Hermit me must leave
This fancy library awhile
Thanks and see you soon
Hermit me must leave
This fancy library awhile
Thanks and see you soon
I come from an overachieving family - a place where success was measured in dollar bills and self-worth depended on achievements added to a resume. Growing up, I desperately tried to live within these bounds.
Everything was a competition, from grades to sports to college acceptances. My happiness was quantified by the material successes and failures of life. When I couldn't meet my standards, I let the loss tear me apart.
At the start of college, these ideals controlled me. I wanted to major in accounting and go on to law school, because I thought there would always be high demand for corportate lawyers. Looking back, I think I more-so liked the idea of telling people I wanted to study law, because then they would give me impressed looks and comment on my ambition.
The thing about college, is that often our fantasies for the future don't work out as planned. For one thing, I didn't expect to hate accounting. I didn't expect to love English. I didn't expect to find classes hard, to start working a job for resume building, (only to get fired within two months), or to lose touch with the friends I had initially grown close to. I didn't expect to get caught with a fake ID, to have to go to a conduct meeting and to have that mark my student record.
Two years in, with all this going on, I thought of myself as completely inadequate. After all, I had failed to pass the metrics through which I calculated my satisfaction with life. Without a perfect GPA, resume, conduct record, who was I? The truth is, I had no idea.
My saving grace was a writing workshop I took the next year. I was still facing an identity crisis - and God, it was terrifying - but writing became an outlet, a way to express emotion unapologetically, a place where I could soak my soul into the page without fear of repercussion or consequence.
And through my work I slowly began finding the pieces of myself. I learned that I liked helping people, that I liked creating, that yeah, maybe I was more than a test grade or salary figure.
Because For the first time in my life, I was doing something solely for the fact that I was passionate about it. And people seemed to like what I was saying - telling me my words were powerful and meaningful and could come to change the world.
It felt great; it felt important; it felt like what I had to say mattered. Through my writing experience, that's what I've come to learned life is about. It's about doing what you love, and loving what you do. It's about feeling significant, in all the ways that count.
I've found success is more than the numbers life tells us we are. Happiness comes through finding purpose: wether that's trying to impact the world, spending time with the ones we love, or experiencing the world in the small moments and big ones. Our purpose is our own to hold on to.
For me, I want to help other people - to let them know they are not alone, to help on the endless path to self discovery, to be here in any way I can. Maybe law school isn't for me, but I think I'd like to try my hand at teaching; maybe some college level English class showing students to live and think for themselves.
Maybe I won't make as much money. I've decided I'm okay with that, because I'll be happy and that matters more than anything else.
your words are like swords
your form fist with your stares
you press down on my skin
you leave tattoed imprints
you tear my heart into
you charged battery against my brain
you wrap me in your lies
you tie a rope to my neck and lead me astray
your an attention whore
you get inside the brain
and implant maggots
that gnaw at my soul
you presence is like a ghost and lingers on my skin
you collect my tears and bathe in them
you charge me guilty in the courtroom
you manipulate reality
you drop blood from my heart
your sorrys are toothfaced
you push me down into the ground
you kiss my wrist and pull me into you
and pat my head
and tell if I behaved better I wouldn´t be treated this way
you suck on my breast
suckle down my salty tears and woes
you crawl in a fetal postion
when I get up and stand straight and curse your fucking ass out
you tell me I make the hard times harder
you toil long hard hours in your room
laying in the bed
I pour all my passion in you
I harvested my hopes in you
begging you to give me life
make me feel alive
all you did was make me feel dead
I kissed your lips
and I breathed in carbon dioxide
I work so damn hard to save this fragile
story from falling apart
I wasted my winter break pouring bucket of tears into the phone to get you to understand I love you , But you hurt me
I built the walls from love sweat and blood
trying so fucking DAMN HARD TO SAVE YOU
FROM DROWNING ALONE
so shit I took the rope that you lead me on and tied a break to it
and sunk deep in the river of pain
praying you come home and fall into my arms
and we pull back the seams of the curtain
and let the love flow in you
I tried tdamn it
why the hell wasn´t I good enough
why did you have to hit me
and not her
why did you have to choke me in front everyone
shit I am sorry that your scared to lose me
but you already lost me
your lying next to a ghost
I fall in asleep in my coffin
I fall asleep to another lie this was love
and that you loved me
I was the butt of the joke in this romance
a mere jester something to laugh at
are laughs conjoined and high pitched
sway and fall in line with each other
are hands wrapped into each other's part
I was the actress
you were the actor
but what I didn´t know I was the supporting actress ......................
