Simple minds pour forth hate. Empathetic minds find any reason at all to spill out love.
To become what you’re destined to be you must think bigger than your current identity.
We get comfortable.
We get stuck.
Years later we find out that we already knew we didn’t belong.
Brains are funny that way.
Most of the convincing that “I’d be ok” was done from within.
There was always a voice in my head that was saying, “This isn’t right. This isn’t you. This isn’t where we should be.”
Then, there was an even quieter voice that said, “This isn’t you. This isn’t it.”
Then, I’d go further.
The echoes of self talk are real. It’s what we are made of when the voices and opinions of people who don’t really know us stop echoing in our brains as if they’re more important.
We know we.
I know me.
I will always be grateful for parents that entertained their obnoxious child on her quest to be the mostest of me’s.
“Why is this like this, dad?”
“Why do I have to do that, mom?”
Every question came with an answer.
Even if that answer was entirely made up. (Dad)
(I grew up before Google did)
So what? Dad made up answers and mom couldn’t negotiate a treaty with me when we’d battled it out?
And their acknowledgement that my thoughts meant enough…
Enough to be answered…
Well… that was enough to give me the confidence to keep asking.
Keep pushing. (Buttons)
Keep being the one who asks all the questions.
Many years and many attempts to be less of a problem to humanity than I was to my parents who, so lovingly, entertained my personality, I found that, in being what society wanted, I had hurt them both.
So, back to basics.
Back to me.
Back to that voice they let grow and that person they taught to be proud.
That me they let me be.
Happiness through the regret and the grief.
All they ever wanted
All I ever needed
All I was ever supposed to be
What I had started with.
Who I knew I was.
That’s who I will always be internally.
And that’s never going to change.
It’s going to get better.
Always being a part of the question
Always being exactly who I was designed to be…
I lived with monsters once.
I had come to them to free them.
But they said I was a demon.
I was an angel dressed in black.
I was dressed so they could see me.
In the darkness and their loathing.
But my wings, they were too soft.
And their teeth, they were too gnashing.
They could’nt feel my words in their tone.
So I raised the pitch a bit higher.
Then they’d bark and bite and beat me.
So I learned their bitter language.
But I stayed there dull and floating.
I’d blend, and bend, and break some.
But, the longer I stayed learning,
the more they learned to hate me.
They learned a bit of my song.
I learned to fight their clawing.
We came to an agreement.
Then I learned, there’d be no winning.
Either I would have to stay with them,
or they would have to transcend.
But, they would not give up their darkness.
And I could never descend.
Time to shake loose from fear.
Fright that doesn’t have reason attached that holds me to the ground I’m sinking into.
I’ve been standing here, this way, too long.
The logic that I’ll be ok over there is present, but it fights with the feelings that remind me I wasn’t ok a few steps back.
Guilt or shame followed me.
Insecurity traveled along on my back.
Intellectually, I know, I’m ok.
I’ve done nothing wrong.
Could be exceptional if I let myself be.
If I tried.
But, the fear. It holds my wrists at my side and punches holes in my sense of security.
It grabs my ankles and trips me if I try to move.
The fear wants me to stay where I am when every other part is ready to go.
The brain is on board.
The behaviors have evolved.
I’m not that person and I’m not in that place.
Why did these fears follow me here?
Why can’t I think them away?
I suppose old learned emotions, and reactions, and instincts, aren’t as susceptible to thoughts or proof.
I don’t want to fear that thing anymore.
I don’t want to fear that person.
I don’t want to fear my small mistakes when others would barely regard them as such as others makes mistepsuch larger and are hardly saddled with an inkling of guilt.
Do I drag?
Do I crawl?
Do I cleave off the limbs so firmly cemented in this stagnant soil?
I certainly won’t wait for someone to free me.
Do I leap from my skin?
Do I crawl from the shell those bad things are clinging to and crush it?
Do I emerge and fly forward to where they can’t reach me?
There’s no place for me there.
I belong elsewhere.
So I’ll unshackle myself with the faith I’ve found.
Not in the Earth or the sky, but in me.
And I’ll go free.
I’ve lost confidence entirely. Can I write? Can I tell stories that interest people?
I’ve been doing it my entire life. It’s been my only real dream.
But, sometimes, the brain rebels.
Doubt seeps in.
It rarely has to do with ability.
Most often outside circumstances gum up the wonderous works.
Can I do this?
Should I even try?
What if I’m not good enough?
What if my friends and family were just boosting my ego when they said I could?
What if the strangers who complimented me just wanted something from me?
Has the praise been honest?
Do I have the dedication?
Can I do it all? The day to day expectations along with this dream I’ve been hiding?
What do I do?
How do I do it?
In a field that relies soley on what comes out of your mind…
The “on your own” industry.
Am I strong enough?
