Velma, Robert, Norine, and Willy

I finally finished all of my unpacking today. I hung up the last few pictures on my wall, my grandparents. It's been a few years since I lost my last grandparent, and it was bittersweet to see their faces smiling up at me. I have to sit and wonder what they would think of how my life has been and where I am now. Would they be proud? Would they laugh with me? Would my past make their heart ache the way mine does sometimes?

I see so much of their influence on the person that I've become. I find myself listening to swing and jazz, dancing and humming a tune as I open my mail, just as one grandma used to. Every winter I take up knitting and crocheting as it reminds me of her. I think of my other grandma every time I bake. She's the one who taught me all of the family recipes. My grandpa's laugh lives in every corny joke I tell, and my other grandpa's tongue in all of my smart-ass sarcasm.

My grandparents helped to raise me. I don't mean that in the sense that my parents weren't around, quite the contrary. We happened to be able to expand on a house when I was around four years old to make it big enough to fit all four of us kids and one set of grandparents. I loved growing up with my grandparents. I thank them every day that I am the old soul that I am. I thank them for the values and common sense that they taught me. I thank them for helping me to appreciate all of the goodness and life around me. They were always the most grateful people, and that rubs off more than anything.

It's sad that they aren't around to sit and have pinochle games like we used to. I have so much that I'd like to talk about with them now, so many things I wish I had known to say when they'd left. I always remember them when the holidays draw near because of how much bigger those four people made my family feel. Their lives were by no means easy, but they made them beautiful, wonderful things by the end. It makes my heart happy that they can be part of my home again now.

Psychic Readings and Green Eggs and Ham

Today was a fantastic, self-assessing, wonderful, anxious, panic-stricken day.

Today was the local Psychic Fair.

I have never been to a Psychic Fair before; I've never even seen a Psychic. My friends and I will read each other's Tarot cards here and there, but that, until today, has been the extent of it. There is something soothing in reading Tarot and seeing the things you already know you have to do laid out before you. It's affirming in a way that's almost like someone else is telling you that you're doing great at this thing called life -- and that someone else is the cosmos and life itself. Some people may balk at this, but I find a certain comfort in it. Which is why I was so excited to have my first psychic reading today.

I started the day off excited in anticipation, which rather quickly turned to anxiety toward the amount of lines we had to stand in just to get everything scheduled properly, the amount of time spent in said lines, and the close proximity to aggravated people also in said lines. Once we were scheduled (for three hours later) and out of the standing masses, there were a lot of awesome vendors to go and see. Being able to move helped curb the terrifying amounts of anxiety and panic building up inside of me, but left me in a slightly manic edge.

It wasn't until after we had left the fair and come back two hours later that I began to calm down slightly. The crowds had dissipated and no one was in a hurry. This was more my pace. One vendor was even incredibly kind and offered my friend and I some cupcakes she'd just bought. Our time slot came up, and to the psychic we went, and holy crow was I not expecting what came next.

It wasn't some flouncy, over-dramatic, guessing-vague-items presentation that I half-expected. I literally gave this woman zero information and she told me exactly what was happening in my life and how I need to approach it, and the most amazing part -- that it's okay to focus on me.

I always say I'm going to focus on myself, and to trick myself into thinking I am I do one little thing and call that focusing on me. I never actually look into the care I take of myself. I don't make sure I'm getting 7 hours of sleep each night. I don't make sure I'm eating healthy every day. I don't make time for all of the things that I love doing. I make time for things that have to be done, that are required of me, and that other people want of me. To have this woman I have never met look at the cards and look at me and tell me my cup is empty and even though I want to give, I need to be giving to myself, blew me away.

I've always taken care of other people. It helps me compartmentalize and distract myself from the emotions I can't handle. Whenever I have mood shifts and all of the other joys that come with bipolar, I feel like I'm out of control, so I reach to the one thing I always have control over -- taking care of other people. I know this doesn't sound like a horrible plight, and I actually do enjoy it, but when I stop taking care of myself it only makes my problems worse. When I stop taking care of myself it becomes unhealthy.

