?

Maybe the words we find will always be less than the feelings we hold.

Will we ever learn?

Find the path between the obstacles of ourselves?

I am exhausted and this is for me. For me and from me.

Maybe we hold onto ideas more so than the actual grip of what reality holds for us.

Comparing back not to what was but to what we thought it might be. What we thought it could become.

Letting go will always be my greatest accomplishment.

To let go.

Of love. Of memories. Of thoughts and desires. Anger, most of all.

Will I ever learn?

I think these words have been written before. Spoken before. Typed before.

These are not revelations, no new sights.

These are diaries. Further explorations of what lingers for what lingers is not what has been accomplished. Not what has been fought.

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What pours out of you? Are you spitting with fire & running with dust?

I’m sitting in puddles and holding my words. Passionless as I slip.

I see lists in my mind of things to do, things I should do, things to bring me back to myself and beyond what used to be her.

I sit and I stare, embarrassed to try. Unwilling to let fear fuel me and instead letting it overtake. Making my decisions- choosing to not.

I’ve always been the one to rebel and I have always rebelled against myself.
Making my own life increasingly less satisfying as I refuse to better my situation in ways that are not only tangible but beneficial in every way.

I fight against myself and I fight against the advice of others.

My mindset truly tells me, no you do not deserve to try. No, you do not deserve better, you are here where you are and here you will stay.

Admitting this does not make me strong, it does not make me aware. Strength is movement and awareness is fuel.

Stagnant, I am.

I do know it’s up to me. To change, to do, to be. It is up to me.

Comparisons are a death sentence to your heart and your mind. And here, I allow my ambitions to be diminished because I refuse to see myself over others.

I want to end this with inspiration and hopefulness, and while I don’t feel hopelessness, I also do not want to try. Still.

Pointless.

Thoughts

It’s fair in fact that vulnerability breeds a bit of sadness in the soul.

Though making you bold, it also feels like weakness in the way that you squish a bug with your finger tip- feels of my feelings in your hands.

Fragility.

While often a mark of strength and growth, vulnerability has a way of letting the ego rear it’s ugly face in the moments of love and care.

Where we should be showing compassion and understanding, it is too frequently an easier solution to respond with annoyance and frustration.

I see the emotions come out in myself and while fierce and strong, I recognize them as emotions not true to what I hold within my heart and my mind.

Instead I see them as feelings of weakness in that they allow me to short cut the situation by sticking within myself and my own beliefs rather than exploring the reality that my partner, friend, colleague is valid in their thoughts and feelings as well.

These relationships do not deserve the bitterness that resides in my bones, nor the annoyance that I allow to fluctuate in my responses.

I recognize myself in these moments as a woman without control over what she is doing. Lacking the strength to feel and see what is beyond her own self.

Weakness.

I am thankful for the patience those who love me instill within me. So rarely responding to me as I have to them.

Role-models.

My largest goal as of now is to work consciously towards the way I react and respond to those around me. More so those I love, as they are often the ones to receive my wrath should it occur.

So thank you, to those who know and those who listen. Those who love.

I will continue to work towards my best self for not only me, but for you as well.

Push

Really, we’re all in our own heads. There’s no sharing this or that with what’s contained within.

We all (and I mean me) push and push, sometimes for things we aren’t even sure about. Is it a push for power or a push against anxiety? The question remains the same.

I’ve fought and fought and remained complacent.

I’ve discovered and renewed and remained the same. Continued with destruction as if the day did not explode with the same tracks before.

Is it a fight for power or a fight against anxiety?

The question remains just as the behavior refuses to change.

A cop out full of disgust. Weakness disguised as decision. A fucking sheep in a wolf. The opposite.

Maybe we destroy ourselves for guidance, inspiration, new skin, new views, something beyond what the fuck is now.

Chicago on 35mm film

Expand

There are more peculiar things than what you’ve already seen. Broader seas than the depths you believe to be ‘too deep’.

Insanity – we know the spiel. Same and same and expectance and the same. Insanity.

Migration proves itself throughout history as not only a reaction but a reason.
A cure.

Diaspora. Hegira. Exodus.

The passage not only to, but from.

And here I remain.

Remaining for fear, for comfort, for happiness I still have yet to create for myself.
Here I still remain.

When does history stop being made and start being repeated?
Here, there, and back again- forward always, and always circular.
*
What we’re really asking is, what pushes those driven by fear to break that chain?

Where is the epiphany?
Are they weak? Broken? Not worthy of what they have made worth of?

Where does their next page lie?
“Why, in their own hands, I assume.”

See, no one saves anyone around here.

We break our own chains or we die fighting against them while bringing us to a new version of ourselves in which history is dead and we are new.

Not repeating. No longer circular.

So again, the question changes:
What are our chains?
What holds us tightest?

That is what needs to break. To expand. To excel.

Exceed past the comfortability of our realm.

Passing

A girl on a train. Is she where she wants to be? On the way to where her heart will ache or will it heal?

Each story that passes has a universe of it’s own. Beginning, middle and end. Which part are you at?

Are we simultaneously existing in all the beginnings, middles and ends of new, current and old stories? It can’t be that the three are mutually exclusive- not once touching another.

No, see it has to be that they each coexist together in the existence of each stage. Each story that has yet to form is forming and has completed it’s form.

The beginning being not only the end of the old but the existing of the current and the forming of the new. Mutually inclusive and existing in every way.

Seeming empty in thought does not mean empty in heart, in love, in hurt. With each soul passing you by, how can we think that our strengths are greater or our weaknesses weaker? How do we allow comparison to be fed?

Is there a way to see and share what we possess, what we hold and what we are? To be raw, not only outwardly but with oneself as well.

Shielding no eyes to the truth of our hearts, our minds, our souls.

A girl on a train, what’s she thinking anyways?

Every day forward. One step, then another.

Every day, another day.

Yet here we are with feelings of another.

The feelings of that day, not of this.

But here we are with feelings as strong as ever.

Do we pass or just charge right through?

Does it change whether hurt is involved or pain is not touched?

The way we move as if that past is behind us, just to have it sneak up on us at night.

Like the cool side of your pillow, just waiting for the next turn.

Do we grow within the cracks, or have the cracks seeped into our souls?

Breaking apart the very solidity we believe to be untouchable.

Have we been looking at things all the wrong way?

Maybe the reactions are here to prove more than the action set in motion to begin with.

Maybe looking within is more of a way to look without, while still holding strength within oneself.

Like a mirror with infinite space, seeing all that has passed you and beyond.

Maybe the past isn’t as distant as we think.