.time

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Time is a funny thing. It keeps me up at night. It speeds me through my day. It stresses me out and I never seem to have enough of it. But what is time, really?

Why does it dictate my life the way I allow it to? Why do I dread looking at the clock only to rush my way through the day? 

I sit and think. And think and think. 

I’ve been told to embrace each moment as if it’s the last. Hoping that tomorrow will make more sense and that life will pan out…. in time. But tomorrow will soon be my yesterday. And my yesterdays are full of hope for tomorrow. Today will soon be yesterday too…. What did I get out of it aside from a muddled memory of running through the rat race of life? Will the moments add up and finally click for me? Or will I continue to work to live and live to work in this rut I call independence? 

I appreciate the small things in life… a child’s smile. The warm windy breeze. The sound of waves crashing. The warmth of my blankets. I appreciate the kind gestures of others. The way my chest sinks when I can make someone else smile. The feeling of a warm embrace. It is those moments that have filled my life with joy. They have outweighed the uncertainties. But I can’t help to question why. Why do the little things mean so much when the negative seems to come in waves of destruction? 

How is it that my stress levels can bring me to my knees in tears yet a simple song can remove the pain? A kiss on my forehead or a hand run through my hair?

The questions keep coming and I have yet to find the answers. Maybe I will in time… but again, what is time? 

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.the kind of day where words don’t suffice

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Lost in my mind with a million thoughts surfacing… one after another. The maybes. The what ifs. The whys. The why nots. Memories of beauty. Of pure bliss. Memories of sadness and gut wrenching pain. They bring back emotions that seem to be reborn; even for just a moment or two, they become alive again. Some memories have faded and some disappear all together until they reinvent themselves in what seems to be a dejavu but is really just a lost memory that was buried to get through. 

It’s these kinds of days…. those kinds of days that my words can’t explain. My tears can’t wash away. And my heart can’t understand. 

It’s these kinds of days…. those kinds of days…. that drape my soul with the heaviness that I once carried morning and night. The cloth that once veiled my interpretation of life has come back to remind me of who I was and who I’ve been. Where I’ve been and what I’ve seen. 

Even though they still reside deep within me…  and surface every now and then. I don’t run from them anymore. I don’t hide. I just sit. I sit and let it say what it has to say. I let it convey whatever it needs to convey. I sit and I welcome it. I nurture it and embrace it.  And then I let it go. I release the pain and the sadness of memories that were never made. I release the loss of all I had hoped to have. 

Once the cloak is lifted, once I have rebalanced my inner self:  I open my eyes back to my reality…. back to the me I now know…. and I reflect. And I disect. And I push myself to move. Knowing…. understanding…. that I am love. And I will never face anything that my heart can’t withstand. That it will be okay. That I will be okay. That I am okay. 

It’s days like these…. days like those…. that the world around me doesn’t exist.

.she is not me

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I love going through my journals, and the endless piles of tattered notebooks that fill my heart with nostalgia, love, pain and sometimes with peace…. An array of emotions usually come over as I live out the memories in my mind that inspired the words and scribbles. Sometimes it’s a smile or a tear, sometimes it’s gut wrenching sadness, and sometimes it’s bliss…. But every time I open those pages I seem to grow a little more, heal a little deeper, and love that much harder. It’s a process, but one that I thoroughly enjoy.

Here’s one I found from a time when the light at the end of my tunnel was dim. A time when I felt that my optimism had dissolved and all that was left was a memory of who I used to be.  ‘She is not me’ brings a heavy sadness, as you can see through her eyes and you see that she has become someone she doesn’t recognize anymore…. and it brings her enough pain to change.

Hopefully, at one point, these words are going to be lyrics rather than just poetry… I have a melody in my mind that the piano plays slowly…

.She is not me

It’s not simple to say
that most days I don’t recognize who I am
With these clothes
and these words
they all seem so simple,
but open the door,
I’ll put it all on the table…

I’ve lost the better half of me
She’s gone to a place that I can no longer see….
Wandering recklessly
She…..
She is not me

Smiles and laughing
the one with the quick wit
She’s not the one who you’d think
is endlessly crying…. inside
is endlessly dying

Walls and boundaries were set
the girl in the mirror….
she doesn’t recognize me

She stares right back….
Her eyes look so dim
why can’t she see through me?
to the one I am within….
She used to be so bright, she used to see so clear
but all I see staring is someone who is drowning in fear

I’ve lost the better half of me
She’s gone to a place that I can no longer see….
Wandering recklessly
She….
She is not me

crying

.responsibility

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Blaming anyone or anything for the things that transpire in your life is a sure way to slow any kind of healing or growing both emotionally and spiritually.

BLAME gives you a reason to excuse yourself from the responsibility of the ups and downs of your life.
Not everything that has happened to you or around you is within your control but your reaction to it is. BLAME is not the answer. It takes up space in your heart and soul. Space that could and should be used to practice acceptance, understanding, empathy and most importantly forgiveness.

Peace comes when we let go of blame. When we let go of ego and pride. When we accept the past as part of our lives, not as who we are. This is how we heal.

Make room for peace by letting go of the negative. Forgive. Accept. Learn. Grow. And love.

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.invisible tears

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The unseen scars that are left behind
Are usually hiding beneath the skin
Deep within they build and breed
You think they are healed
Until they rip and bleed…

Soft spoken words
Disguise the pain she hides inside
A smile or joke or a quiet little laugh
You think she is happy
But she is dying inside…

She thinks she is strong
But she is not strong enough…
She gathers the pieces
And forms them into love

Her heart so distorted from the many
Snags and tears
She fills her mind with wonders
On dreams she won’t ever share…

Her wounds wide open
A smile upon her face
And with each tomorrow
She warmly welcomes her next mistake…

-Jane Fox

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