It's a lot to take in, being told that it's okay to put yourself first and care for yourself. So, to whoever is reading this, you may not actually know me or attribute any weight to what I say, but I want you to know that it's okay for you too. Go take long walks by the river, wander the streets at night, paint a mural on your bedroom wall, create blueprints for a machine that records dreams so you can always remember them, write a song, hop on a pogo stick, and read Green Eggs and Ham. Do what makes you happy. Always make time for that.

You are important.

Don't ever forget it.

I'm not happy...

It's been some time since I've written, and dear me the changes that abound. I've officially taken steps into the adult world and found, dare I say it, my career. I have finally begun a job that I want to do for the rest of my days. It's funny to say, but even though I'm in a low swing and depressed and at most times close to tears, this is the happiest I have ever been in my life. No, the most content.

Being content is an interesting concept. We usually always talk of being happy, being frustrated, depressed, dissatisfied--but we never usually mention content. My life has seen an intense upheaval with many pitfalls of trial and error over the past six years. It has constantly changed and evolved and I have become someone I never knew would be possible. I never thought I would pine so much for the comfort of being content. The comfort of being still.

And here I am six years later with an eclectic little apartment that appropriately reflects my own eccentricities, with bills that I can afford to pay, a car I can rely on, pets that are well fed and taken care of, a partner who supports my every endeavor, two jobs instead of six--both in the literary field that I love, and over a 3.0 GPA. I have all of this and an amazing counselor to help me finally address my bipolar disorder, OCD, and psychosis. I am constantly pinching myself to make sure this is real.

My mood might be stuck on depressed at the moment, but I am a different level of happy; I am content.

Rain, Rain

That beautiful sound of rain as it first begins to spatter down from the sky. It makes my soul happy. A wry smile begins to curl from my lips as I hear the first low murmured rumbling of a thunderstorm on its way. Book in hand, blanket on my lap, and a mug of chamomile tea close by. This is my heaven.

I can feel it coming in the weakness in my ankle. The only weakness I don't mind at all as it signals one of my favorite comings. In my mind I conjure the feeling of the warm, sticky pavement beneath my feet as I smell the acid of wet earth. Rain itself is an oxymoron--warm and cold combining together to create something so cleansing and beautiful.

I smile as I realize I have forgotten to shut the kitchen window.

Oh my soul

Her shoulders are hunched and defeated now.

Her eyes glazed and glossed from

years of staring straight ahead.

Eyes that are, for the first time, turned downward.

They stare at her tattered apron and

secondhand shoes,

but see nothing.

Her mind is far away, yet so near

A single sound could snap it to focus.

She is tired.

She aches for rest.

She has demanded it.

And so, here she is.

Her silhouette frail against the 

Northern wind

She stands along the bank of the river

and remembers being young and careless

And wades in.

High-Functioning

An important point was brought up to me today that gave me the most incredible “Ah-ha!” moment. I began reading Esme Weijun Wang’s blog on the recommendation of a friend. I was immediately drawn to her post on psychological disorders and being high-functioning. Esme has been diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder, but is a high functioning schizophrenic.  Usually when you are diagnosed with a mental illness such as this, or my own bipolar disorder, it is suggested that you work in low-level jobs to make it easier to collect yourself, aka fast food type environments. In her article, Esme talks about how she can’t work at McDonald’s, but she can run a business.

            There are so many different levels of mental illness, and this article really made me think of how we need to treat each individual as just that. If you meet five people on the street who all have the same college degree, will you immediately think all of them will act exactly the same and end up in the same exact career? Of course not. So why assume that those with mental disorders, despite some being low functioning, some being high functioning, and some unable to function at all, will all have the same limitations?

