Junkie Journals

Moments of my journey

[poeticjunky]

Somewhere off the coast of Iceland.

I rarely get manic anymore.

I rarely get anything anymore.

Like I flatlined,

plateaued

that's it.

Out of dreams

out of love

out of fight.

I lived so many life times I lived myself

right out of time.

An undesired borrowed time in a constant state of survival.

Leaves a soul wanting.

Most die wanting.

I anti-wanted.

Less was the most.

Weightless is freedom.

Freedom from want

was connection.

None of it made sense till I was nameless.

In a place I have never been.

With an echo of supreme silence.

The earth stopped spinning just for me.

A nanosecond,

she ceased herself.

Four and a half billion year she waited to whisper this secret.

I was her.

Organic and made of dead stars.

I was a gift

Made of dreams

Made of love

Made of fight.

[poeticjunky]

How unkind my own mind has been to me. Ruthless and unrelenting. This is why your opinion of me has no value. I am cruelest to myself.

[poeticjunky]

“Don’t be fooled. Grief is a debt owed and paid for love. One does not endure without the other. Grief become an extension of you that can never remove. It is apart of you now, like the love was before it was gone. It one of the few things life guarantees, love and loss. Grief would not exist if we didn’t love. A heavy price..”

~ a book I haven’t written

[poeticjunky]

Music: Elliot Tordo Erhu 🎼 The Riders of Rohan

[poeticjunky]

akureyri, iceland

[poeticjunky]

Esturoy, Faroe Islands

[poeticjunky]

Esturoy, Faroe Islands

[poeticjunky]

Olden, Norway

[poeticjunky]

Olden, Norway

[poeticjunky]

I do not know how much more I can do to my body to save my mind. They both betray me these days.

[poeticjunky]

Somewhere once that was me.

I was never the great beauty in the room.

Always something off, my unkept hair or my poor posture.

I believed beauty was everything.

Once eons ago in a world I lost to time.

Being beautiful was the way to love, to power, to happiness.

I actually believe it was intangible gift bestowed only upon gods favorites.

I watched it all from a window, with a reflection, that became a cage.

I obsessed. I starved myself of anything substantial to achieve the perfect surface.

A hollow surface. A lonely place.

In a castle of never good enough, riding in on a chariot of failures.

I was the champion of self loathing.

A barren beauty if I would call it that.

Those were the broken hours, the void cell of my own creation.

Where the mirror no longer answers my prayers.

The only thing left to do was repent.

Relent, to nourish a now emaciated soul.

I needed to contemplate the universe. Seek it for knowledge.

With ever cell in my body. Searching beyond the superficial into the everything.

And it spoke to me. It was waiting.

“You are everything I wanted to be, but more.”

And now I must write, about all of it.

I will out live the years of beauty.

And will make my best and worst moments immortal.

I captured my own humanity and lay it out for all to see. To judge, to hate.

To divulge, to love.

Every word on every paper in ever sentence that I have ever written has freed me from my prison. And when you are free you are…..

[poeticjunky]

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[poeticjunky]

#hesangtome #redtailedhawk #backdoorphotography #raptor #wildlifephotography #myjourney #junkiejournals (at Hypoluxo Scrub Natural Area Entranceway) https://www.instagram.com/p/CmWlA9MgImo/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[poeticjunky]

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[poeticjunky]

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[poeticjunky]

Sunrise, Atlantic Ocean

I’ve been a little twisted, tied up from the mind up and ungifted.

Silent when I need to speak and speaking where I should be silent.

My mind is violent, raging wars are clashing over my premeditated corpse. And I sit frozen. These thoughts are not mine, this is not what I would have chosen. Painfully, I search through my own erosion, with lackluster devotion. Whispering “I’m not broken.”

Scattered on a manic bender, linguistically mute is all I can render. Endless task of the mundane, the great cause of me hiding from my own insane. Who’s to blame? I forget her name, she was once tame, it’s heartbreaking to know her soul is aflame.

Her name had no rhyme, it’s been lost upon time. Such a crime she could have been divine, prelude to that decline.

Awkwardly mute, fearfully acute I stand on hallowed ground without a sound.

I am the conviction. Being oneself is its own restriction, this is where I was found by addiction.

A pitiless fiction.

No time to tell, that’s a difficult story to sell. Especially that part where I fell, swallowed in the ocean swell.

That storm stole my soul, that day. Till the end I did my best to remain whole, dwindling in the blackest part of a hole.

Keep your mind right, keep your eyes on the light. Fight, it’s the only way. Day in and day night. You know your salvation, so just fucking write.

[poeticjunky]

I bring carrots, and they know it. #horse #happyspringday #alltheprettythings #myjourney #junkiejournals (at Johnson's Folly Horse Farm) https://www.instagram.com/p/CceFTeULrJZ/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=