musings

C. C. // creative chasm where i can cling to (and sing through) my consciousness

[openletterwriting]

two spaces

i straddle the line of two extremes

living in the in between.

population of Perfect is exactly none

but I stand with my foot in the door, trying to make it one

Not Good Enough is also home to zero,

but I am the mayor of the fantasy town, still a far cry from a hero.

I’d like to visit the spot where you can be in four states at once

it’d be nice to beat myself since I live in two all the time

see with depression and anxiety it’s a constant back and forth

what’s the point? no one cares

the point is everyone’s stares!

I’ve always been of two minds of the person I’m trying to be

I believe I have to be perfect, I believe I’ll never be good enough.

somehow I have to keep trying to be me.

who am I then, is the real question

am I my family? my lovers? my hobbies? my profession?

am I this doubt that clouds my mind or the worries that beat my heart?

am I the books that I consume or my lousy attempts at art?

am I all or none of these things?

or am I somehow both?

the only thing I know that I am is a heavy soul full of hope

[openletterwriting]

Drowning Demons

I realized recently that I don’t have many people come into my room

Maybe because it’s normally messy

Maybe because it reminds me of a tomb.

I mean, maybe it’s where my hope goes to die

Or maybe it’s where my motivation is buried

Dirt disguised as blankets, blank pages for unwritten eulogies, I

Wonder if it’s because I’m afraid to let people see my pill bottles

I keep them hidden, I don’t talk about it

Want no one to see me going down at full throttle.

People probably wouldn’t take too kindly to the knife beside my bed

Or the clothes strewn around the floor

Like thoughts lying in my head.

Please don’t feel any pity

It will leave me just the same

My hands wrung in constant worry and head hung down in shame.

I can almost hear some people asking

“Why do you live this way?”

It’s a kind of familiar miserable you get used to day to day.

“And what do you make of that knife

That you keep beside your bed?”

That’s for me to keep at ease the demons inside my head.

You see, the demons they’re strong

And cruel and mean

I keep the knife there for temptation - open, plain, and seen.

My demons, though, my demons

They live in great defeat

They are strong, but I am stronger and remain on my feet.

“Why won’t you let anyone in?”

I hear the healthy ones say

“You live so lonesome, here in your room. Miserable everyday.”

But the answer really lies in the fact that

I am a creature of pride

I sit alone on my bed, my throne, knowing most of my demons have died.

So my room is lonesome

But it is my own

Though not good, pure, or wholesome.

It is a tomb, a burial ground,

That I do my best to keep secret

I want no one to see what my life may be like when there’s no else around.

Some hopes are buried here, some dreams have finally laid down

But really the place that my room is:

It’s the place where demons drown.

[syntacked]

“People write because no one listens.”

— h.h.

[littlealienproducts]

[phineaslightfoot-deactivated201]

CANNOT REBLOG FAST ENOUGH

[fullten-deactivated20240430]

Because its safer to be nobody than a woman

[kristensnotebook]

[ldly]

aristotle and dante discover the secrets of the universe + quotes

[harmony-happiness]

[missfoodie2shoes]

Dear Generation Z,

Since the shooting in Parkland, students in Florida and around the nation have begun to stand up against the NRA, and speak out against gun violence and the members of our government who do very little or nothing about it. You will be marching next month and you are making all of us so proud of you! But I would like to apologize to you. You should never have had to go through this. You should never have to march for the right to not be slaughtered in your classroom or church or nightclub. You should be living a life free of these fears and actualities, because we should have done this for you.

We should have marched. After Columbine, we should have marched. After Aurora, Colorado, we should have marched. After Orlando, we should have marched. After Sandy Hook, we should have marched and shut down the economy to force a change. But we didn’t. We screamed at our politicians who sat and did nothing and then we shrugged our shoulders and went on with our lives. And now you are marching for all of us.

So often, we ask our young people do do the hard work for us. We send you off to fight and die in our wars. We send you into schools to integrate them. And in return you receive little recognition or thanks. But I am thanking you now, in advance, for all that you are doing for us. I will do my very best to support you and join in the fight. Maybe this is what it will take to finally change things for good. And for good.

[openletterwriting]

To the me who wanted to be a surgeon

I know. You’ve been dreaming of this your entire life. You wanted to be a doctor who “fixed people on the inside” since age 4. You dressed up as a medical professional Halloween after Halloween. Watching surgery videos and medical shows was a heavily practiced hobby of yours. You devoted so much of your time into research of what schools you wanted to apply to, where the best medical schools were, how long residency took, what the timeframe was until you would FINALLY be able to help somebody. 