            I am stuck inside of my brain every single day. It can be the hardest challenge to even get out of bed some days, but when I have a job that challenges me and holds me accountable and demands that I put this brain that won’t shut off to good use—I can function. I can contribute something to society. Currently I’m working five different jobs and I’m going back to school. I am a teacher, a tutor, a writer, and an entrepreneur.  I’m also a sales associate at a retail store. My job in retail causes panic and anxiety attacks before every call in and every shift. Once I am there, it is busy enough to distract me from myself, but my symptoms are still going on to the point that I end up sick by the end of the night. This low-level job that is supposed to be simple, easy-on-the-brain income has become my main source of triggers and anxiety.
           This is my second attempt at a retail position in the past two years, and I had originally thought it was a break down in my mental state that was holding me back, as years ago I loved working retail. Since then I have found ways to cope with my inner self and a couple of medications that help significantly, so I decided to give retail another shot. It disappointed me that I was having the same reactions that I had when I was without medication, and I felt as thought something was wrong with me until I read this article. It made me realize that not everyone is fit for the same things, and though most people use fast food or retail as an entrance to the work force, that doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with me when I can’t handle the environment.  To quote Esme’s article and Andrew Solomon’s book Far from the Tree, “Intermittently, I have little things trigger here and there, but they only last a day or two… Some people get stressed and their back goes out. I get stressed and my mind goes out. But then it comes back.”

ObsessiveBiCompulsivePolar Disorder

     There are so many thoughts buzzing around in my head, I can't seem to even write one down before another begins and takes its place. My moods today have been all over the place, ranging from "Is this what it feels like to begin to go insane?" to "I'm so alert and aware of my surroundings my eyes may fall out of my head!" to "I am completely at peace." and back again. Unfortunately it wasn't the first time that I've felt like I was quite literally losing my mind, and I am coming to expect that it won't be the last. Imagine having ten people's thoughts inside of your head. Now, those ten people's thoughts are intermingling with your own and beginning to have conversations, which in turn lead off to other thoughts, which lead into more conversations, and more thoughts, and...you get the picture. Unfortunately, no one can quiet what goes on in my head. Sometimes I like the thoughts I think and appreciate this personality effect (not defect) in its entirety, but in my depressive lows I cannot keep them a low whisper; instead my head transforms from a study library to grand central station.
     My hands have regained their tremor, my heart its incessantly rapid beating, and the feeling that I'm crawling out of my skin and need to rip it open to release my thoughts that are begging to come out is becoming all too constant yet again. I know that I can't. I know that I shouldn't. I know that there are other people counting on me. I know that I am quickly losing my grip.
     Smoking has a tendency to calm me. Pipes or cloves more-so than cigarettes. I don't smoke like a normal person. I am not addicted to the nicotine, I'm not actually addicted at all. I only smoke when my mood swings make me incredibly anxious. Smoking makes me calm down and gives me something to focus on. It makes me sit still. The crackling of the tobacco and paper as I inhale, a sound that soothes. The smell of vanilla pipe tobacco floating throughout the room something that reminds me of simpler times. Adulting while bipolar is one roller coaster I did not sign up for. Hell, I hate roller coasters.
     When smoking alone doesn't do the trick, I exercise. Today it was a three hour hike through the Niagara Falls Gorge down through Devil's Hole. How appropriate. There is nothing like the quiet expanse of the gorge and the rushing waters of the falls. Here I am home. Here, I am at peace. This peace lasts a mere hour after leaving before anxiousness again creeps in. I need to move. I need a more permanent change of scenery.
     I'm not entirely sure if this is other bipolar people too, or just my OCD tendencies I have about everything having its neat and orderly place, I need to change things every so often. I rearrange furniture once a month, change the cupboards out once every six months, rearrange the order of my books or the medicine cabinet sometimes weekly. I am in a constant state of re-order.

Everyone's a little Holly Golightly

I wish I could be a character in a book.

Everything would be laid out for me. Even if my path was a bumpy and unhappy one, I would have just that - a path. All of my actions would lead somewhere and I would have a definitive purpose.

I started the day in a most excellent mood, despite being atrociously hungover. The sun was shining, it wasn't snowing, it seemed like Spring could actually be here, and I was happy. I was thankful for my range of moods even, because even with the lows I get to experience some of the most amazing emotional highs... then the low came.

