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I'm still mad at you. I'm mad at all the hope you preach and the faith you beg from us. I'm mad because you promise us something and I haven't even waited that long or felt the worst tragedy and I'm still done. Do you hear me? Do you get that this world is broken and done? Are you happy? This is what you wanted? Why did you make all this? Why make us only to watch us rot? Eat ourselves from the inside out and infect each other.

One year later. One time again. It gets harder and less meaningful. There is so little that I care about its almost ironic. If it wasn't true.

I hate this about me. this darkness. this pleading with some unaccommodating force to let me go. Maybe if I jump in that river or walk down that road. Maybe if I try harder.

There can't be solace every time you cry.

Maybe if I stop trying. because i don't have it in me to try anymore. this stupid hamster wheel is growing old and my shin splints are kicking in. so how about no. how about never. how about we give up and we don't look back.

Of course I’ll hurt you. Of course you’ll hurt me. Of course we will hurt each other. But this is the very condition of existence. To become spring, means accepting the risk of winter. To become presence, means accepting the risk of absence.— Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

It seems the words keep getting repeated over and over again throughout history. These keys haven't seen these fingers in a long time. Theyve sat, undusted, unwatched, unmarked, set aside for another being, another time...until now. Was it now that you wanted me to see this? We try so hard to see through each other, and we do in beautiful and mysterious ways, but we also don't. As hard as we try, we can't fully be known and that will be forever

a tragedy, and

a grace and

a victory.

I keep screaming "do you see me now?" but it only comes out as a whisper, a thought, a memory. And here I am again, the fingers wound back around the keys to try and pull a moment out of the soul that aches. The same aching is there, the same longing, the same need to be known, loved, discovered and bewhildered. Be wild her. Be wild.

It hurts to love. Do you get that? It is human to hurt.

I will be old one day and I will realize that in all this trying to find a point, a reason, there was no point. There was no reason to be pursuing, it was all just in this moment right now, that mattered.

I knew these things in my first breath, and yet I still searched, I still needed something more, and when something didn't show up I grimaced, felt my way around in the dark, and I tried again. This is what we do, us humans, we try, try again and even when we don't think it's possible we still try. We brave the seas, and we dive into the valleys, dark with death, shadows menacing, we jump over the chasms that span our deepest fears, and lift up our weary eyes. We catch a glimpse, not even a sighting, but a peripheral of something and we need to keep moving because that hope is there. Hope of new life, of a baby's smile, of first love, of truth, of a bud. Hope.

But I'm tired of this hope. I'm tired of trying, of creating, of always getting the more. I'm tired of hoping against hope and being disappointed. I now just expected disappointment. Anticipated disappointment. I don't get happy people - I never have been one, so why start now.

Take it back to that moment

before you start to feel broken.

just be slow.

the breath needs to be so much deeper than it is

stories of self hold in my ribcage

thoughts ingrain deep

pressing in on all sides

suffocation, shallow, insecure

set me free

let me know

you won’t let me go

breathe

breathe deeply

city.

I don’t want to call the city a wasteland. To write it off as if there is no hope, to end grief in death and never make it through to acceptance, to thriving, to life again.

on sharing home.

I don’t know how not to. It is the only act of resistance I have. At least that is how it feels. It is the only way I know how to not be silent in the midst of ongoing cultural genocide. And maybe I will fail. And maybe it shouldn’t be me. But I can’t not do anything.

relationship with you

I don’t know how to be. You know? You’re way up there and you’re also part of my in ways I don’t even know. You are my mama that gave me hugs, you are my papa that gave me wisdom, you are my best friend, sharing intimate details and surrounding me with wind and rain. And then you are far. You leave me alone and I scream and cry and wonder what I did, was it me? But then you’re there, showing me that it was always you.

You won't be the only one I am unfinished, I've got so much left to learn I don't know how this river runs But I'd like the company through every twist and turn

Ben Platt

tear me down.

build me back up again and make me the same. The same pattern, the same shape and same indescribable wrongness that doesn’t work. The same people that leave, the same

32. 2019. 2388.

Life is getting older. Things are not as they seem. Or as they were meant to seem. Everybody said that things go a specific way. There is a pattern, a societal call that takes you down a path that everyone acknowledges and nods their heads at. Approval. How do I not seek the approval? I need it so that I can breathe. It is wired into my DNA. Part of my lifeblood.

And yet a tugging feeling has been in my heart since I was small. “you’re different”. Maybe my life looks differently.

God. Jesus. Holy Spirit. We used to hang out. I’m not sure who I am anymore without you. But I do know that a lot more makes sense now and I feel more like who I am. But I miss you in my life. I want you, but I need to figure out what that means. Without the rules and religion and do’s and don’ts.

I’ve always valued community. People doing life together. Helping, participating, caring. I’ve questioned what this looks like for me. I’ve joined communities, I’ve participated in church groups, gathered people together, engaged in hard conversations. And yet, these communities are now in my past. Whether in fault of mine or not, I they didn’t stand the test of time. I grew, we grew differently. My values became clearer and I was not able to orchestrate life as I thought I would.