When the flow and flair are raging up above, it feels possible. Feels probable. Feels inevitable.
Then the slump.
The void created by external chaos and lack of confidence blocks all original emotional outpourings.
It all just stops.
There’s nothing there anymore.
Where did it all go?
Months ago I couldn’t sleep because my mind wouldn’t stop producing.
I would lift my head, half asleep, and jot.
Now there is nothing to be extracted by force.
Can I do this?
The answers are undoubtedly internal.
No one has ever been able to bring me back to life.
That. Well, that. Thats an inside job.
So now what?
I guess I have to dig deeper.
Find the gear that’s sticking.
Fix it near the clock that’s ticking.
I have to find myself in there.
That’s the trouble.
That’s the issue.
It all just works when I’m inside and not out.
When the outside is just noise.
When the world is just a racket.
When I’m me and it is it.
I guess I’ve got it.
I’ve solved it.
Here we go again on our own.
Her soul longed for the sea.
Her heart longed for him.
She knew she had to choose and she knew the sea could never break her heart. So, why was she so confused? So torn between the two? She knew better. She knew not to let her guard down and yet, she did.
Against her better judgement she let him in. A little at a time until it was too late. She fancied him, she cared for him. She looked forward to hearing his voice. To seeing his smile. To his hand finding hers as they walked along the beach.
To the feeling of his arms wrapped around her at night and his kisses waking her up in the morning.
How long could she go without these simple pleasures she’d become so used to going without and had now grown so accustomed to?
Would these cravings pass?
She had traveled the world. Seen more than most could dream of seeing in one life time. Yet, she longed for nothing more than to stare into his piercing green eyes.
They reminded her of the ocean she loved so much. Innocent and intriguing; dangerously inviting at the same time. A perfect mixture of green and blue that could only be created when the sun kissed the top of the ocean at exactly the perfect depth along the shoreline. A color only nature could create. A color that could never quite be capture in a photo, but one that, once experienced, it could never forgotten.
Whether it was sailing the Caribbean…
or off the coast of New Zealand…
It’s a color that is forever with you.
She could be miles from the sea and the shorelines that she had soaked in. The shores of that color, she had soaked in, countless times, and when she looked into his eyes, it was like she was there again.
Exactly where she needed to be.
She knew Her time was running out but, she said nothing.
Why couldn’t she just tell him how she felt that night on the beach?
Why was it so hard for her to express her feelings? To discuss her emotions? To let him in on all the secrets of her life he had longed to hear?
She needed to think, to clear her head, to wander, to write.
Deep down (as it always did) something told her to do what she did best; run.
So she booked a ticket, packed a bag, and left. After all, she was used to being alone…
But, when does it come to a point where one becomes tired of traveling alone?
Did she make a mistake? If so, which one?
Was the leaving the mistake or was it never telling him what he really meant to her?
Was it letting him in, in the first place?
Would she return to him?
Would he want her to come back?
When could she see him again?
Would he be waiting for her like he said he would or were they just sweet little lies that he knew she wanted to hear?
Would she eventually just fade out of his life?
Did he care for her like she cared for him?
When could she gaze once more into those ocean eyes?
Was she his “for now” or was she “his forever”?
The questions swirled in her head like the rip tides of her lovely ocean. Dragging her down, and out, and deeper than she wished to go.
The answers would be as unsteady and illusive.
she just needs to ride the wave.
(Written by Andrea)
If a blind man tells you it’s difficult to shop for groceries, you believe him.
If a bmx rider tells you it’s hard to take a turn on a bike with mud in his wheels, you believe him.
If a dog breeder tells you that certain breeds don’t get along in the yard, you believe them.
If a soldier says it’s hard to be thousands of miles from their family, you believe them.
When a figure skater says that learning to do a double axle is difficult you believe them.
You believe them.
Because you KNOW that you don’t know.
So why when a minority or marginalized demographic tells you what they experience do you stand in disbelief?
There is evidence of what they say.
Centuries of history.
Acts on camera.
Laws of old.
But you don’t believe them.
I can only draw one conclusion.
You have something to cover or something to lose
You have too much pride and can’t admit that you’re wrong
You’re misinformed or naive.
You don’t know.
When I ask people to be objective, they can do it in any area outside of race and religion it seems.
I have a dog and you don’t? Let me tell you about dogs.
I have a degree and you don’t? Let me educate you.
Those who attempt to discredit what the persecuted claim to experience don’t seem to give it a second of thought.
It seems simple.
The 60’s weren’t long ago.
We aren’t perfect.
In comparison to other countries longevity, the United States is a teenager.
Our rebellion for the sake of liberty brought us into being.
That spirit is dying in some of us.
Half of us have aged without wisdom and turned into a comfortable and fat middle aged man with a desk and health insurance.