But that’s just it. You’ve always wanted to help someone. The words you often used were “save someone.” All of your worth was put into what you planned on doing for other people someday. You always felt like you’d be the ultimate version of yourself when you’re a mom, a wife, and a surgeon. It wasn’t until you were already set on the path of being a surgeon that you realized maybe an M.D. at the end of your name isn’t what would make you who you wanted to be. Maybe there were multiple ways to save someone. Once you started having an inkling of a thought of changing your mind, I know you’ll shut it down. You’re scared of change and of disappointing everyone else. You don’t want to have to tell your family that you think you’d rather be a teacher. The thought of admitting to people in your hometown that you changed your major and watching them judge you is terrifying. Changing your mind about something that has driven most of your personality is not easy, I’ll give you that, but you can do it. You already did it. (Everyone who matters and loves you doesn’t care what you do. They just want you to be happy.) You realized the title of being a surgeon or even the act of it wasn’t what you wanted, after all. You just wanted to help people, to save people. The physical being is important, but you found, as you went through college and started listening more and more to God, the souls of individuals were your true concern. You know in your heart that you didn’t change your major because it was too hard. The classes were manageable. The stress was controllable. Spending virtually every waking moment worried about medical school was something you could deal with. You’re just smart enough to know when your heart isn’t in something anymore. If anyone else believes that you made the switch because you couldn’t handle it, let them. Writing a false narrative with you as the main character may be the most exciting thing they ever do. Care not what other people think of your life. You haven’t ever been in the business of denying the Lord, and you certainly won’t start that business with this decision. He called me to help people; I just misheard Him the first time.

There is no shame in changing your mind. Do not hold onto a concept, idea, or mistake just because you spent a long time on it. Things change; that’s how we grow. No one would ever see the true beauty of a flower if it were stuck believing it was meant to be a seed forever. You’re going to make a great English teacher, I promise.

[openletterwriting]

To the first boy who hurt me

I miss you

I loved you

Even though you’ve been gone for over a year

I long for you

Your words

The empty promises that you made to come see me

I’m wanting for something that was never real

For someone who never thought of wanting me

Was this a game?

How many girls were you playing like you played me?

How many girls have you hurt like you hurt me?

Or was I actually special?

Was I the only one you destroyed?

Even though it hurts

I pray you would say yes

I wish you could honestly tell me I’m the only one you

ruined

Let me hear you say you’ve never burned anyone’s soul

like you did mine

I don’t want anyone else to smell the soot from your fire

in their mind

Don’t let any other girls have heavy hearts made of ash

because of your fiery feelings

I dare you to tell me that you broke someone like you

broke me

I felt you in my bones for months after you stopped

answering

Diving back into the pain now

I can feel it all

Reminiscent of the ache you hold

I shouldn’t want you to burn me anymore

But that doesn’t stop my thirst

No, that would be sensible

Those afraid of blood

Simply cannot stop themselves from holding a rose

If there is beauty in the hurt

Is it really pain?

How did I let you do this to me?

I know I must have given you permission

“Here please destroy me”

But I can’t recall when

It must have been in the way I said I love you

Or the days I sent “babe?”

Those days that I was having one sided conversations

A mixture of “lol” and “yep” sufficed

I could feed off your smileys and take them as caring

Letting your voice fill my ears was the worst mistake

Telling you I was afraid of clowns was stupid.

You sent me countless pictures of them so I would fear

getting a photo from you.

Falling in love with the way you called me angel was a

problem

Letting you call me a bitch on a daily basis was almost as

bad

The day our “play fights” starting hurting

I should’ve stopped

Ended chat

Deleted kik

Blocked on skype

Lost your damn number

But no

That would’ve been sensible

I’ve always been a careful person

And you made me let go

You said that you had me damn it!

Where are you now?

Where were you then?

Did you have me?

Or did I unconsciously let myself fall?

I’m scratching my way out of a void

Years after you left me

I keep trying to catch up to where you are

To where the happy people wait

But every time I get some leverage

I can feel you stepping on my fingers

Smiling down at me and saying

“You’re doing great baby. I’ve got you.”

Then letting me fall like I was a tear you didn’t want to

feel anymore

Saying goodbye was nothing for you

And I could’ve handled it if you would’ve left me at that

But you came back.

Twice.

When you’re in and out I don’t know how to prep

Should I make myself happy because you’ll come again?

Or do I brace myself for the day you leave?

I’m pretty sure you’re done now.

