Archives for posts with tag: life

These feelings can’t last always

hands pressed against the glass

drowning in an ocean of tears

burning bright

stars eventually go dim

collapsing

dreams lost in the black

whole lot of doubt

Turning over into a new day

but still the same

a lone star

in an overcrowded sky

outside the social circles

invisibly traipsing

 

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Anti-Valentines-Day-Metal-Playlist

 

 

 

The flowers have long since wilted

 

Chocolate kisses have melted

 

You never came

 

I tire of plucking petals

 

Being a starry-eyed maid-in-waiting…

 

For you to come

 

Bleeding love?

 

My heart has turned tortoise shell

 

You took too long

 

The relationship sailed on

 

Leaving me to drown with insecurities

 

 

The pre-goddess years-21

The Teenaged Version of Myself

she is unsure of her steps

held back by a reluctant tongue

her words are quiet

she stares shyly across rooms

her feelings are written

instead of spoken

she wades through mutinous days

and tear soaked nights

she tries to fit in

but she doesn’t belong

staring through mirrors

she wishes she was someone else

the teenaged version of myself

drew herself into a corner

home wasn’t the best

school was much worst

she was often laugh at like a running joke in sneakers

she was a tight ball of isolation

watching the world through plastic lenses

her heart had the longest longing

the teenaged version of myself

didn’t know the power of dreams and dreaming

being true the thyself

but the adult version of myself

ignores the laughter and whispers

and marches to her own off beat drum

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Still. Silent. Planted firm between a rock and dreams. Patience of a pebble. No surrender of dreams.

Standing on the edge of hope and disappointment. So easily torn between keep trying and stop trying. The winds of doubt blow dreams like scraps of paper.

No matter how long it takes, never cut loose that passion that burns like fire. A fire inside your very soul. Snip. Snip the naysayers. And believe in your decade long dream coming to fruition.

Cracks in the sidewalk

of dreams

falling like leaves

littered

on the ground

a glimmer remains

The breaking dawn

brings a new beginning

by the time the moon reflects

it feels like the end of dreams

stripped bare

as a tree

standing

in cold despair

Birdsong fills the days

which are shorter

like life

without dreams

how to begin like

the rose burgeoning through concrete

A tear trickles down

dying embers

of a flame

smothered

Could it be the end?

She wondered

The end of September

So on the 9th of July , the seventh month in our calendar year I turned 34. Being 34 just feels kind of odd. 27, 30 or 33 didn’t feel odd. I haven’t really accomplished much in 3 decades of being on Earth. The beginning of this year when I was still 33 I was hoping this would be a literary year. A year where I would land an agent and so forth…Instead I am approaching 34 rejections on my 3rd manuscript. Ok maybe not that many but it is double digits. I have 34 creative ideas running through my head. Ok maybe 7. I have 34 pages typed in my fourth manuscript. I really think that is accurate. I have entered 3 writing contests. The results are in on two of them. And the winner is…not me. One can not say I haven’t tried to achieve my literary dreams. Will it be the 34th thing I write. Here’s to 34. Maybe I will cry for 34 minutes and let 34 tears roll down the contours of my face.

If you ask me how I feel? I say I’m deep shades of melancholy. I just staked a claim in somber city. There are reasons why I feel the way that I feel. Those bastards at work is number one. Last time I check I wasn’t a child so why is another  adult raising their voice at me. I’m making hourly wages and I work hard doing multiple things: zoning, collecting returns, back up cashiering, working freight, assisting customers. Sunday night when I got home my body literally ached. This was no metaphorical things. Every night my feet hurt.They hurt so bad that I toddle when I walk. Which brings me to my next source of ire. How damn impatient those bastards are. “I need you to move with a sense of urgency.” “They on my head. I’m on your head.”  I move as fast as I can. I’m no damn hummingbird. “Ya’ll move like ya’ll have no where to go” Well I don’t . I’m there from 1 to 10 pm. Here’s the thing they don’t schedule any morning associates to handle all that freight. So when i come in the returns are turning into a mountain and there are still pallets of freight. So one can see how I feel. My home life is no better. I need some money to come my way. So I can leave my aunt’s basement. It constantly rains from my eyes.

 My heart breaks when I see my dream not coming full circle. For the past seven years I tried with no avail to break into the literary world. Query here. Query there. So I decided to go the self-publishing route. My book has been on amazon.com for 27 days now. So far only one person has purchased The Strange World of Neve Rimbel. Trying to sell your book by yourself is hard. I don’t know how to market it. I posted it on twitter and made a facebook page and made a blog on wordpress about it. I even told some of my co-workers. I don’t know how I can get strangers interested in my creative work. I’ve read so many success stories of people self-publishing. I want that to be me. But how? I would love to have one-fourth the success  Amanda Hocking had when she self-published. She made a million dollars. I’ve only made $1.64.

I am 32 years-old. I only want to write books for a living. I don’t want to have bosses (i.e department , assistant, support, zone managers all raising their voices at me. I’m tired of my entire body aching. I’m tired of crying. I am tired of feeling like a loser. I am tired of not having my own place. Living with senior citizens because I really do. (No offense mom) I am finally tired of seeing and hearing about other people living their dreams.

She said, “there’s nothing new here what I do here.”

she once felt alive as the green in spring

now she felt dead as the leaves in winter

her eyes had a lackluster gaze

her stride staggered

zombie walking

ennui has taken its toll

it replaced the blood in her veins

she glanced in the mirror

was there a cure for how she felt

zombie walking

she wanted to shed dead skin

push through the cracks

like a new blade of grass

revive

be alive

no zombie walking

just walking