It always hits below the belt. That gremlin in the back of your mind bringing up every fault and flaw you find within yourself. Finding every point on your timeline in which you didn't succeed as you had planned. Mood swings are a bitch.

Pulling the stereotype sitting on the bathroom floor a cigarette in one hand, the other holding a glass of wine, I did something different than my usual wallow in my sorrows. I told someone how I was feeling. My friends are incredible, beautiful people. We might be the most ragtag group you could think to bring together, but if they aren't the most understanding and supportive people I've ever met then I'm not bipolar (and boy do I have an official diagnosis to prove it).

So you buck up, pour another glass of wine, light another cigarette, and throw on Breakfast at Tiffany's. After all, I won't let anybody put me in a cage. Not even me.

There and Back Again

Driving through the city at almost midnight,
and I realize for the first time how much the streetlights
look like stars and constellations,
guiding the lost souls home once again.

Speeding along the thruway I feel
as though I'm rocketing through space,
watching in awe as all of these bright beacons
float past me.

I wonder how easily lost an airplane might become
with both stars above and stars below
to guide it...
Or would it find its way more easily with two guides?

The beauty of the city captures me,
and I fall in love once again.

Hitting Rock Bottom

There is no worse feeling than watching your friend go down a path that will only hurt them and cause them to fall further than they've ever known they could, and knowing you can do nothing to stop this from happening. You know this path all too well, as you yourself have tread it not so very long ago. You watch her make all of the same mistakes, the same excuses, the same bullshit reasoning for why this is going to be the time that he proves himself worthy of her. You are watching your friend be manipulated into an abusive relationship and despite all of your warnings and voiced concerns, she assures you she can handle herself this time. You are watching her get slowly sucked into the brain washed state, the one you swore you'd never let envelope her again. You are watching her go back to re-live all the pain and struggle that has become the merry-go-round of her life these past three years. And it breaks you.
It shatters you down to your very core. She is your soulmate, your best friend, the one single person you tell absolutely everything to, and you are watching her crumble until there's nothing left. You crumble with her. You've felt heartbreak before, but none like this. This is more intense than a momma bear protecting her cub, and runs deeper than the blood in your veins. You feel every inch of your being shatter and slowly fall away. You suddenly understand the tale of Humpty Dumpty in an entirely new way, and you wonder if her pieces will ever be put together the same again or if you've lost her for good this time.

A Day in the Life of Wonder Woman

     Being bipolar I occasionally have delusions, i.e. things that I see, hear, or feel, that aren't necessarily there. For example, when I am in a high and feel the need to be clean (Did I mention I have slight OCD as well that comes out in cleanliness and organization? No? Oh, well, I have slight OCD that mainly takes the form of a need for cleanliness and organization, among other things.), I see bugs. Everywhere. I don't mean horror movie style bugs crawling over everything while a 1950's housewife howls with fear, I mean in the corner of my eye I will see a few realistic bugs crawling/flying/spinning a web. Usually I can tell when these are delusions by the fact that my friends don't see them (when I ask them if they're there). When I can't tell, I clean more vigorously. Lately, thanks to the beauty of Trazadone, my highs and lows have been less intense, though I can still feel them, and these delusions don't happen as often.
     Instead, other forms of delusion have begun to take their place.
     I now have incredibly vivid dreams. I've always had my fair share of crazy dreams, but as of late they are an intensity even I had been unfamiliar with. If I dream about someone, they end up calling me within hours--usually in reference to what we were discussing in my dream. I'm beginning to feel like Karen from Mean Girls. I have ESPN.
     There are times when being bipolar can be very tiresome, aggravating, depressing, and downright a pain in the ass. But then there are other times when you almost feel like you've got a super power. This little secret gift that you have, bestowed on you as a gift for dealing with the inner workings of your brain every day of your life.
     Today, I am a super hero.

More Money, More Problems

If there is anything I have learned in this past month, it is this: I would much rather be poor and barely scraping by than to be working every hour of my life doing something that provides nothing but monetary gain. I may have seven or eight odd jobs at the moment, and I may not be getting paid for all of them, but I'll be damned if I don't enjoy each and every one of them. So I can't afford new things; I have my books, I have my animals, and I have the basic necessities of life.
What more does a girl really need?