To keep his job he has to obey. Fall in line. Forget his dreams.
Thank God (if you have one) for the rest of us.
We won’t let that fighting spirit die.
That brave spark that screams, “GIVE ME LIBERTY OR GIVE ME DEATH!”
And while you’re at it. Give it to my brothers and sisters as well.
Closed doors and closed minds feed the glutton and the bigot.
How can we stand for the anthem that depicts us as the home of the brave as we shut our doors to those who cry in desperate shrieks for assylum, all because we are AFRAID of a handful of terrorists that may resemble them.
I love my country.
I love that flag.
That’s why we speak up.
Because only an arrogant fool could say we are perfect and have no need to improve.
We were once a world ruler on the basis of moral authority.
Every one of those things is under fire.
That is why we rise. And, that is why we respectfully kneel.
This country isn’t what it was or could be.
So we let it be known that we are aware.
We are aware and loud so that our government might make a change.
No one is harmed. No one is dying for our protest.
Other than Heather Heyer. Eric Garner. Michael Brown. Laquan Mcdonald. Tamir Rice. Walter Scott. Freddie Gray. Sandra Bland. Alton Sterling. Philando Castile. Terrance Crutcher. Or any of the 309 black people killed by police in this country in 2016.
Or the many mentally ill or disabled Americans who were fatally wounded because they couldn’t communicate.
Hate and prejudice did this.
But it lives in the hearts of ill informed men.
Inequality is not a myth. Or an excuse.
It’s a reality and just because you haven’t experienced it doesn’t mean it isn’t real.
Many have seen it and been brave enough to stand against it.
What do they have to gain by protesting it?
Why would they make it all up?
More hateful words?
They aim for equality and Justice.
They want this country to be what that anthem dictates!
They want those words to be true.
I used to cry when I heard it played in an arena.
I believed that anthem when I was young.
Now I cry because we have strayed so far from those values.
We’ve become the antithesis of what we once believed in.
The day of the white man in charge has got to end. Others have proven to be just as valuable.
If you can’t play on an even playing field, that’s your fault, not theirs.
They want and deserve those inaliable rights.
The pursuit of justice.
Lots of people find an insistence on posting political material to be annoying.
But, here’s how I see it, dudes.
We have to engage to be a part of things. Whatever your opinion is, have it.
Talk about it.
Better yet, talk about it with people who disagree with you.
Do it as respectfully as you can, of course.
I’m no saint.
I’ve allowed my soul to catch fire and my words to get heated.
Nothing came of those arguments.
So I aim to develop DISCUSSIONS.
Discussions where we meet on common ground. Where our bubbles intertwine and we feel no threat from one another.
That’s when the walls come down and the eyes and minds open.
We are all in this together.
But, I won’t sit by idly and ignore what is going on because it makes me uncomfortable to interact, or because I may have to admit I’m wrong or fight for what I know is right.
I’ve got to take part IN it to call myself a part OF it.
A contributing member of society.
Not a faceless troll or a haphazard voter.
Education comes from those whose ideas oppose mine.
That’s when my mind grows, even if they’re wrong.
That’s when I see what I don’t already know.
Then I seek out what I can intellectually gain from.
Be patient. Kind. Humble.
Realize the value of your belief and the value of theirs.
If their belief hurts another human being it detracts from the concern I have for them.
It’s some kind of humanitarian law.
But, it’s theirs. Not yours.
And you won’t convince them to think otherwise with hateful words or angry glares or even a gun to the head.
Intelligent and fact checked, source cited information won’t reach those who are unwilling to budge.
Cut your losses for a moment and move on to those willing to hear an inciteful voice.
You can’t help those who need to be helped by bullying the bully.
It only makes the bully more angry and vengeful.
Love Trump’s Hate
Hell if I’ll be militant.
Hell if I’ll be hateful.
Sh*t in between isn’t exactly impactful either.
I grew up under Obama.
Came up under bush Jr.
Was a child with the Clinton and Reagan reign.
What I’m doing now is the best I can do because this “president” is as close to Hitler as I hope we ever come.
I can’t be peaceful and hippie and Hycaeit via 1969. I’d be that girl again. But the world came forward and now we’ve gone behind. So we have to catch up.
I’m not mincing words anymore.
You’ve heard it before.
Didn’t hear the warning? Your bad.
Not me. Not mine.
Catch up or shove off.
There was a time for peaceful protests and we tried to break it to you gently.
You didn’t hear it.
TOO BAD FOR YOU CHANGE COMES ANYWAY.
Decades of protests
Years of the same words.
Try to take us backwards
WE GET LOUD.
HELL. you can’t take us all down. Not gonna happen.
Because the battle was fought and won.
You’re trying to erase it.
Good luck. We have the high score.
Try unplugging the macine😋