free-falling

Flying down the driveway, wind breezing through my hair, pedal faster, no disaster, anywhere.

Care-free, look at me soar, legs moving faster, steer left, steer right, avoid the bumps in sight, and hold on tight.

Suddenly the world shifts, and I begin to lose control, shaky now my legs brake, and I fall.

Wipe-out, wreck, lose-it-all just to get back up again, skinned up knees and bleeding elbow, smile so wide, so wide.

Can't you see? Our lives are centered around the moments when we take a risk, and lose it. The first time we try to crawl, and nose-dive into the carpet. The moment, we try to walk, and fall back down again. Playing tag in the backyard, no cares in the world, trip over a tree-root, and it hurts so bad. But, there's no time for that.

We get up again. We shake it off and get back to living. When we're young and restless, we know there's no time for crying. So we go, go, go, cause we don't know the weight of the world. And we live, live, live, cause we don't know the burden of struggles.

We grow up. We're informed, now. We know that the world isn't this picture-perfect-reality. We've learned what it feels like to be hurt, and, we've learned how to hold a grudge. We were taught to spite, to hate, to differentiate--between wrong and right, between good and bad, between who we should be and who we are. We were taught to judge, to assess a situation, a person, a lifestyle, everything we come across. Yeah, we inherited the cynicism.

Someone showed us that there are people who better than us, and people we're better than. Someone explained that there's a lot of bad, and that caution is the greatest protection.

We learned to yield, abandon the fast-forward lifestyle. We learned to feel, abandoned the live-life attitude. We learned to be, acceptable members of a community. We learned responsibility, political correctness, rules and regulations. We grew up, to become someone we never really understood. We look back now, and see how good we had it, before they changed us, before this happened.

We once knew just what life was made of. We once saw the good in everything. They closed our minds, they pulled us in from floating with the stars. They brought us down, they set our feet upon the ground. And we accept it. We don't fight for the life we know is better than this. We settle into our patterns, our traditions, our reasoning for being boring. We call ourselves practical, but we're just whipped by the societal bounds.

There was once a time when we had faith in the world. We trusted our friends, and our family, and anyone we met. They protected us then, but maybe we were protecting them. Giving them a reason to believe that they were right, that the life of a child is always temporary.

Time, how does that work out anyway? When we're young, there's so much, and we keep ourselves straight. But then as we go on, the pressure comes, and. We can feel it, building around us. All of these commitments, a need for sleep we didn't have when we were young, time's gone. It's wasting, but we're wasting it. Focusing our energy on all the wrong things, the hate and the judgment, and the grudges. Maybe we can't fight it, maybe it's human nature, maybe it's an unbreakable cycle of tradition. But maybe, just maybe, we can be more than we see.

I want to expect more of myself. I want to be more than what I've found around me. I want to work my way back to childhood ideology. That's the secret, that's the way to live my life. I want this, I want that, I want to be that person. The one who, gets back up. The one who, trusts. The one who, opens mind and heart to those that others won't. I want to be the opposite of everything that life has taught me. I want to be the kind of person no one would expect me to be. I want to be remembered. I want to be unique, and good. I want to apply the life of childhood to the everyday circumstances that I know face. What's so wrong with that?

Why shouldn't I demand of myself more than what others settle for?

That's where I stand.

This is who I am.

Beautiful contradiction

We are Starburst.

Strong, but fragile. Brave, but fearful. Stubborn, but giving in. Full, but empty. Hard, but soft. Right, but wrong. Old, but young. Found, but lost. Crying, but happy.

Contradiction.

We are what we are and what we are not, what we've been and what we will be, what we see and what we don't see, who we want and who we want not to be. We're never one thing, black and white standard existence. We are vibrant and colorful. We are the colors of the rainbow. We are different, and the same. We are everything we could be, and everything we can't be. There are no lines, there are no boundaries. We are. There is no thing we are not. In living, we are everything.

Every range of emotion, every side of an argument, every stage of progression, we are.

Through days and years, through heartbeats and breaths, we encompass a totality of events we attribute to 'life.'

Shooting star, falling to earth, make a wish, make a wish, more than this.

We are, we are, we are--alive. We are breathing and singing and living a life.

Everything that's ever been and everything that will be is somehow linked to some event in our life, generally speaking. We can all sympathize or empathize or any range of 'thizing' we may see fit.

We can take the content matter of another's life and transform it into our own understanding, based on our own experience.

That we can do. And we do it every day. We do a lot of things. We become human beings.

And few of us fight to break free of the normalcy imposed by society, take a moment to stop and think, some of these things just aren't quite right. How we live life, who we are and what we do. It's alright though, it's all different for me and you---but the same. Contradictory reality regime.

Lifeline

Have you ever taken the time to look at your hands?

Thank them, shake them, wring them free of responsibility?

Because those hands, they'll serve you well years and years into the future.

They'll be your guide through the darkest times, leading you, helping you feel your way through.

They help you up after you've been knocked down, flat against the ground, holding all your weight.

Those hands, that you so readily take for granted, they are your life.

They've wiped your tears and held your fullest laughs, they've etched your scars and shown you the world.

You've gotten them dirty to clean them off, used them for bad and for good, hurt them and healed them.