I’ve bored you to the end

There’s nothing left for you to see

You’ve seen sweet

Bitter

Open

Quiet

Nice and nasty

Flirty and fierce

I’ve been everything I was

As well as everything I wasn’t

I couldn’t please you

I stopped pleasing myself

Letting you go has never been my thing

But this is my goodbye letter

This is my end for you

So I do not regret that we met

I don’t feel bad for loving you

You’ll always have a place in my soul

I cannot rid myself of your burns

But I can say goodbye to the flame

I also want to thank you thoroughly

For being so much of an asshole

You make me write cool shit.

[openletterwriting]

The Color Red

Red (adj.)- as of blood, fire, or rubies. Red is passion. Red is aggression. Red is the extreme of a situation. Red is tempting and beautiful and horrifying and enough to make you stop. Red is one end of the spectrum. Red is extreme and awe-inspiring. This is red. 

You recognize the burning demon sitting in your stomach. It’s an aching vulnerability in your chest. The color has now claimed your cheeks because you know you’ll never live this down. You can’t help but feel all the eyes watching, judging you for that inopportune action. That mess of a sentence you just proposed gains the snickers and gawks of your peers. You physically endure the struggle of your clumsiness and stuttering in front of your classmates. “My God, this emotion is red all over,” you think to yourself as you’re beginning to sit down. “Look at him!” one of the kids in the back exclaims, “he’s red all over!!”

Seeing this one person, doing this one thing, being in this one place- one or all of these feelings give you that feeling. It’s the feeling of a warm embrace. It’s the flame-lit hearth in your home. It seems like this is home. This feeling is beautifully diverse. It makes you invincible and vulnerable at the same time. You would give anything for the thing or person you care this deeply for. There is nothing like this. It is selfless and selfish; it's pain and joy. You are in it and it is in you. This emotion is consuming and powerful and a whirlwind. This emotion is red.

This is the confusion of not having feelings for someone but having feelings for someone. It’s a craving that comes from your stomach and you’re not hungry for food. You’re seeing the blush color taint your thoughts. This emotion is purely a byproduct of infatuation. It’s a want that’s so strong it feels like a need. Almost an unquenchable thirst, this emotion is painfully, sinfully flaming red.

Building. It hides in the small things. In the “it’s no big deal” and the “I didn’t care anyway.” Suppressing. It lives in the forced holes in the walls and heated tears. You wish you could stop it, catch it, and force it back down your chest to where it started. It’s this mania that you sometimes cannot control. This feeling is ravaging and enraging. It eats you alive from the inside out. Nobody can think straight with it consuming his or her thoughts. It’s a mix of passion, aggression, and sadness. This feeling is consumingly crimson and its actions are rarely a good thing. This is red.

Red is in everything. Red is the embarrassment in class. It’s the love you hold so dear for one person or one thing. Red is lusting after someone you know you don’t intend on loving. Red is the anger that boils inside of you. Red is extreme, but red is beautiful. It’s new, unexplored, and tempting. Red is something we often think of but never achieve. Red is arguably the most emotional color. Red is diverse and daunting and gorgeous. That is red.

[openletterwriting]

To the young, quiet, black boy...

To the young, quiet, black boy who came into my work last Thursday,

I see you. I appreciate you.

You were more respectful and polite than most grown people.

You were quiet in the group of loud individuals.

You were kind when even the youngest member of group, who was barely able to walk on his own, was hitting his parents and has curse words in his newfound speech.

You hardly looked me in the eye, but when you did, I saw a softness that wasn’t expected.

A softness no one you know appreciates.

But I do.

I hope you know that shy does not equal weak.

I hope you know that every single rare word that you say matters.

Your kindness does not make you less of a man.

Please don’t let this world harden you.

There is so much more beauty in a sideways smile and careful eyes than in the harsh words that you are accustomed to.

Whatever it is that you want to do with your life, big or small, you will succeed.

Do not allow people who are rougher than you to make you feel like less.

Kind people may get hurt more often, but our hearts stay happier.

Your gentle words can shake the world.

Your subtle sweetness and semi-smile can shine so much light in this world of blinding darkness.

The way you spoke to me reminded me that I am more than what I am doing in this moment.

We are all living our own lives and most of us are just doing our best to get where we need to be,

But you showed me that no matter what stage we’re at in our journey, no one is too good to be kind.

In your brash and loud environment, you had the bravery to speak softly.

You are my favorite kind of person,

One of the ones that makes my soul smile and my mind think that there is a loving melody in this world of deafening negativity.

Thank you for showing me your kindness in the briefest of interactions.

I hope you enjoyed your fries.