Charles Chaplin once said “Nothing is permanent in this wicked world, not even our troubles.” This quote is one that I can both agree with and understand.
As a child, I lived in a word that was shattered by a person that was suppose to protect me. Living in an abusive environment ruled by alcoholism and violence; I often found myself feeling alone. As you grow up you shelter yourself of any pain, any love, any care. You think "It's always going to be like this." But... time passes by. Circumstances change and you learn from your experiences.
Life is about growing and changes and learning about who you are, what you want to be, and where you will be when you're gone. What have you taken from this world? and What have you given back to it?...
You have good memories, you have bad memories. All of these are experiences and moments that pass and won't last forever. Life also has an end. But for me it is what you do with your life that counts. While nothing is forever I think that change is good because you're always growing and learning. How can that be a bad thing?
reaching for the stars
YOLO because life
on the verge
happiness is inside
deciding what to do
acceptance is key
Just because you're in pain, doesn't mean you have to put others through it too.
I remember awhile back we had a Prose Party. It was a real blast to read and write for. With that in mind I would like to present the idea of ProseStock. Like its Sixties contemporary this thing is all about the music.
In any writing style write a piece describing what it would have been like to experience your favorite band perform at Woodstock. Then tag at least three people you would like to see take part. Also please tag me so I can read along. Hashtag it #prosestock17
To get started I will tag the first batch.
The imaginary world of the pens power
This gift for words so often abused by societies misuse
Storm clouds gathering and no silver lining can be found
Showers of blood, we have never been so clean
Ravens perched in silent witness forever more
Flickering lights in the attic, fuse blown in the memories
Betrayed by those now blowing nothing but hot air
Which we use to float above all this fucking unwanted hate
Ancient soul living in the body of youth
If only someone else could feel the pain
Carried on the back of so many forgotten lifetime's
Exposing the darkness others choose to ignore
Making memories doesn’t require a trip to Disney or Six Flags. Sometimes it’s just an unscheduled serendipitous stop at a fast food spot on a Friday night. That’s how Sterling, Nana and I ended up at Taco Bell.
I had the Triple-Double Crunchwrap box that comes with a soda and two tacos. Nana had a burrito. Sterling—who’ll turn 9 in September—had three cheesy roll-ups and one of my tacos: his first ever.
Sterling is a special fella: He was born with a heart defect and had to undergo surgery as a baby. Chances are he’ll need one or more surgeries in the future—but you’d never know it by his actions: He a rough-and-ready, rumble-bumble little critter who loves dinosaurs, fish, turtles, and bike-riding.
Sterling and I have spent quite a bit of time together watching some of his favorite TV shows, including “Sponge Bob” and “River Monsters” with Jeremy Wade. Good times. Great times. I mention that to emphasis that you don’t need lots-a money to make memories. My Grandpa Lamb and I used to play checkers as he sat in his rocking chair. As a treat he liked white bread—untoasted—slathered with real butter (at room temperature) and sprinkled thick with sugar. He’d sip hot tea he poured into a saucer to cool. Memories.
My Grandpa Cassanese, who came from Italy, had a big garden with corn and beans and such. His grandkids used to help him pick rocks, pull weeds and harvest his fresh veggies. Memories.
I turned 70 in January, so making memories is more important than ever. I’m hoping my grandkids remember me—remember I loved them, thought of them, prayed for them. It might not be much of a legacy, but it’s what I got. In the meantime, I’m going to follow Sponge Bob’s sage advice: “ Let go of what kills you, and hold on to what keeps you breathing."
Sounds good to me …
I am a mirror
as others come
to look and to see
But when I look
In my mirror
Reflecting my mirror
I can't quite tell
If I'm looking at me
This is too short for the min req, but I'm going to leave it as is, which I also think is self descriptive