5am Flight

The direct light from the overhead
above my 3rd row seat
acts as a spotlight to the
scratches and sprawling of
my early morning whims.
I linger in the absolute, crisp
lines of shadow
listening to the murmured voices
of passengers around me.
I feel as though my writing,
this writing,
is on its own stage.
Offering a performance to those
who deign to crane their necks
and venture at deciphering
my harried combination of
print and cursive.
The voices grow, my performance
drawing to a close.
I return to my books, offering
their words the stage presence
they have already achieved.

I was born a Rambling Man

I am incredibly tired, and yet I feel the need to write. Do you think eye floaters come more when you're tired? It would be an interesting thing to test, but then again, there are plenty of studies already that tell us how we all need more sleep, yet we never listen. What if we could test natural healing against pharmaceuticals? See if there's a natural way to get the same benefits you can get from a pill. What if we could test against all drugs? We would probably find the answer to them all to be a healthy diet, exercise, sleep, and brain exercise. And of course flossing your teeth. All the things we're supposed to do but don't because we're too lazy. Myself included.

A Break from Radio Silence

There's been a bit of a Radio Silence from me for a while, so here's the scoop:

I finally have found a medication that balances my moods and helps me to sleep. It is a miracle of the gods. After trying a lot of medications in the past that just blanketed the problem and left me feeling fuzzy in a not-so-good way, or medications that did the opposite of what they were supposed to and made me horribly depressed with mood swings worse than a menopausal monster - I was slightly wary at giving another medication a try.
I will say this, my new doctors are amazing.
They actually listen to my concerns and my past, I feel comfortable with them, and they explain EVERYTHING to me and don't just go along willy nilly prescribing random things and treating me like a human lab rat. If an anti-anxiety and anti-depressant don't work, instead of trying something with the same ingredients, they take a completely new approach and find a different type of medication that applies to my concerns.
So, for the first time in over six years, I feel truly myself. I've discovered my base mood is incredibly upbeat, and I haven't been crippled by lows in almost two months. Life has thrown some hard balls at me, but I'm able to handle them now and -GASP- adult. Yup. I'm adulting. Many thanks to Propranolol and Trazadone.
I'm pushing the restart button on life, pretty literally in fact, and juggling quite a few jobs that ALL fit my interests while paying the bills. There's definitely some challenges coming ahead, but I feel like it'll be okay for the first time in an incredibly long time, and best of all--I have some of the most amazing and incredible friends and family standing by my side to help me through it all.

Shake it Off?

It won't stop.

No matter how many medications I take,

no matter what I do to try and keep myself busy,

It. Won't. Stop.

It's as if all of my thoughts are reverberating down my spine and exiting through my limbs. My right side has always been worse than my left. Sometimes it speeds up my typing, but now it's so bad it makes me cautious and aware of each key that I press, taking care to press the right ones as having to delete is more time consuming than usual. 

The house is quiet. 

All of the animals sleeping peacefully around me as my head spins and my eyes bulge from the energy and the whirring of the thoughts inside my brain. I feel like an hourglass, just waiting for the time when the sand empties and the shaking stops, living for that brief hiatus when it needs to be flipped -- for the moment that my head, my body, is at peace.

It can't come soon enough.

I feel the drugs working on my heart. I can't take anti-depressants as they have a reverse effect on me, so instead I use a low dose beta-blocker to slow my heart, slow my thoughts, and, eventually, stop the shaking. 

But today it's no use. 

I've been shaking for hours.

The headaches come and go, and worsen each time they return.

The worst part is, I don't even know what brought this on. It may be residual from the other day, it may be a different trigger entirely. Whatever it is, it has my body more worked up than I've been in almost a year. Times like these, the only thing I can really do is write. 

I can relate to the aggravation of mild Parkinson's sufferers. 

Fingers don't fail me now.

