I wonder if I am just finding myself in the same cycles of life. Each chapter feels new and different – but as things ramp up, it all starts to feel too familiar. When repetition faces us, we wish we could identify the underlying theme; our instinct being of course to go straight to the source – the commonality being ourselves. I must be the problem, the reason things go down the same path. The dirt under my feet remains the same – even if the scenery around me changes. Here I am again, lost in my emotions, unsure if I am doing what is truly best for me for the long haul, or just appeasing myself in the right now. Is this what people mean when they tell you ‘live in the moment’? I feel like I am doing it wrong. I feel like I know what I should want but can never quite get my hands on it.
There is this hole inside of me that nothing will ever be able to fill. I think I was born with it. I think it is meant to be there forever. I think it has become a part of me, a recognizable feature, something I would feel empty without.
My hole makes me whole.
It keeps me searching, asking questions, my eyes inward rather than focused on the chaos around me that I cannot change.
I used to wonder if other people had holes like mine. My concern used to be with if I was alone in feeling this way. I don’t wonder that anymore. I could not care less if I am alone, because I have grown comfortable with feeling that way.
My alone. My hole. My wholeness.
It has nothing to do with anyone else. There is nothing anyone can do – no matter how deeply they love me (or think that they love me) – that part of me is out of reach to anyone, everyone, all others that cannot see me. It makes me wonder if I am ever meant to be truly seen. We all just want to be understood by someone else in this world. Some might even say they want to be accepted. I don’t think I care so much for others accepting me – but being understood…that is something I think we would all like very much to experience.
i cry for answers
silently from the tops of mountains
snow-capped and untouched
the future – snow-capped and untouched
– feels as if it is being treaded upon
heavy boots printing patterns
across yet-to-be-defined paths
open and vast
stretches of something
i cry for anything
but my cries are lost
in a vast something, which was
once snow-capped and untouched.
there is no right future
or wrong past
or regrettable present
these paths we find ourselves on are translucent.
The molecules shifting in and out of physical realms
failing to maintain any kind of consistency we
can hold in our aching hands for
more than the fleeting moment it
takes to look over our shoulder, and
return our gaze to the front – only to find
the scenery has betrayed our memory.
I have decided not to look forward or
to dwell in my footsteps, but rather set my sights
inward where the path cannot dictate which direction
my life should take. Where there are no
shades of right or wrong or regrettable.
Only a moment.
Something I can trust.
Dragging cold graphite across balmy skin
never leaving its mark, too light to be seen with any contrast
Oh how the fine point curls and crawls
as it struggles to make an indent
Applying pressure, looking for a kind of proof
that will carry on
Showing, without a shadow of a doubt —
something was there.
The rain is all but drizzling through me
in the same way your thoughts course
from your lips to my palms
Moments encroach upon us in which the peace slips away. Just as swiftly as the quiet engulfed the senses – like a rush of fresh, crisp air – it escapes our consciousness, leaving behind the stale shadows that follow us around so adamantly.
These bouts of lament are not welcome, yet are ever so comfortable to sit with – like a loyal old friend. As if this is the state in which we were born; aching to the core, soaked in sorrow, drifting in and out of contentment like a dream we are unsure we have woken from.
Moments pass, and we are again consumed by a sense of serenity as the calm returns and the sorrow sleeps for a spell. We can only hope the darkness will keep away for just one moment more than it chose to stay. Standing still, we watch as the moments swirl around us, the coming and going of shadows and peace – passing before our sleepy eyes.
land softly upon
the top of your head –
like freshly fallen
snow, on a dark
They are for you.
Reach out your
before they melt away
each with a
melting on the tip
of your nose.
Can you hear what
the cold air is saying?
secrets carried down
from clouds we cannot