holdmytongue

What's really strange about it all is that I can't embrace any of it - I've tried. None of it means anything. Its like I could care less because it feels fake, like I don't deserve it or I'm already several magnitudes over what should have been my max. I've been thinking a lot about this lately and have come to the realization that what I'm looking for is (oddly enough) a breaking point. I'm not talented or "special" and I'm definitely never the smartest person in the room and never have been. I do work hard though and that has carried me a very long distance from where I started. I should be grateful or even happy about how my life has turned out but instead I'm constantly looking over my shoulder expecting "them" (idk?) to realize one day that I don't actually belong there and rip it all away. I feel like I need to push as far as I can to get as close to the top of the building as possible before security catches me and sends me back down to the ground level.

Before. 

The sand was gold and our hearts were close; the ocean blue with clouds like ghosts. You pulled me in to let me go and I left, chasing the emptiness beyond the stone wall, drifting aboard the first boat into the Isles Off the Coast. But I was not blind with lust like most and as the ship’s motors began to push us further apart I felt my heart grow cold and numb like the toes of a winter traveler. To this day I don’t know whether I was frost-bitten or simply lost. As we approached the canopy of trees covering the Isle’s rivers I waited patiently for my stop. One by one the boat’s passengers were engulfed by the river, moving as though they walked through air on her dirt and pebble floors, her waters refusing to acknowledge the presence of those who belonged. As each traveler moved effortlessly through the Doors I felt the pebble in my throat graduate to a stone and the emptiness in my stomach balloon into a void as the pain of my frostbite was fully realized— this place was not meant for me, my destiny was with you and as the captain began swimming in the river I realized that he knew it too. I followed him under and met his eyes, the tears streaming down my face masked by the tides. “Take me back” and he agreed but I knew it was lie. His silence on the boat explained that once you travel down this path you either live with your mistakes... or die. Down the river and back into the ocean we sailed, slowly approaching the exposed island hut home to all those who failed. My legs struggled to hold the weight of my regrets the thought of living without your warmth became too great a burden to bear and the vision in my eyes was filtered with red behind the error messages that’s said: YOU SHOULD HAVE DONE ALL THIS BUT NOW YOU ARE DEAD. And as I resigned to my fate the last one read: RESTART right before I woke up next to you in our bed.

Zoom out.

And Demise.

Lately I’ve noticed my tongue getting “lazy.” Its almost like I’ve got one of those drunk slurs--- you know the one. I read an article in Forbes months ago that explained that sleep deprivation has similar effects to alcohol on the brain, specifically to one’s ability to make decisions and motor functionality. By any standard, I am sleep deprived as fuck and have been for a long time. Sleeping, to me, has always been for people don’t value time and life. But now I’m starting to rethink that position. The last time I recall being totally awake, feeling refreshed and “all here” is at age 18 driving my mom’s beat up 1993 Corolla, swerving in and out of lanes like the piece of shit that I was. Now, I make sure that there’s at least two cars space in front of me, not because I’m a cautious person (to the contrary, I’m a bit of an adrenaline seeking idiot), but because I’m too fucking tired and slow to react to an asshole slamming on his brakes right in front of me. That’s obviously not a good sign and, in truth, I’m not sure that I care enough to do anything about it. I mean, its 1:30 am and I’m writing this meaningless blog post to clear some thoughts out of my head when I should be sleeping. Fuck it. The worst part of it all is that writing poetry is becoming increasingly challenging because my brain is total mush. Whatever creative juices I have left are dumped into dreams that leave me all fucked up the next  morning, day, or week. In fact, just to get a poem down I write it in little pieces on my phone when my brain seems to have enough neurons working to lend to the left side of my brain for a moment or, if I’m lucky, two. I used to write two or three long poems a night. 

I am often blinded by the absence of my desires and forget to remember those blessings which I have not asked for and yet still receive. How little we remember, how quick we forget. 

The vast majority of human distress arises from the desire of those things that circumstances have made unaffordable. When the body lacks water, it can have no stronger craving and when it lacks food anything edible will suffice. Those that feel ignored desire fame and those that feel impoverished desire wealth. Abandonment breeds the desire to belong and being misunderstood breeds the desire to express. Overcoming this human disposition in a non-destructive manner is by far the single most difficult challenge humans encounter and is the chief cause of our distress. It is in overcoming this human disposition without causing inner or worldly destruction that exalts the challenger.

[insert dreams here]

“Do not mistake your history for who you are.”

My presence was one of love: I had waken up to pee and stumbled in my state of half-awake-half-asleep to your room only to steal a glimpse of your innocence. As I stood at your door, dumbfounded by the intensity of your concentration, I wondered whether I too could dream like you: eyes open, fully awake in a deep, trance-like state with only one existence, one eternal soul. When had my ability to dream deteriorated to the extent of near extinction? And how do I repopulate the spiritual energy needed to achieve such a state? As I came to, our eyes met for the first time that night and you imparted on me the answers I had been unknowingly searching for: you are me; the inner child that is neglected, but patient; weak, but persistent; malnourished, but strong.

I could not muster the courage to speak these words and so I attempted to whisper the sounds of my love without success. Wringing my heart onto this canvas of paper with pen is my last resort. I am sinking into the darkness, my dreams bleed the colors of haunted mansions and the onlookers scream as they are rounded up like cattle to their death. Finding solace in you is my miracle, and we are each allowed only one. What comes must go, but you remain. What rises must fall, but you are still. Even as the tides wash away the footsteps on the sand, wherever your light has shone cannot be swallowed into oblivion. I seldom reflect during these days because remembering is too much a strain on my heart. When I sit alone I can almost feel our two trains merging onto the same cold steel and I find myself wondering whether we can ever truly be conductors. If the tracks have been set then we cannot freely roam, we can only choose our speed. So we must travel fast; we must merge and redirect; and, above all, we must pay homage to the steel worker and track setter who pioneered our path forward.

What if what we think of as a lucky break is actually our destiny taking shape?

We’re here.

Two: years I was buried before being consumed by the grass, my soul covered in glass, cutting the feet of all who dare to walk this path. 

Back to the basics: here lies a window to my soul, open for all the world to see.