On Regret

and the bitch of it is this;
that the situation that you hate so much
this horrible status quo--
you're the one who put it into place

like a self-fulfilling prophesy:
the coup of a spineless king and and his iron queen
destroyed by portents they had already been warned of--
you, too, knew what you had wrought

the scrape of a match on a box
a sharp inhale of breath as it lights your cigarette
but when you don't put it out fast enough
your fingers get burned

regret is hard to live with
and the scars it leaves can't be soothed by cold water
perhaps it is safer
not to acknowledge it at all

Passage (Of Time)

Ashes to ashes,
Dust to dust
All of my dreams
have tarnished to rust.

Inches to inches,
Miles to miles
How far must I travel
to escape these trials?

Hour to hour,
day to day
Contrition does plague me
I can't get away.

Starlight to starlight,
Sunrise to sunset
How can I move on
beyond this regret?

Heartbeat to heartbeat,
breath to breath
This ache I am feeling
may bring on my death.

Autumnal Contemplation

You're sitting on the hood of your car at the cusp of autumn, smoking a cigarette.
     The stars are bright and the sky is dark. Grey smoke spirals lazily around your head as you lean back to admire the sight.

You're sitting on the hood of your car and the breeze bites just a bit more than it did last week. For a moment you wish you had someone to huddle with for warmth.
     Though a jacket might do just as nicely.

You're sitting on the hood of your car and for a moment, you can't remember why you came out here; what reckless longing sent you driving into the wilderness where the sky is wide and the stars outnumber people a million to one.
     Maybe you don't really need a reason.

Line up my sins like bottles on a shelf
The tinkling sound of breaking glass in every little white lie
The worst untruths are the ones you tell yourself

would that I could be
deep below the water's surface
or far above the spinning earth
because if I were dancing on the sandy ocean floor
or skipping through the stars
nothing could touch me

Sometimes my mouth is so stuffed with words that I'm afraid to open it.
Like,
if I do, I'm adjectives and nouns will
pour out all over the nearest unsuspecting person's shoes.
So I go running and tripping for a bucket.
Something that I can free the words into without mess or fuss.

But by the time I've found a container.
All
the
words
are
gone.

The Many Faces of Love

Love is such a tricky subject. Everyone sees it differently.
Psychology says if a crush lasts more than three months, you're in love.
Your mother says you can't really be in love unless it's reciprocated,
But then why do all those novels and films talk so much about unrequited love?

Some say you fall into love, like a character might fall through a manhole in a slapstick comedy.
Others insist that you chose to be in love, and call those who love all the wrong people masochists.
There are others still that claim that love is nothing more than a chemical reaction brought on by the right combination of hormones.

And on and on and on it goes.

In many circles, it's normal to wait until later in life to find your love.
Elsewhere, you're considered something of a freak if you aren't in a serious relationship by the time you exit your teens.
Fathers insist you stay single through your thirties, while grandmothers send you letters asking why you aren't engaged yet.

Love is a verb.
Love is a battlefield.
Love is a drug.
Love is blind.
Love is patient, love is kind.
God is love.

So maybe, love is beyond comprehension. And I suppose for now, I'll have to be satisfied with that.

Hope

Sometimes, she thinks the world is conspiring against her.
There's a little porcelain jar on the table, and she wonders.
Go ahead, her thoughts say, open it.
Little does she know that there's an audience screaming "don't do it" just a fourth-wall away.
Curiosity gets the better of her and she unstoppers the jar.
And all hell breaks loose.
Every doubt, every moment of uncertainty,
All of her fears, failures and phobias fill her head, freed at last.
It's amazing how easily Pandora is forgotten, until the moment after making the same mistake.

Only later will she struggle to her feet and pick up the jar.
She knows the story, but is afraid to look, afraid to see what might not be there.
But when she finally finds the courage to peek, there it is.
Hope, waiting patiently in the bottom of the jar,
Speaking to her in a still, small voice,
Promising that He has plans for her: plans for a future.
Plans of Hope.

Sometimes

Sometimes, no matter how much you want something, it's just not possible.
He wants that job he just interviewed for,
She needs not to be jealous anymore,
They have to learn to understand each other.

Sometimes, it's under your control.
Take the things you want,
Climb the mountains you can,
Believe in yourself.

Sometimes, you can't control it at all.
We're not miracle workers,
Don't waste your breath,
That's life.

Sometimes optimism doesn't win--
Sometimes, it's just devastating,
But occasionally you aren't done yet.
Sometimes you're in the middle of the story and there are choices yet to be made.

Sometimes life takes you by surprise.

An Epic

Sunken treasures, lost legends, secret passages.
Daring rescues, narrow escapes, life-alerting moments.
Distant planets, dimensions, kingdoms.
These are adventures. These are the experiences of heroes and heroines.