Not What You Expected

Dear 17 year old me,

     I know that right now you have your entire life ahead of you. You have just graduated high school, have your license, and see nothing but freedom and opportunity ahead of you. You plan on marrying your high school sweetheart, having three to four kids, and working in corporate America.
     I am writing to tell you that these things will not happen.
     Your life will not be the picture perfect cookie-cutter life you think you will have. It will be difficult, it will be challenging, and it will test you until you think you are about to burst. It will not be the life you imagined. It will be so much more.
     Your life will be filled with adventure. You will travel over half of the mainland United States and Canada, obtaining a thirst for travel and a plan that encompasses visiting Europe and beyond. You will grow to be stronger than you ever imagined, having a backbone and the belief that it should be used and that you deserve to be heard. You will find a multitude of ways to be self-sufficient, and even start your own business.
     You will have days when you don't believe in yourself, your strength, or your experiences, but you will learn to work through them. On these days most of all, you will see and understand the beautiful people that you have surrounded yourself with, and appreciate every cell that goes into their being. You have these friends to thank for helping you along the way when you falter. Hug them. Love them. Laugh with them. These are some of the people that make everything worth it and help you find your way when it seems lost forever.
     Right now, you are finishing a cross-country road trip with a couple of these aforementioned beautiful people. It is one of the most perfect experiences you could have, and the places you fall in love with will surprise you. You experience ups and downs, but you are happy. Legitimately happy.

- Me

Roadtrip Therapy

     The pull and release of emotion is all too familiar. I suppose I've had a good go of it, it's been a few weeks after all. Eventually the insomnia associated with my bipolar highs catches up with me and the world begins to dim. Colors less vibrant, edges less crisp, happiness more subdued and anger and depression more easily accessible. My low is coming.
     I never know just how long they will last. I can attempt a guess based on the last cycle, but there's no true tell. I do know my triggers, and avoid them for now. My divorce is one. You'd be surprised at both how much and how little that comes up. It comes up and matters less than you think it will when it's fresh, yet comes up more often than you'd think once it's been a while and you think you're over it. I'm basically over it, I'm just sad when I see young twenty-somethings in healthy marriages, celebrating their 5th year of marriage with their high school sweetheart. I wanted that to be me.
     As odd as it might sound, a road trip is the best time for me to hit a low. As much anxiety as I can sometimes get just preparing myself to go to the grocery store, somehow, road trips make me just as equally calm and happy. Driving along the highway gives me so much peace, exploring new places, taking in the scenery, falling in love with places I never would have imagined to be half as entrancing as they are. For me, it is Missouri.
     Missouri is the state I least expected to fall in love with, but as love stories go, it was head-over-heels love at first sight. The rolling hills and mountains with their hidden caverns and cliffs, covered in trees and bushes and appearing in a time all their own. It's breathtaking. I'm glad I'm hitting my low now, if you can ever be glad to hit a low, because of just how much tranquility and joy well up in my heart and, no matter how difficult it may seem, begin to curl a smile across my lips.
     I am in love.

Things That Won't Get You Laid...A Rant

Maybe I'm overtired,
     Maybe it's these delicious drinks,
          But it's rant time.

1. Punching my best friend in the boob.
This is always a bad idea. Joking of this nature can only be had between excellent friends. Otherwise, you will get glared at and much, much worse if there is follow through.
2. Being a "Bro"
We all know what a Bro is. This is self-explanatory.
3. Being "that guy" in my MFA
A.K.A. being pretentious, existential, and an overall "better-than-you" grade A ass.
4. Living at home over the age of 25.
No one wants their parents to hear them get it on, and no one wants to hear their parents get it on in retaliation.
5. Forehead Tattoos
Just, no.
6. Tribal Tattoos
Unless you legitimately belong to a tribe or are a Samoan, this is not appropriate or acceptable.
7. No Boundaries/No Contract
If your love manual is "50 Shades of Grey" I will give you 50 ways to say no.
8. The Stink
If for any reason you are not daisy fresh and don't fess up before it's too late, any progress you had previously made is now null and void.
9. Cats in the Bedroom
I am a bona fide cat-lady, but cats are WAY too interested in what you're doing, and your claws should be the only ones involved.
10. Comparing Me to the Ex-Girlfriend
This is a sure fire way to kill any mood that you had brewing. Stay as far away from this topic as possible, then get farther. Just, keep running.

