You can be healing and hurting at the same time.
You are the soulstice to my ever glowing nature. The soulutions I find in my everyday.
Your soulfullness resonates in my bones, that warm laundrified fuzzy blanket against bone skin.
How soulganic we are in our soulitude. You soulidify so much purpose in my being, that soulving kind of souldier, dedicated not to beat the problems, but to make them understood.
The absoulute of my breath, the consoulable feature of all teddy bear grub.
My resoulationial feats when I get stuck in mind mud. I’d stay in isoulation with you, fuel ourselves with our gasouline and live in the factual heat. That all of this means
you are my soul mate.
Breaking hearts never gets easier.
And that’s a good thing.
Lately I’ve been having zooms of past enter. They come without control, without desire.
I have tried to figure out why.
- Not currently as happy as I want to be
- A lull in my life right now
- I’m wanting what I had
- I’m lonely
- I wish I had of been better
Looking back on things longingly is kind of dangerous. There’s nothing I can do to get back there and it distorts my future. The future will always come even if I am not ready for it but I can lose out on a lot of opportunities if I’m not. Maybe some part of me is back to being half a leg in with my history. Maybe I’m straddling the past and the future because I am restless and wanting to make a big change and once I do it, my perception on what I’ve lived, will change. And maybe I will lose what I’ve learned. Maybe I want to remember the pain and the choices I could have made to have made it better. So that I don’t make the same choices now. Maybe I’m just beating myself up.
I don’t know how to control these images. They are activated so quickly and without warning. Sometimes I suck in my breath sharp. Not surprised at what I am remembering, but at the force of it’s loudness in my head.
I think I need to get more busy and set up a space where present thoughts can grow. Stability will make thoughts of my past less harmful. And that’s what I need to make.
Sometimes I find myself in a closed room sipping on sugar cubes of my past. I keep taking from the same bowl, these perfect little fresh six sided sweets.
I feel the sides, I take the angles and I let dissolve and I let absorb.
Like with too much of anything, my insides will begin to cringe and unfold their exasperation and disapproval.
Every once in awhile, I step inside this place where I roll in the mud of my past. I let myself feel awful for my decisions. I pull in blame and frustration and I coat the whole room in these colours. I am angry and I am determined. I can’t do anything but eat the sweets that turn so sour, to crawl into cave where all I do is feel bad and wonder how I could have messed up so terribly.
Deep down I know. I truly do know. I had to do my past the way that I did so that I could reach where I have. I do align myself with motivation and self awareness, help and understanding, yet these spaces of time come to me strong every so often. I don’t remember ever really pushing them away, but at least now I know that I have the ability to climb out. That in another day or four, I’ll be positive and upbeat again.
I’ll soak in my sweet sweet truth of my life; everything from my perspective to the actual. I’ll make myself sick with consumption of my frustration and feeling of stuck.
When I’m done doing that, I’ll lay in sun and let myself soak that. I’ll let myself be sick on content and the ever always, ebb and flow of life.
This week has been a blasted turbulence of more turbulance on top of more blasted blasts that are turbulancing terrifficaly and and and….
What are we gonna DO with you!?
Certainly not LIVE you. Heaven forbid!
I thought the break up was rollercoastery. No. That’s just pure sad and mad and down in the dumps, no coming up for air until you’re forced to eat a taco salad that takes about thirty seconds to demolish because your stomach hasn’t felt anything in it cept for booze and pills and the occasional drops of water for two weeks straight.
No man, that is a stationary bike in the depths of initial fear and loss.
This here, is about as light as a ping pong ball and football shaped so it’s bound to go everywhere you are not and at the slightest wiffle of wind.
I could sense change was coming. But I considered it to be a one time decide your fate in a day type of thing.
No, this here is you thinking your ‘ex’ are broken up for GOOD after a 5 month here and there sightage, and you being finally basically okay with it and you do your mental swipes and heart swipes and you start prepping those parts for a new journey and as you switch your view forward your ear is slammed with a phone call that is him requesting sightage.
And you are splattered like a fresh broken egg in a sizzling pan.
You are stronger then you were but strength isn’t always smart. You feel powerful but weak at the heart knees. You’ve propped yourself up to this easel of beautiful disastery and you’re continuing to brush colour onto the canvas, just as he.
You blame no one but yourself until the blame turns into a statue of rust and it suddenly doesn’t matter anymore. You’ve never felt more okay with either outcome because you have essentially done all you can and you know that everything you do in this time together, will represent what you desire. That’s all the cards you want because you’re not playing any games. You’ll Go Ex, not Go Fish.
You’re learning how to deal with the continual and familiar shit feelings. You’re making tough skin and it feels bold and refreshing. You’re gonna be the next new bag of Doritos.
You’re on a rollercoaster and it’s not because you can’t get off it,
because even if you could
you’re not going to fight to because you’ve finally understood that you’re right where you’re supposed to be.
You can’t give the truth to someone who is stuck in a past of your lies.
You can’t give truth to someone that won’t accept it.
If you’re asking for the persons honesty just to plow it over with distrust,disfunction and emotional abuse,
The cycle won’t end.
Before you stand on all your baggage to leap off and attack the one YOU asked the truth from, get your shite together.
You’ll find the truth you need in THAT.
My tastebuds linger of yours
The smell of your scent that always seems to stay the same
My hands in your hair, wrapped around the strands I braided for fun
16 months ago.
You had opened up the door before I had even reached it
shut it and you stepped out and you took two steps toward me
with a pained expression on your face
and for a second, I thought you were going to hit me.
But you sweeped me up without caution
and pulled me so close
your arms around my back, my legs around your hips
your hands moved under the back of my shirt
just to feel my skin.
Your hands moved to my head
feeling the tangles of my hair
to my face you felt my cheekbones
and I whelmed right up to the brim
and then it spilled over.
Feathered your way in,
With your soft confusion
from my trusted hands
you get better.
And you got better,
With my rough ability
through my own heart teeth
an arrow went
that broke it all.
And you got worse,
There’s still an air of change that the strands of my hair can feel. This is one of those braver, launch out to the world posts- where as two nights ago I was on my bedroom floor, my eyes leaking a fresh batch.
It is not a rolling lawn, hilly field scene. It is cliffs, jutted out rocks, grass and sand.
I walk the grasses of eager and strength and without even having time to lose my footing, I’m falling down a hole that has sandpaper walls.
I’m getting tired of these frantic and draining surprises.
It’s not like I’m getting better at them.
I’ll have to make the necessary adjustments, realign my path and try something different. I cannot continue doing the same things and expect a different outcome.
Hence, the change my hair strands can feel.