Tag Archives: poetry

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All I Am

All I Am

“What if
all I am
is the broken song
on a broken record
held gently
in the broken hands
of a broken man?
What if despite all that,
I was still
the song
that made you
smile?”

#TylerKnott / #ArtByShea

Poem: Slept With a Stranger

Last night I slept with a stranger.

I wasn’t pressured or forced against my will,
but his pill instilled such a natural high.
And still,
he took his precious time
to approach me out of curiosity
and ask all the right questions.
I showed reciprocity
with some hesitations and no expectations.

To my surprise,
he was attentive to my sensations,
evoking warmth and euphoria to alleviate my frustrations.
Persistent pulsations (in),
patient exhalations (out);
an emotional and sensual orchestration throughout.

A word was never spoken between he and I,
but his myths, legends, and mysteries reflected blue hues in my eyes. (So deep.)
Miles beneath his surface,
I imagined his darkest secrets;
Some funny, some sad,
others hidden how he saw fit.
Who was I to judge, you know?
We’ve all got skeletons in our closet.
And rib cages make for perfect coat hangers when your subconscious drowns your logic.

It was pretty ironic, though,
the way that he teased me on the surface;
we both knew that staying was never really his (or my) intended purpose.
But for the moment,
neither of us cared…
..whether we got lost while the moon just stared.
The time we shared
and the energy in the air,
I swear it lead to a new beginning,
the beginning of another day..

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The ocean is such a beautiful stranger.

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Pork Chops are NOT Karate Chops

As if depression could be remedied by anything found in a first aid kit..

It’s hard to explain to people who have never known it themselves…feeling lost, buried between cushions of experiences and expectations; feeling so much that they feel so little; numb to disappointment and the dominos of pain.

It’s not easy…none of it is. Losing your voice amongst life’s white noise is the saddest part of all. Sometimes we just need someone to pay attention to what we are saying when we don’t know how to say it. We need just one person to listen…and care..

Kudos to Shane Koyczan for sharing his spoken word poem, and to the entire creative team that produced this short film, for offering a voice to all of those who are or that have experienced depression.

Pork chops are not karate chops. Don’t underestimate the underdog. If you or someone you know might be suffering from depression, please, get help.

 

One Year Ago Today…

Today makes one year – 365 flashbacks – since I walked away from my totaled ’09 black on black Nissan Altima without a single scratch on my body. I remember, at the time, feeling like I was in a really bad dream; now, when I try to dream, too often the projector in my mind shows the crash on repeat.

Too often, while my eyes remain closed, my heart moves like a hummingbird’s wings in my chest. My hands clench for mercy with cloth and a prayer between each knuckle. A single bead of sweat races a tear down the side of my cheek as salt blankets my neck to my tailbone. The melody of my breath grows staccato until my subconscious finally retrieves me from inception. Few can attest to this, but if – within the past year – we’ve ever spent the night together, and I woke up shaking in your arms, now you know why.

I AM alive…

…But one year ago today, I almost lost this priviledge.

I think that there were too many contributing factors that day that played a role in the consequences. I certainly played mine — rushing to get to work, answering calls and emails, all while trying to read news updates about candle vigils happening that evening in memory of the 5th anniversary of the Virginia Tech shootings. The moment itself happened at the speed of light, but isolated thoughts prolonged the seconds in between. I remember thinking: Is this really happening? There’s no way that my time on this Earth is near complete. There’s too many things that I still need to do, experiences that I need to have, and people who I need to say “I love you” to.

My will to live overpowered my fear of death that day. I didn’t make a big deal about it outwardly because I was trying to understand the emotions going on within first; less of the why am I here, more of the how I made it here. It took some time, but clarity eventually came:

Having the opportunity to live, breathe and love makes the bad dreams well worth it. If anything, they keep me in check and serve as a reminder to always appreciate what I have, and to always go after what I want.

One year ago today, I received a blessing disguised as an obstacle. In three days (April 19, 2013), I will turn 23 years old. I AM, humbly thankful.