Six Words

Thoughts buried, she digs me free.

Anxiety floods, she is my raft.

Adrift in thought, am I lost?

Mind wanders, body follows, but where?

Peek Through the Blinds

The initial hit
the unexpected transition
from overflowing, childlike joy
to anxiety, anger, frustration.

Sometimes you feel it coming.
creeping its way into your thoughts
you cling to the last shreds of happiness
bolstering yourself up against the oncoming storm.
Other times it hits you like a brick
and it's hours before you realize
the change that took place.

But I've only been riding a high for TWO WEEKS
you scream into the surrounding empty spaces.
the previous low lasted over a month.
you're unsure you can do it again.

needing a reason to wake up every morning.
needing an hour just to pry yourself from those soft flannel sheets.
needing the reminder that a world is out there if you'd only
peek through the blinds.

hazy memories

Two drinks
One cab
...who're you?

Take Two

She Moved and Didn't Take Anything with Her

Armed with a wrench, she broke into her home,
taking only what would fit in her car:
family heirlooms,
her books,
their dog.
Her dignity.

He called his family to join in the judgment,
to see what this wretch was doing to their boy.
Rather, they watched her take
Her Dignity.

She moved and didn't take anything with her.
Not the rumors.
Not the lies,
the deceit, adultery, abuse,
the easy way out.
She moved and didn't take anything with her,
But Her Dignity.

BP - Sneak Peak - Submission to a Wife

A future morsel I couldn't keep to myself:

The stateliest women,
Assassins of Justice.
Allowing sweet promise
of uxoriousness
gather'd
day by day.

Blackout Poetry

There is nothing quite like the smell of old books. That's how you can tell when a book is ripe and ready to be felt. Its pages are smooth, and the spine gives a slight creak as it is unused to the act of being opened. It is then that it hits you. The smell blossoms from the expectant pages like a tulip opening wide to greet the sun. Once you have perused its pages, the book is ready to be reborn. From its countless stories and rhymes, I pick and choose the words that strike me the most, and give this old book a new tale to tell.

This, is the beginning:

Swift and little,
her child procured
his degree
by special favor

She Moved and Didn't Take Anything With Her

She moved and didn't take anything with her. 

She didn't steal away by the light of the moon, 

hugging the shadows closer than her dearest friend.

It was the middle of the day with

a bright noon sun for all to see.

Armed with a wrench, she broke into her own home

and took all that would fit in her car.

The family heirlooms she had been given,

her books, 

her dog,

her dignity.

She strode past him with the elegance of a Queen

as he berated her with insults 

and threats of force.

Her dignity.

She shook like a leaf but kept it from view.

Her eyes held defiance.

Her heart was of stone. 

He had made the choice for her.

Her Dignity.

He brought his family to show them her coldness.

To make himself look the victim.

They didn't buy it.

She kept

Her. Dignity.

She moved and didn't take anything with her.

She didn't take the rumors

the lies

the deceit

the adultery

the abuse

the easy way out.

She moved and didn't take anything with her,

but her dignity.

OfficeMax 0.7 Blue

The thick line of ink gently flows from my pen
and seeps through my pages.
Watching it spread its hairline fractures
over the surface of this world, lying at my fingertips.
That I should be so bold as to play God and
dictate what each sheet becomes -
     trash, treasure, forgotten.

Life. It's Happening.

You ever get those gut feelings? You just know something is happening, but you don't know what or why? That is my now.

I think 2015 is going to be a good year.
I thought 2014 was going to be eventful, and boy I wasn't wrong.

But this is different.

It's been two days of the New Year and I've already gotten more ambitious with my writing, have a lead on some new jobs, and met someone. Life is happening. And for once, I'm excited to let it lead me on some new adventures. It's time.