How many times do I have to tell you
this world is too miraculous
to be forgotten?
You can fall in love with a thousand things a day
and still feel true love in each of them.
Who decides what is worth paying attention to inside this enchanting world
we are all miraculously apart of anyway?
Is it mom?
Is it dad?
No.
It's you.
There are people in this world who are there to help you find your way
who somehow make you better
and help you discover who you are
but in the end you are the only person who decides what that way is.
The Cheshire cat once asked Alice,
"Which way are you going?"
To which she replied with her two blonde braids swinging lightly from side to side,
"I do not know."
He probably stared at her in dumbfounded wonder for a while.
"Then it doesn't matter which way you go."
You know what?
I'm so angry right now.
My chest is whirring with some unnamed typhoon
I can feel is just waiting for me to explode.
It's just watching me with wondering eyes
as if it has nothing else in this world to do but watch me.
I hate when people stare at me that way.
Glittering eyes
brimming with penetration and unpersonal wanting.
As if I hold some kind of hell forsaken answer to their useless questioning.
Let me give you secret,
since that is all most humans seem to want these days,
I don't have the answers you are looking for.
I don't even have one pocket that isn't empty right now.
I'm just a girl with a book and
two big eyes that look for too much sometimes.
I am alone, okay?
Sometimes I just want to be left alone.
But sometimes I just want to be left alone with someone who really cares
and won't tell me what I want to hear
but what I need.
I don't need someone to save me.
I need someone to believe in me.
After all are those not completely different things?
Here I am sitting in one of the greatest places in the world
next to quietly thinking humans
and stacks of
books upon books,
large daylight stricken windows
and I'm not exactly happy.
I'm not exactly sad
or really mad.
I'm just angry
which I think is just another word for describing the experience of
too many emotions without names,
too many feelings to comprehend individually.
Yes, I'm angry.
I don't like feeling angry at all.
Anger leads to hurt and hurt leads to pain and sometimes pain leads to doing things
and saying things
we don't mean.
Being angry helps us lose our human side
and I don't like losing that precious part of me.
It helps in no other way.
I just want to be perfectly sad
or holistically happy for a moment
instead of all this
stuff.
I keep telling myself,
half desperately,
that humans are meant to function on their own.
Though I think a part of me knows that is true--that's just it.
That is only one part of a two piece truth.
Humans are also meant to be together.
We function alone but are made alive together.
We live when we find our other half, what ever or whoever that may be.
We aren't meant to be alone
forever.
"This pain is but a moment." He whispers to me.
He brushes my hair neatly behind my ear
as He knows exactly what
makes my heart feel alive.
"You dear one won't be hurt forever.
This is but a moment.
If you knew what beauty, what joy and unmitigated
love
is there for you
coming as sure
and slowly
and gracefully as the sunrise
you would take this pain lithely.
I know you are stronger than this.
You are capable of great
and terrible things.
What makes you different is the side you chose to host within yourself,
much like the moon.
It is worth deciding."
That is not at all how I feel.
I can see myself sitting by the ocean on a dark rock
the moon staring
at me too
and as my arms curl around my body
and I fold my legs into myself
I begin to forget
for a moment
that I've ever been hurt.
I just watch and wonder
the splendor of this earth.
I feel nothing but marvel.
But then something shifts like a rug pulled from under my bare feet.
I fall over slowly
and cry as the pain shoots up my bones
my arms
my legs
my head.
It throbs achingly.
The earth unwillingly smacks me
and I cry.
I cry so much the tears begin to be swallowed in heavy gulps
buckets of years and minutes
and days and nights
hours and seconds
of my life.
It isn't painful to gulp the tears but to see the time dissipate away from me.
To watch them run as if they have somewhere to be
than within me.
That too leaves me lonely.
I cry until I can't anymore, until the burning in my throat
is almost as ferocious as the burning in my heart.
Then as the moon begins to dip low into the water
and the sun begins to rise
I stand up for a moment
bravely taking in this vast world
and I sing.
At first the words don't come. The only thing that comes is sandpaper noise
a threatening voice erupting from within me.
I keep singing even though it is wretched and ugly
and sad.
Even though it tugs from within me
taking small pieces of me with it.
But I sing there long and devotedly,
so long
the song,
much like the tide shifting like the night before,
begins to change.
All at once it is glittering from me
the strings vibrating like soft petal wings.
It is beautiful and soft and pure.
Yet I swiftly realize it isn't me,
this soft uplift of music.
It is coming from somewhere behind me
just behind the ribcage around my heart
protecting it for so long.
It is another voice unlike my own.
Do I dare turn around?
Do I dare deny the music innately before me?
What do I do?
The thought stops here
as I never know who or what is behind me.
I still haven't figured it out.
So here I sit
typing away the words that seep from a dark
and lovely place inside me.
It is elegant
and lonely
and angry.
Tell me,
as you read this--whatever this is, poetry, prose, post, confession--
do you think me wise to feed the anger
or pretend it doesn't exist?
Or, perhaps,
those are not my only two options.
Perhaps there is more.
There is always more to think about.
Perhaps I'll turn around and sing some more.
Perhaps one day
I'll be braver.
-k.p.b.
4.7.2016 12.35PM
THURSDAY
