Word Wanders

Is vulnerability a shameful state? Or do we all shy from something? Connecting, sharing, being touchable? Hiding in wordy poetics or dismantled simplicity, the only ones who are strong are the ones afraid of being weak.

We dream of distance, spaces between our lives and ones we never had, yet we scrape our nails against the earth to feel secure. A desperate need to feel safer, stronger than we are, what we feel inside only lives in “if you only knew” and “I don't know what to say.”

With words as matches and voices of gasoline,

They stand on the center of burning bridges.

Face to face with eyes red and orange from tears birthed from what they shouldn't say, silence is all that remains.

When no words are left, no touch enough to heal, broken wings carry them apart.

Every partnership built crumbles to ashes of memories never made, and they awaken as if from a dream.

A boy is just a boy until the world changes his eyes.  A deep void around a face hardened by fists and phrases,  he looks past himself in the mirror to remember who he was. Ever changing from each tick on the clock as his moments turn to days,  he forgets to remember how to be “normal.”

When everything around him feels so dark, he twists deeper into nothing so he may disappear. A fragment to keep the past at bay falls behind his lips, like a lifeboat beyond repair, he feels nothing but weightless, before the moment turns to a memory.

A girl is just a girl until the world changes her smile.  A face with lips forever stuck, a mask of a perfect happiness,  she stares through the mirror to dream of when she felt real. Turning thoughts inside her mind, she tries to clean up the mess they left  as she forgets to remember how to be “normal.”

When the ocean washes into the beach of fallen stars, and the separation is not so clear,

where will you look to the future?

when there are no more constellations left to draw, and not a single wave left to count,

where will your soul go to spread it’s wings?

A slight glimmer across the bed of twisted fragments that traveled from a world away catches your eye,

As the oxygen mask falls from above like a spider webbed snowflake, a violent tremor shakes his structure, making him wonder if it is the vessel itself which is moving or only his static self. He reaches forward, unraveling the strings of his mask as he hears screams of others, crying like witness to a horrible death only seen in his dreams.

He can hear last confessions; a man telling a woman he is sorry for “everything” and that he will love her always. A child, crying for his parents as if lost in a department store, running the aisles with only the thought of his mother on his mind. He glances behind him to see an elderly couple, grasping hands and staring into each others eyes, having a conversation with only a single tear and a slight nod as they jolt from side to side, accepting the power of the vessel completely, as if they are infants rocking in a cradle, safe in a quiet bedroom somewhere far from here. Looking forward once more, he feels a rush of heat as fire engulfs his immediate area, splashing from seat to seat like a firework display of orange, yellow and blue.

The smell of gasoline fills his nose, burning his throat and causing his eyes to water, reminding him of the mask he now holds in his hand, crushed like a old letter that missed the trash bin. Strapping the mask to his face, he replaces the smell of fuel with the scent of rubber and plastic from the ventilation device, specifically designed to offer the comfort of breath when life seems so close at end. He finds his hands clinging to the mask, pressing it into his cheeks until he feels the edges tearing into his skin, causing him to wince as an enormous snap rings in his ears. Without a single movement, he knows. The sound of rushing winds and the calming of the screams from fellow passengers behind him makes it clear that the vessel has came apart, splintering into millions of tiny ribbons and carrying souls into another life.

He feels his eyes close in pain. Wrenching his neck far back into his seat as bits of metal crash into him, it feels as if the shrapnel is fighting against his flesh and bone, determined to pass through his body and onto another victim. The dampness covering his skin makes him more aware of the blood soaking through his clothing, eager to find escape from the fibers holding his shell together. Forcing his eyes open he wonders what brought him here to this infinite end, where these few moments feel like years of anguish. A calm rushes over his body as he sees through the thick smoke filling the cabin for the first time. A crystal blue ocean lay before him, rushing to his rescue, his end.

As he realizes that only a moment remains until fate decides his existence, he looks down, noticing for the first time the spinning needles of gauges, and the red blinking of lights. A yolk sits in front of him, pulling from side to side as if it is arguing with itself, trying to choose any direction to keep control. His eyes grow wide in acceptance as he glances to his clothing, seeing a set of gold wings pinned neatly to his breast as a symbol of his position. He is the pilot of this plane, set on course for destruction. His hands feel heavy as they shake in front of him, trying to find pace with the yolk, missing their target as he glances one last time into the crystal sea stretched out before him.

In this moment, a shallow sigh escapes. Past my lungs and through my lips,

mortality finds its voice in nothing more than a subtle sound of desperation.

I try too hard to be as stone, smooth to the touch and gentle; never changing.

If I could tell that lonely soul one thing it would simply be you are not alone. The knots in your stomach are not unique to humans in general, but unique to you as an individual. Your scars make you beautiful. What people cannot understand, they ridicule, and in this fact rest easy knowing that you will be ridiculed more often than not. This is because your not ordinary. So far from the basic human being, you find pleasure in quirky snacks, violent storms, quiet moments with someone you care for and keeping your head so far in the clouds you forget what this world really feels like.

These tile floors greet me with a cold shuffling from exhausted feet and the florescent lights remind me of a headache that could shatter me from sleepless nights and skipped meals. The padded chair calls me, looking into my soul and offering to carry my burdens so I may rest. A slight breeze surrounds me from a ticking fan, and I fear I may blow away, dissolving entirely.