Those hands pair with your lovers, those hands allow you to brush the hair aside, to feel his face when you gaze into his eyes.

Those hands will allow you to hold your first-born child, they will discipline them, and they will embrace them with tenderness.

Those hands have shifted from a shaky pencil to the sure curve of cursive, speeding through the keys on a keyboard, texting and writing and communicating.

Those hands have scrawled simple figures, oval-rounded heads and stick arms, advanced on to replication and idealization, further to expression.

Those hands have been small, then larger, have held the weight of the world and more, have shaken when afraid and fumbled when unsure.

They have been shoved in pockets, swathed in gloves, hidden under polish and jewelry, clipped and snipped and handled roughly.

They helped you to crawl, and endured falls as you learned to walk, steadied your spastic legs and guided your curious face.

They gripped the hand of your mother, your father, they pushed and poked at your siblings, they grew with you and learned as you do--right, wrong.

They have proven points and started fights, they have occupied your time, they have been set aside--so poised, waiting for you to beckon them once again.

They have touched a broken friend to give comfort only they could give, clung to your torso at the end of a nightmare, rested so perfectly over your heart as you recognize the country you love.

They have been used, abused, neglected, hated, underrated, unappreciated, mistaken, blamed, shamed, and yet they stay with you--for life, and for death.

They are the trials of time and the stories of life, the good and the bad and the forgotten, the proud and the guilty and the indifference, the all that was, is, and will be.

They are clasped in prayer, begging the mercy of something you can't quite understand, seeking the help you can't seem to find, needing something or someone more than your life.

They are the actions of hatred and anger and pain, of love and caring and hope, the subordinate victims of mind and heart, loyal and loving and grateful.

They are unique and strong, similar and fragile, links to the outside world and the people in it, the things we hold dear to our heart.

They are us.

Crayola taught me something

I am not you , nor will I ever be .

I do not fit in this puzzle of regularity ,

though you try to push and squeeze , bend and break , you cannot mold me into something

I

am

not .

My heart beats , thump-thump - as yours ; yet there is something different

a different attribution to the thud

a unique structure to my own cells , a diverse awakening to the blood rushing through my veins -

we call this personality , character , so many words to describe a single fact :

we are all different .

And me ?

I am different too . Different from you , and from anyone else , and that is me . I like me .

And I like you , being you , because - you aren't me .

We are all brightly colored crayons , tinted one way or another , some of us chipped , broken , taped together time and time again .

To each their own , shade . Color . Disposition , inquisition , existence .

ME , that is all I know . I cannot know you or the reasons you do as you do or why you are a different color than me - but God gave me empathy , or is it sympathy , or apathy , so many -thys to describe a human understanding that we just know ;

and I can try to understand your life , your hopes and dreams and fears and I can assure you that it will be alright .

My sister bought me a crayon maker for Christmas . Melting , mixing , recreating new colors and schemes and realities , a mixture of one and another , as lives melted into each other .

You , and me , and everyone that you or I will ever know or see or come across .

We may be a single shade , a single color , but we are impacted by so many others , and so many others impact us , that by the end of a well-lived life we see nothing but an explosion of hues , a combination of lights and darks , friends and enemies , hope and fear , love and hate .

We are not perfect .

You and I , we are not flawless .

But , God , we're beautiful .

Everything happens for a reason

            Someone once told me that I was a pitiful creature that contributed nothing to society. Not just someone, though, my best friend. It served a pivotal role in helping me to become who I am.
            She was right. And I don’t mean that in the self-pitying sense that I would have so quickly embraced at that time in my life. I mean, quite frankly, that I was too centered on myself to be worthwhile to anyone.
            I know now that that was, at least in some ways, typical of an adolescent. I know that I endured certain hardships that perhaps amplified my self-pity, as well as my self-loathing. I understand that, and I find myself expressing appreciation that this person dared to confront me with the truth that none other would.
            From that point forward, I figured out how to cope. I learned how to deal with my own problems in a more personal way, rather than searching for some solace in the relationships that I had formed. This confrontation helped me to develop a great self-awareness and to further understand how to interact with others.
            I am still far from socially sound. I mean this in the sense that I struggle, at times, with social interaction. I am anxious when it comes to holding conversations, and certain social situations terrify me. I have, however, successfully found my way into a committed and beautiful relationship. I have a number of people who I consider friends, and who consider me at least somehow pertinent to their life at this time.
            I have done well as a student, regardless of the number of presentations I’ve had to give. I have come to understand myself more fully and rationally than I ever could have as an adolescent in the environment that I was provided. I am still irrational at times, I suppose we all are. All in all, though, I’ve found my way. I have a lot of potential and a number of opportunities before me. Whether I fulfill that potential, well, we’ll just have to see.
            My point, then, is that sometimes the most hurtful things help to shape us into better people. Sometimes we spend a lot of time suffering before we become the strong, well-situated people that will succeed in life. Every person has a past, and everyone has a secret that would shock the people that know them now. I, personally, have a few. If people knew where I had been, it would surprise them that I am who I am today.
            Life has a funny way of shaping us through the most peculiar circumstances. Don’t worry about what’s to come. Just have faith that everything that’s happening is happening for a reason.