People who start out ordinary but inevitably end up becoming...more.
A boy who just wants to get through middle school, a girl who was only playing a game of hide-and-seek, a young man who is satisfied to sit at home and watch the clouds float by.
Somehow, they all overcome their fears and doubts to do great things.

They're all stories, but there's an inherent truth about them.
Something that keeps them alive and fresh for generations of audiences.
And I wonder for a moment.
Maybe there is a talking frog in my backyard.

All that I know for certain is that I crave it.
I need it like the moon needs the sun.
Wanderlust rises in my heart and I'm off.
Forgetting, for a while, reality that lurks nearby.

Why can't life be more like an adventure?
An epic tale rather than a ho-hum day to day existence.
Why can't I ride a dragon, talk to a lion or face an evil villain?
Why can't I become the hero that the books are written about?

An Ocean of Doubt

What is the deal with all these D-words?

Doubt.

Discontent.

Disapproval.

Disappointment.

Discouraged.

Disillusioned.

I'm struggling with these words, and the feelings behind them. Something better waits, if I just let go, but I find my grip just tightens every time I try to shake free. Perhaps there's some thought of rescue, that if I just hold on everything will change. I've always been told tenacity's a positive trait, after all.

The irony is that what I'm holding is a sinking weight and the longer I cling to it, the farther I get from the surface and life-sustaining breath.

I'm sorry for my doubt. I don't mean to get discouraged so easily. I'm only human. But this is just as much an excuse as it is a reason and I know I need to try harder. In this case though, the success cannot be mine and doing my best isn't nearly good enough. The only option is to let go and hold my arms above the waves, trusting You to grip my elbows and pull me on board. Otherwise I'm tossed about, waterlogged and drowning, ears full of the D-words that make me sink.

Pull me aboard. I'm done trying to swim on my own. This water is too much for this foolish girl. Won't You rescue me?

The Musings of a Lonely Insomniac

I should be working. There are a million things, all lying undone, screaming for my focus. Some are in need of desperate attention. The word deadline pounds through the back of my mind, an almost-physical reminder of everything that has to be finished, or even started.

I could be sleeping. Taking advantage of these dark hours between dusk and dawn, the way the rest of the world does. Shutting off mental and physical facilities just long enough for them to recuperate for tomorrow. But Insomnia leaves me out in the dark, like a long-abandoned animal that still doesn't understand what's happened.

Nighttime pensiveness is stealing over me again. It happens time after time. I could be productive. I could rest. But there's something inherently magical about the twinkle of stars--some sense of breathless anticipation waiting on the edge of the brisk winter air. Aloneness and silence make a girl strangely thoughtful and every sense sets on edge.

Perhaps that is why I fear not the night, but you in the night. To take my innermost moments, and to find someone else is there to witness them is terrifying. Least of all because the idea is not completely repulsive. Somewhere inside of me, something stirs and a burning settles in the tips of my fingers--a desire to touch, to share, to express. I don't know what's happening; we could be anywhere and anyone--all it takes is a drop of darkness. All it takes is a little midnight...

And suddenly the dream vanishes like a wisp of smoke and I'm staring up at the black velvet sky, alone again. But, for the first time, I find myself desiring you to share it with.

Worry

Life is fraught with adventures and trials. Damsels we have to rescue. Dragons we have to battle.

One of the most powerful beasts we face is Worry.

Worry keeps us up at night, wondering how we're going to pay the rent, how we're going to make it up to him, to her. Wondering how we're going to get through the coming day, week, month. Year. Simply asking that one-syllable question: "Why?"

Worry is a tricky creature. It doesn't charge headfirst, claws flashing and flames blazing. Worry is one of the tiniest dragons out there. She creeps in and you don't even notice she's there until she sinks her razor-sharp teeth into your mind. That's where her cleverness comes from. Worry lets you destroy yourself and relishes your pain. Once she's in your head, Worry is very hard to dispense with. No sword in all the world can cut this one out.

How do we fight back? What can we do to get rid of this nagging, aching beast? How can you eliminate a monster that makes such a valid argument?

How do you destroy a self-made demon?

A New Decade of Inspiration

Love humanity, exploring, opportunities , writing, and all other things that make one feel alive.

Hate all that which makes you doubt yourself.

Think originally and often.

Believe five impossible things every day before breakfast.

Feel every experience vividly and passionately.

Wish on stars, clocks, eyelashes and birthday candles.

2010 will be your year.

Don't make resolutions. Don't allow any doubt to plague you. Do the things you love, and the things that are right. You will be happy. This is the secret to turning over a new leaf.

As inspired by twistori.