As I sit in this void, my emotions take hold again and a single tear forms, falling before it ever caught notice. My feet rise off the ground as I lay face down, inhaling the plastic sheet below me as I struggle to breathe. A rattle pulls me from the void, and I turn to see bright colors of ink laid neatly before me. A hand gently grips my arm, and his eyes meet me with an understanding that I don’t want to go on. His eyes glass over as he fights tears and tells me “your not doing it wrong” and pats my arm once more, before the rattle of sixteen needles fill the air.

In this moment, a surge like lightning comes over me and I feel my body entirely collapse. A deep exhale falls from my mouth, following the mixture of blue ink and deep red blood pooling on my skin. My muscles relax as each stroke of pain wraps itself in one of my memories I want to relive, and buries itself in my shell. Every memory I want to share, and every plan that never came to be, tangles itself into the rattle of the needle, taking the burden of why and the pleading of please off my mind so I may survive.

His eyes look back at me and I realize, he is saving me from total disappearance. He can touch a ghost, and he can make them feel alive. Even if only for this moment,

I heard the most amazing interaction between two people today. Raw with love, I heard them argue. About nothing and everything, I listened to them argue while feeling guilty because our homes are too close.

It was not on purpose. I was sitting outside, listening to the wind rush past my ears. It wasn’t my fault their window was open. And maybe it was. But for some reason, as emotional as it made me, I listened for a few moments.

 They fought about fighting, about car payments, and about silverware not put in the dishwasher. I could feel frustration burst through the open window screen, slamming into my ear and pushing on my lungs. At first it was impossible to breathe, as if I was in the middle or even the man himself, fighting and forgetting why he is fighting at all. But after a few moments, something changed and I began to feel the most surprising emotion I ever thought possible.

I became jealous. I longed for a fight with the one I have lost, though we never had an actual argument. I wanted more than anything to be in their shoes, uncomfortable and so caught up in the moment they forget to remember why they are fighting at all. They are in love, and they will fight over silverware to keep their relationship alive. 

 As I rose from my chair, I noticed a calmness flow from the direction of that open window, and for the first time, I let my eyes pass over the window to see both of them standing there, chest to chest in the kitchen, smiling. As quickly as it begun, it was over. A short burst of uncontrolled emotion that manifested itself into something that on the surface seems both trivial and yet worrisome; but when understood, represents the bond that two human beings can share with one another. And that is beautiful.

I walked to my door, turned the handle and scuffed my feet inside, alone.

Society has supported the development of many norms that have been proven to be very destructive in the past.

Music that degrades woman has caused a lot of men to lose respect for their counterpart, while women have fallen victim to being far less comfortable and proud of themselves as individuals.

Media and pop culture have developed drugs to be a source of boast, from the money you attain from selling them, to the allure of living a lifestyle jumping from one “high” to the next.

We disrespect people of other sexualities because we don’t understand them and “that’s gay” is actually used as a bad term in certain groups of people.

These are all terrible developments in our culture, but one that is constantly overlooked is a man’s ability to feel emotions, be emotional and receive copious amounts of shit for it.

Since a very young age, I have been a emotional guy. I feel things. And for a very long time, I did not let those around me chastising me for it affect who I was as a person. Emotion is a beautiful thing, and simply because I am a man does not mean I shouldn’t allow myself to feel as my heart knows I should at any given moment.

 A lot of men fight the urge to cry or actually discuss their true feelings, and most simply get incredibly angry and violent. If a man hits on another mans girlfriend, the current boyfriend will “solve” the issue by threatening or causing physical harm. Best case, he will simply insult the other man on how he dresses or the money he may not have. Very few men however, will make sure the man understands that they are a couple, then will sit his girlfriend down and be completely honest with her.

Few men use the phrases: “I am scared to lose you” “when you say these things, it really hurts” “that guy is really making me uncomfortable. I wish I could trust him, I just don’t yet.” and this is because it’s not the socially acceptable way to live as a man in our culture.

Women like men who treat them like shit. I have no idea why, and I do not care to. Men feel weak by solving arguments with their words rather than their hands, and it is terribly sad to me.

I see Tumblr posts every single day that say things like “here’s to the girls who have had their heart broken by a man they never dated” and “girls are not toys” but I rarely to never see posts from men, about men who have loved a woman and are willing to be emotional about it. It is simply not acceptable or as common as it should be, for men to allow emotion to play the role it is supposed to In all our lives and show these feelings on the surface.

At least when you get shot, you know right away its going to be painful.

You curl up in a ball,  encase yourself in a quiet shell,  and try to sleep through the loneliness.

Then,  eventually the shell becomes weaker and you emerge a…  Damaged ball of misery,  broken promises and permanent scarring.   Ok so not really much like a butterf…

I find myself reacquainted,  With you,  my old companion.  You have so many names,  And you change your body with perfection.  The glint of your shiny edges,  Thirsty to make the seperation.  Or maybe your a whisper,  A reminder or a voice.  But no now you taste so bitter,  Your closing up my veins.  I can catch you grinning deeper,  Every time that my eyes rain.  Yeah,  I see the razor,   Your ghost will never change.  Your pill for my depression,  Your picture for my pain.