Once there was a girl who lost herself along the, lost her heart, and so she wanted to die. The story told gains the title of cliche and partakes in recycling, but retains truth and honesty....yet no one wants to hear it. Depressing, guilty topics require depressing, guilty people with shame enough to talk or hopelessness enough not to give a damn anymore. Perhaps both. I believe I belong to both. Always both. Both light and dark. Both good and evil. Both religious and doubtful. Both christian and homosexual. Both depressed and incredibly happy due to the heart of a woman I love more with each day. I love her.
When I was still a little girl, at least in mind and heart, I believed everything would be okay. Everything would work out. I would have a happy life, completing every dream that I chased. But I learned different. I learned that people abandon more often than they stay or choose to help. I learned that life is very disappointing, as disappointing as it often is beautiful. I learned that my parents were far from being perfect people and that I was just like them. I didn't want to be like them. I still don't want to be, but I am. I learned that sometimes dying seems insanely more comforting and promising compared to living. I learned that splitting my skin and leaving scars numbed the pain, but brought out judgement. From myself as well as others. I learned that food holds the evil of the world and purging, starving, lying....feels better than consuming....at least for a time. But it quickly takes over. It quickly consumes you. Everything consumes me. The only grace I have is her....her smile, laugh, embrace, kiss, love, protection, understanding, gentle hands, beautiful mind....everything. I love her. And that is enough to reduce the devastation that I've learned. Enough to reteach me hope, and love, and a future. So I will stay, always for her. I love her. Only her.
Monday, November 18, 2013
Sunday, November 17, 2013
White Noise
They say that sometimes silence is the best thing for a person,
But I've found that what they mean is white noise.
Any constant sound that can fool a person surrounded by chaos into believing that it is silence
But listen closer.
Do you hear the sound of the ceiling fan osicillating as you stare, blankly at the plastered sky of your apartment?
That isn't silence.
It is distraction.
A drone to constantly beat your thoughts away, a hum to drive you away from the ground for awhile.
Do you hear the sound of the rain on the window, the roof, the leaves, the ground?
That isn't silence.
It is distraction.
A falling wave to erode your emotions and numb your pain with it's consistency.
Do you hear the breathing of your lover, the heartbeat of your other half?
That isn't silence.
It is distraction.
A promise of a future to erase your present misery and past destruction.
But it is still distraction.
None of it is silence.
It is all white noise because the truth stands without saying
We are afraid of silence because it holds all of our demons, without regard for relief until broken.
Whether it be you, or it.
~A.J.G
But I've found that what they mean is white noise.
Any constant sound that can fool a person surrounded by chaos into believing that it is silence
But listen closer.
Do you hear the sound of the ceiling fan osicillating as you stare, blankly at the plastered sky of your apartment?
That isn't silence.
It is distraction.
A drone to constantly beat your thoughts away, a hum to drive you away from the ground for awhile.
Do you hear the sound of the rain on the window, the roof, the leaves, the ground?
That isn't silence.
It is distraction.
A falling wave to erode your emotions and numb your pain with it's consistency.
Do you hear the breathing of your lover, the heartbeat of your other half?
That isn't silence.
It is distraction.
A promise of a future to erase your present misery and past destruction.
But it is still distraction.
None of it is silence.
It is all white noise because the truth stands without saying
We are afraid of silence because it holds all of our demons, without regard for relief until broken.
Whether it be you, or it.
~A.J.G
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
Heavy. Pressing. Stagnant.
Heavy. In a word, it sufficiently depicts the state that I am in. Simple, heavy. Not heavy in the physical sense, though that is probably true as well, but heavy as in I can feel the weight of my little world pressing in from every corner. Ask me and I'll be the first to admit that this little world of mine, created and constructed inside the corridors of my musings and walled-in memories, seems to be rather small; however, this particular world I know to be peculiar and cruel- suited for a face carved from granite. I am neither a stone nor am I a statue, so it only stands to reason that eventually I must move on to another landscape- to another sector and portion of my conscious existence. As of now, I am retired by the most lamented and lonely set of terms that I have chanced to lay my eyes upon. Explain this to me- how is it that a person, once bright with compassion and inspired by intellect, can become so stagnant and indifferent to the incredible passions of the heart, the dizzying processes of the mind, and the inspiring persuasions of the soul?
I wish to continue but my eyes have grown tired and my words have been dammed by nothing other than a bout of apathy. I apologize if my writing seems rather...cold. It's just more simplistic for me this way. I am exhausted and, even with my desire to return to the creative weaver-of-words that I once was (though that is a very audacious and obscene claim to make considering any single list of ramblings that I have ever construed may as well be dust floating on a winter breeze; insignificant and unseen), I cannot collect an ample amount of energy to return to that motivated and inspired state. If you're reading this, then I suppose I should thank you. Thank you for any time you've allotted to skim my words. Hopefully your hours are spent better than mine. Again, thank you.
I wish to continue but my eyes have grown tired and my words have been dammed by nothing other than a bout of apathy. I apologize if my writing seems rather...cold. It's just more simplistic for me this way. I am exhausted and, even with my desire to return to the creative weaver-of-words that I once was (though that is a very audacious and obscene claim to make considering any single list of ramblings that I have ever construed may as well be dust floating on a winter breeze; insignificant and unseen), I cannot collect an ample amount of energy to return to that motivated and inspired state. If you're reading this, then I suppose I should thank you. Thank you for any time you've allotted to skim my words. Hopefully your hours are spent better than mine. Again, thank you.
~Amanda
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)