to understand God to know... so why couldn't you think similarly with me?
You never wanted to learn; you wanted to know. Instead of watching us mice dance in the grass, you had to pick isolated me up and peck at my fur, believing that seeing me bleed would help you understand. You would take my blood and put it in a dish and look at it so close that I couldn't believe that it belonged to me. You would take your findings and make a box, thinking that it'd be my shape. And you'd try to fit me in the box but I wouldn't fit. So you'd repeat the process, pulling at my hair; filing my nails; chopping my tail, wondering why your process wasn't working.
I created a mannequin and gave you grass instead of hair; water instead of blood; wood instead of my tail. And your box was close enough to the mannequin to satisfy your thirst. But the mannequin couldn't squeak and couldn't dance.
Everything but what was important. No cheese for the one who can't see.
And I was mocked for not being mouse enough by those you knew and you listened. Picked me up one last time to drop me on the hard ground far away from the fields I called my own and left. I play and dance in a different field now and I don't think you understand why. But then again, I never thought that you understood anything.
I lack all religious vigor that I used to possess and a root cause would have to be the Christian hospitality that I was given. Once upon a time, this would have bothered me but it is a needle in my feet and the constant ache has numbed and I walk forward without feeling the ground beneath me. I no longer care. You are a hawk and your purpose was to understand mice well enough to get more quick meals out of us. And I am a mouse who deceived you and became injured in the process. I won't know you again, my failed science project. I hear talk that you found a new mouse with glossy fur and willingly gives you her blood and fur. Maybe one day you'll devour her up. It's not my problem what other mice choose to do.
I am in a cage of my own design and liking: pampered, proud, and owned. I have a dragon and he owns me entirely-- letting me experience his skies and seas. A master of this world who licks my aching feet without knowing of their pain. Brushing my fur in his teeth, a rodent could not feel more clean nor content. I dance on his spine and he knows my movements well, bringing me sweet nectar to nourish our bond and feed our energy.
I am saying, hawk, you are a mere memory, fading more and more each day along with the things that you took from my life. Keep flying high. No matter how high you go, I will never be in view. All commonalities we once shared are erased. I. Am. Me.
Sunday, April 2, 2017
Reassure Me
My head spun with anxiety. All I wanted was to be in his arms but I didn’t feel like I belonged there. I looked at him with torn emotions and bolted out of the room without any explanation, running down the hallway and collapsing against a closet door.
Why did I always have to create such drama? If I just let things be, we could be happy…
I cried at my own weakness, my inability to let things go. My personal refusal to accept his love. I wanted to die. As much as I didn’t want to let him go, I felt guilty for having him. He was better than I. Curling up really small, I felt immature and stupid. My fears and incompetence swirled in my head and crawled to the back of the closet, feeling the cold walls touch my skin as if to further accentuate my point. I was alone.
Tears blurred my vision not that I would have seen much anyway in the dark armoire I had escaped to. Just kidding, it was a closet. My ears rung in my sorrow so all I could hear was the soft noises that were escaping from my own person. The shuffling of my limbs against the ground, the unsteady beating of my heart, the small release of each new tear as it fell from my face. I buried my face in my hands as if hiding into layers of darkness as if I was the center of a matryoshka doll set.
I didn’t hear him enter the room.
I didn’t hear him come to the closet and sit outside.
I didn’t hear him place his hand onto the wood, as if to reach out to me across an unbreakable boundary.
I didn’t hear him sigh as he questioned whether or not to open it.
I didn’t hear him slide the door open slowly so as to not startle me.
I didn’t hear him.
I didn’t hear him come to the closet and sit outside.
I didn’t hear him place his hand onto the wood, as if to reach out to me across an unbreakable boundary.
I didn’t hear him sigh as he questioned whether or not to open it.
I didn’t hear him slide the door open slowly so as to not startle me.
I didn’t hear him.
Not until he sat next to me and pulled me into his lap and asked me not to cry. He stroked my cheek softly and made sure that I felt his arms wrapped around me tightly like a shield of protection from the outside world. I looked up at him with shame and only saw concern and love that wouldn’t let me refuse his offer.
We kissed softly and I’m not really sure who initiated but it was wet with my tears and gentle with uncertainty. He pulled me in closer and pet my head to reassure me.
“I’m not going to leave you,” he whispered slowly, as if answering a question that I forgot to verbalize. “I love you.”