So now this. I’m in a different life stage. I’m not in, nor have I ever been in a secure relationship with a man. My experiences have varied between assault and apathy. I have pursued, put in effort, dreamed, believed for, and yet...my heart has never been settled. I’ve had no Isaac offering. I have begun to contemplate what this means for me, where I am and where I am going.

I have relationship with two amazing little girls, who have captured my heart. They have no one and I have me to give. It isn’t much but it is something. They have brokenness and I have a little bit of scotch tape. These two little ones are my heart - they tear me open and they breathe life into my lungs. They both knock the wind out of me and simultaneously inject oxygen back in. It is a mystery how connection was/is created but it is real and we thrive on it.

I also have a friend, who recently joined in my crazy little adventure. I have someone who offers her heart, her joy and her goodness into a crazy something family that could maybe work. I question what any of this is and I have no map to show the way. Approval isn’t something attainable, as most look on with smiles on their faces and questions in their hearts. Maybe somehow we could make something new. Maybe we could be community that doesn’t fall away or grow differently.

And maybe this is it. Maybe the answers aren’t all here right now, but we can love each other in this moment and we can do our best in this moment. Maybe we can love a little bit and we can be ok.

my life is falling apart.

my life is falling apart. I mean not really. Not really at all. But it feels like it is. And I’m supposed to honour my feelings and recognize them. So I am. And my feeling is as if things are not well. The feeling is strong. It’s like an undertow that catches me every so often, but more so now than before, and drags me under. And then I’m drowning and it’s hard to be alive when you’re drowning.

As we struggle to move forward, we struggle to love, we realize that struggle is what we know. It is the only thing we are akin too. Struggle is our calling, our entity, our breath.

I think we're always a bit sad. That's what makes us human. We live in grief.

well

i haven’t strayed much. But then I guess I have, because I don’t write when I’m well and it has been a while. And so here I am again.

sad.

people don’t like it when you’re sad. They try to fix, do, develop a plan, offer distraction, food. It is these moments that the sad person feels like a burden. Sadness turns into guilt which turns into shame which is closely followed by self-loathing. I’ve done it. I’ve fixed more than I’ve sat. I’ve created lists, bullets, shooting into deep dark places of agony only to hit the person I love too much to really help.

A home and friendship. Love. Why is it so hard to offer just these things? Be still. Be with.

The sadness envelops you until you can’t breathe. Sad people are not accepted. This culture whispers behind sadness’ back and plots underground attacks. Pull up your socks. Oh wait. That’s not politically correct anymore. We’ve researched and we’ve found you actually need to rest. You need to breathe otherwise your lungs will not pump the blood to your lungs that keeps you alive. We can’t have you dying so, breathe. But don’t cry beside me.

Fake news. Youre outnumbered now. You’re not good enough to feel sad. You’re grief doesn’t rate. Your identity isn’t worthy of a headline. Your feels don’t measure. fake news.

my sense of wonder is just a little tired.

it could have been worse. it could be worse. comparison cracks into attempted empathy and hijacks any expecation of solace. Climb into my grief with me. Be brave. But you didn’t die. You won’t have any lasting damage. Your brain is intact. Is it? Because it feels as if it betrays me everytime my arm twinges with a reminder that it is not the same as it once was. Every minute I try to sleep after only sleeping all day, and I take pills to give me just a little more sleep. To get away from nothing. Because nothing is killing me.

comparison is the enemy of my soul.

numb me

I just want to be numb. I’m all these years of all these things I’m done now. I want all the people gone and all the work put aside. I want school and thinking and logic to give up and not exist. I want the voices to cease and the physicality of existence to break. And most of all I want the deafening feelings to be gone. I want my brain to shut off and give up and let go of the thoughts that is twists so deeply into tortuous symbols. I want my breath to slow down and reduce the anxiety built into my bones. Take all the things away and stop it. Make it stop. Let numbness be my new normal and the expectation cease. Let numb rule my way, imposing only emptiness and blank space. Let the fullness of who I am be numb underneath a darkness of no and not me and not today and I can’t do that.

numb.

Incapable of action. No feeling. Deprived of physical sensation. Deficient of emotion.

give me that.

It’s like I don’t know how to hear you anymore. As if the cacophony grew too loud and I mistakenly or deliberately jumped ship. Trying it on my own for a while. Drowning on my own. Because on my own I know what’s what. Except that I don’t. Do you see how I could have gotten so lost? So broken and torn down this path that turned into a dead end? Sometimes you’re really hard to hold on too. Everyone talks about you except the ones that don’t and they pretend to not. Hell. Why is this so hard? I am coming to the point where I start to believe that this is just the way it will always be. You know? Me. Struggle. Wondering if I’m right. Wondering if any of this is right or if there’s really any point. Wondering how my life got here...to this place. Where I’m in school instead of being in a relationship. In training instead of family. Alone instead of with my people.

And as much as I run after

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