I am at the precipice of doing and accomplishing. It all boils down to a simple choice of actions. Do I continue writing or do I finally get around to using those space bags that I thought were so important to have a month ago? Or do I write(more) that syllabus and get on the lesson plans that I know need to happen or do I instead write up summaries of last semester's courses? All of which need to happen and time is of the essence - one because of a looming inevitable deadline and the other because if I wait too long, I shall forget the subtle nuances of last semester's experiences. This is a moment like so many others in my day. Moments that halt action and leave me wanting to become a baker.(less)
In this moment I'm pissed off. I'm absolutely useless. You know when you don't do well in something important and then you look to the more menial aspects of your life for self-worth? The little things that you should be able to do no matter what. Well I can't(more) even do those right now. I can't even win on a fucking simple playstation game. And it's killing me! I need to be validated but I've got nothing. In this moment I'm pretty small, and petty, and green, jealous envious angry distraught and almost vengeful. In this moment I am weak. I am at the mercy of electrons and LEDs. In this moment I am everyone. (less)
The fresh morning light strikes the windowpanes; the condensation has since evaporated from the glass. I see letters etched upon the wall - opaque, faded, framed with a silver lining. An arrow struck through its borders, just like the card embroidered with hearts you held so wordlessly to your(more) chest. I shift my weight to the side and stare; truly seeing your body, your skin, your beauty for the first time.
Your hair is twisted into knots, but resolutely perfect as it drapes the bend in your shoulders and gape in your neck like the blanket we cast so carelessly to the floor. The nipples of your pores are pouting.
I sweep my feet towards the carpet and roll ever so slowly; keeping my hands pressed against the mattress as to avoid stirring your slumber. With the cloth in hand, I drape it across your silhouette, tuck the edges beneath the curves of your hips, and press my lips to the cliff of your cheek.
Then your eyes flutter open - beautiful, beaming marbles glistening like a prism. Your gaze catches mine. I can feel a thumping--beating like a drum in my chest--and an uncontrollable burning in my cheeks. The way your body arches when you move for the first time makes me happy to be alive.
You reach to me, cup my face between the bend in your fingers, and I can feel my legs giving away beneath me. The warmth I feel as my body meets the dimples on your skin absorbs me.
You breathlessly mouth three words as my lips are folded around your own. I only wish I had time to do the same.(less)
Everything is about timing.
I could be out searching for opportunities.
I could be looking for love.
Exercising so I feel healthier and improving my body image.
Maybe finding a better job.
(more) Perhaps even creating something for myself.
I just sit here, tapping on my keyboard.
Waiting for a response from anybody to tell me what to do.
Despite resenting having people tell me what to do.
I'm really just lost, I don't know where to go.
Soon I succumb to the voices in my head,
"Give it up."
"I'm not good enough."
"Let her go, she's not worth it."
"I am always alone anyway, what's the difference?"
"You deserve to suffer, so don't get up."
"Stay and bed and sleep forever."
Sometimes I hope I don't wake up from the stupor.
When I do, I'm struck with a bit of surprise.
Somehow, the laziest creatures still find a way to survive.
The moment I open my eyes after sleeping for so long,
I wonder why I should move.
Disgusted with my slothfulness.
I feel that there is little to do, nobody to hang out with.
On a good day, I realize that I can use that idle time.
I silence those voices, and say to myself,
"This is a moment where I could be doing something for myself."
Then I write with a passion.
This is the moment
where your lips kiss the ground
you were born on
where your knees scrape the earth
that bore the rice
you were fed on
where your palms meet the soil
that your grandmother sowed
and her father tilled.
This is a moment where you meet the ashes of your heredity, yes.
But it is also THE moment
you find the place within you
where it all began.(less)