The Boardwalk

The boardwalk stands before me. Staring straight ahead lost in thought, I find pink and yellow rays and bands wrapped against fluffy white clouds as the sun begins it’s descent. The hope of it stuns me in my stupor of thought and reflection. The sun’ll come out, tomorrow. Annie sings he song on loop in my head as I find myself running, running to the end of the boardwalk. Out of breath and elated, I find my bare feet hanging over the edge, begging to jump off. What’s stopping you? I ask myself. The grin and free feeling course through my veins, convincing me of ridiculous notions. Why couldn’t I cross the ocean? Why couldn’t I sprout fins and sing a song, becoming a siren? What would be so wrong about diving deep, deep down and never coming back up. But then my eyes again meet the sunset, and I choose to stay and change my reality and purpose. I was made to love, and I will not give up.

Naivity

With all the chaos of normality surrounding us, all the mainstream beats pushing down on you, making you conform, try to lay down here next to me (I saved you a spot). Let’s roll over, press our ears to the ground, straining to listen to the off-beat indie rock ringing out from the Underground’s loud voices. While the army drill sergeants yell commands from the Man, yelling about needing to think about money, thinking about practicalities, let’s share a pair of headphones and drown him out, out, out. Don’t wanna be like our parents, working for money, hating the system, yet bowing down to it from 9-5 faithfully. Let’s run away, if just for tonight, while we’re still in the land of ideals, the land of youth. The youth in my blood is screaming yes we can, the rebellion coursing through my veins let’s out a war cry I cannot ignore. I must take action, I must escape this normality surrounding me, I must join the fight. The fight for you, for me, for us, for love, for beating the odds, for all of it, is written on my heart and shines through in defiant eyes. Fill me with hope instead of doubt. Tell me we’ll be different, tell me we’ll make it, tell me we’ll make it through with no inch of cynical thoughts in our idealist brains.

Believe.

Never to Fade

I used to believe in 11:11 wishes, 

Used to dream of midnight kisses, 

I believed in these things and much more, 

But all that was in a time long, long, before, 

Before the boy ripped at my chest, 

Smiling, thinking he knew what was best, 

Tearing me limb from limb, reaching for my core, 

My insides are completely red, raw, and sore, 

Mutilated, none of these fairy tale dreams remain, 

My once white canvass has a permanent stain, 

a stain made in a fit of red passion all too fast, 

I guess intimacy and love were never meant to last, 

All my birthday wishes never did come true, 

Every day no longer bright, but gray & blue, 

Waking up in this big bed all alone, 

Searching for a nonexistent note by the hotel phone.

The young, beautiful boy disguised as a sheep, 

Snuck out quietly as a wolf, leaving me stuck in sleep. 

Meaningless.

With arms extended, palms facing out, and my smiling face aimed straight ahead, I dream I’ll actually do it this time. The rooftop is my takeoff ramp and someplace unknown is my landing strip. This Place, this mysterious utopia of my dreams, has become my reality; has become my escape. There is no place like it, I’m sure. The ocean there is an unreal blue, the color of turquoise and green mixed. Some may be thinking how typical, but I can only say patience, patience. My paradise has all four seasons, and it snows and rains and is chilly with leaves that fall out of love gracefully, floating away from the trees they once called their own. The spring contains wonderful cherry blossom trees and the summer is full of sun that never gives you sunburn. The people in my utopia are understanding and intelligent, yet happy–a endangered species that is unprotected elsewhere. The pragmatists and romantics all get along, for the reality of this Place is beautifully romantic. The library there holds all the books you’ve ever read, and the librarian never says “shh,” only “Speak up.” No one is ever offended, just brutally honest. Everyone desires knowledge, more and more knowledge. No TV exists in my land, and no bombs or threats either, for who would want to harm a land as lovely as this? I am completely assured that you have fallen in love with this place already, yet I have saved the best part for last. The town has a broken down church on the corner. The reason it is broken down is because all the people in the church give their money to the poor and widows and orphans, so they don’t have any money left for buildings. But even though the church’s roof is slanted and the pews are old, the people still go every single day, not to praise the building but to praise the Builder.

Back to my current situation. I stand on my roof, with hands extended and my face lifted high, ready to fly away to my paradise. After a few more priceless seconds of bliss, my body slumps down on the roof, and I watch instead my town. The hypocritical christians and the poor orphans playing all alone while the rich kid runs across the street to avoid him. The meaningless chatter floats to my ears as I realize what these people never will: They have set up a society in which both everything and nothing matters. As Mark Twain proved in the greatest American novel, one cannot just escaped the society one was born into. So my dreams and plans and ideals will eventually all fade away, and I’ll make excuses about why I never did fly off this roof and land somewhere new. So, here’s to growing up, getting old, and losing oneself.

Dynamic Changes of Leaving

I greatly admire birds, as my posts suggest. I often visualize myself as a bird chained to a specific spot, unable to spread her beautiful wings and leave as gracefully as she came. The thing with birds my romantic view refuses to think about is the fact that while they are free to come and go, they hardly ever stay. The constant shift in coming and going means no connections, no personal ties forever. While in a way this sounds appealing, it only sounds appealing in the idealist sense. I have made ties and to break away and leave would mean to completely abandon it all and migrate away to someplace new, with it’s own chains and cages ready to trap me again. Is that really what I want? In some relationships, yes. I cannot wait to leave in some instances. Yet the pragmatist in me can’t help but realize that leaving is not as freeing as it seems to be. One cannot just leave because they believe someplace else will be better, prettier, bolder, and bigger. While I still imagine my wings coming out and my confidence shining as I go to make something of myself, I will not sit by and use the future as an escape from the present. When I stop staring at clouds and daydreaming of places and things and people I’ve never met or seen, I find my home in people here and now. I find my joy in the smallest places and things and people. So yes, I am bird ready to fly away, but for now I guess I’ll be content to stay.

You Got Away, Huh Babe?

I wish we could go back to that night in the hotel. Although I’ve seen you since, that is the way I’ll always remember you. You’re idealistic utopias, unrealistic dreams, and sweet, false lullabies. All of these things, none of them you at all, is the way my labyrinth of a mind has identified you. At the time, that was called love for those of us who sang, and it might still be. I’m not sure if I would still call it love. Even though I gave you all of me, every single piece, and I needed you more than oxygen floating in the air, you turned your back on me. I know I’m awful, and hard to deal with, so that must be why you got away. I never once heard you say I need you, or I don’t need you. You just left, without even an explanation or goodbye. We talked before you left, and you told me you preferred beautiful women, and you’d make a small exception for me. After a few moments of silence of gratitude, you clenched your fist, and ranted about the oppression of beauty in our society. Asking questions, trying to find someone to blame, you said is it is the individual or the society the individual is in? After more blame shifting and solo debate on your part, you stopped, lowered your arms and sat next to me. In a sudden dynamic shift that startled me, you softly caressed my arms and kissed my cheek (which was a bit damp, to be honest) and fixed yourself. “Well never mind. We may be ugly, but we have the music.” I smiled sweetly as I could, and leaned into you, whispering I need you over and over again. As I said earlier, I’m not sure if it was love. I’m not meaning to suggest that I loved you the best. Who can keep track of each fallen robin? I just meant that I remember you well from that late night hotel. I guess you turned your back on the crowd, which is great. At least one of us got away.