“You’re too good to me,” I protested with gratitude.
“I know,” he said with a smile as he kissed me again.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and hugged him tightly, not wanting for the embrace to ever end. He just breathed me in while nuzzling my cheek affectionately. I forgot that we were in a closet. I forgot my fears and my doubts. Caught in his embrace I could only think of how much he made me happy and how much I wanted to please him.
Shower Time
She woke up to the sun rising in the far distance and a slight headache present above her eyes. She had hoped that the rest would have helped clear her head and make her feel better but it hadn’t. She slunk over to the shower and turned it on, not caring that the water was barely warm. She threw off her clothes and entered, slinking against the wall almost immediately. The water beat down on her flesh, forming pools at her crevices. She just lay there, stunned with no motivation to get on with her day. She looked up at the shower head and closed her eyes as the water beat down on her face. She took a deep sorrowful breath and let quiet tears fall. Her shoulders shook and her breathing lost consistency as she sat, wondering when her life would change. Eventually the tears ran out, letting the water wash away her salty evidence. She burrowed her face into hands, massaging her temple as a conclusion to her moment of emotional weakness. Slowly, she rose off of the floor of the shower and started to shampoo her hair. Her hands worked slowly and meticulously, lathering her hair completely before rinsing. She applied her conditioner and leaned against the wall as she tried to form a complete thought to little avail. After a few minutes she rinsed out her hair once again until the only feeling left in her hair was water. She turned off the tap, dried herself off, and slunked back to her bedroom. She sat down in her chair and despondently wished for some company.
Stand By Me
She looked at him, obviously hurt by his words but not moving to anger nor saying anything in protest. She slowly walked closer to him as the pain in her eyes softened to something he didn’t quite recognize and she leaned forward and kissed his lips softly for what seemed like forever but was probably less than 30 seconds. She broke off the kiss and continued looking at him with that face he didn’t recognize and for reasons he still didn’t understand, he started crying as a single tear fell down her cheek. He felt her take him into her bosom and hold him in place, letting her heartbeat steady his tears as she stroked the back of his head.
His head spun with questions he wished he knew the answers to but he remained silent as she held him in place and he accepted that as enough as she slowly started rocking him in her arms.
They slunk to the ground, both uncaring about the cleanliness of the floor as they held each other in their arms and he kissed her softly as he realized that he loved her. She smiled at him and brushed her hair behind her ear and leaned into his shoulder as he held onto her waist and pulled her closer to himself. She nestled against him and fell asleep with a slight smile on her face as he looked down at her and thought about how they ended up here.
Looking down at her, he realized that she was much stronger than he ever gave her credit for. So many people in their situation would have let an argument start, a divorce occur, violence rupture. Heck, that’s what happened in all the TV dramas and with both of their parents. Yet… she didn’t let any of those things happen. He had hurt her and she still stood by him and loved him. He couldn’t understand it. He didn’t need to. He closed his eyes as he breathed her in and let it be enough. She was enough.
Tuesday, March 28, 2017
Memory Lane
The wind bristled against her exposed flesh, causing goosebumps to spurt up and dance along, letting her know in its restless movement the extent of her body. Her hair was on end and the cold was sinking in. This is how one remains fully dressed while feeling entirely exposed. She looked up from the sidewalk where she stood and into a distance her eyes could not see. Her legs stepped forward of their own accord, walking to a destination that she had long since forgotten yet her muscles remembered their way.
With all of her attention on the cold embrace of the wind, time went by unnoticed until she was at her destination. She snapped out of her daze and looked around slowly as her memory flooded back in, overwhelming her small frame with emotions though not forgotten were faded with time until their vigor returned in full. She shivered through her warm tears as she stood there, helplessly. Unsure of whether she should leave or move forward, she stood with doubt clouding her mind as the scene reminded her of the halcyon days, the fights, the dull moments that marked too much of the precious past.
Was it weak to not be able to decide if she wanted to journey there again or not? She collapsed into the gelid pavement and let the temperature of the ground seep into her legs, making her even more immobile to make the decision. Her legs hurt in their current position, sprawled on the floor but she did not adjust.
The only mark of time was the spread of the lack of feeling. If she was waiting for a sign, it took a while to come because soon her head buzzed as she became completely numb. Thoughts of movement urged her to action that she did not follow as her eyes drooped and she fainted, hitting her head on the unfeeling ground.
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