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To My Valentine

My Love,

As I lay here in bed with you, the white and blue candles burning warm around our cream colored room and the warmth of our gray fleece and down comforter keeping us warm, I can think if no other place I’d rather be. It is interesting that we think of Valentine’s day as a time of loneliness when there is no one to share it with. A time when we need another person to fulfill something.

I am lucky to have found you.

It is with you I walk through the world, finding new treasures and discovering new worlds. You’re the reason I get up in the morning and the reason I strive to be better. You’re the reason I treat people with kindness and respect and most important, you’re the reason I’ve begun to love myself. When I stopped looking at you and began seeing you, when the first drops of love fell from the cloudy sky of confusion, I finally began to see my reason for being here, on this planet.

The world became less scary, the roads not so rocky and the mountains not so high. The opinion of people quickly dissipated into nothing but fog on the glass, easily wiped away when set in my sight. I stopped hearing their tongue clicks because I could only hear you. I could hear your heart beat. I could hear the colors of your soul speak to me through the vibrancy of the sky and in the crisp cool beauty of an autumn sunrise.

The mirror became a friend instead of an enemy. I looked at the imperfections and saw them through your eyes. Imperfections at face value. The fat and skin and bones and eyes were all simple anatomy and were beautiful when believed in.

I could hear you tell me that I was beautiful and inside those words I curled up and made myself at home.

I could hear you tell me I was worth all things and every moment on this earth was meant to heal and help and create and move life forward.

I could hear you, you’re low comforting voice, familiar voice tell me that everything is and will always be okay. That the world that may crumble around us will either rebuild or form to dust, which blows in the wind and is carried to places more beautiful than we could ever imagine.

I love you. It has taken me years and courage to find you. It has taken me tears, denial and sacrifice to breathe life into your untapped power and greatness.

You are the reason I breathe.

You are the reason I live.

You are the reason I strive to be a better person.

Without you, I am nothing but an empty shell, molded into a pigmented skin to be set to trial and judged.

You are my light.

You are my guidance.

Forever and farther is how long I shall love you.

Forever mine, forever yours.

Love always,

Yourself.

#love #valentinesday #selflove

New Place. Different Leaves.

Academia. The books and the pencils and the slight swish - tap - tip of notes being taken either on paper or on keyboards. The gentle breeze and the slight reminder that with the beginning of education comes the end of the year and with end of winter comes the beginning of something greater for each individual. The spring welcomes change with with open arms as does the fall.

Oh, to die as leaves do, gracefully, filled with color and a soft outcry of beauty. My mind races to make comparisons between home and here, the place a know and the place I reside. Here the wind sweeps it's way into your bones and blood stream, never to leave. It is like this at home, except with a heavy blanket of moisture to settle itself within the air. Here the leaves change colors, as if by duty. Very British of them. At home they throw a party, a ball, a masquerade, a barn dance, a feast. They hold no boundaries and spare no expense. They lavish themselves in jewels and esthetic finery made by the most talented of gold and silver smiths. Silks and velvets curl themselves around roots and drape delicately across the valleys. Colors explode into the sky, stealing radiance from the sun, deafening the stars and exciting the moon. They are dying and with that thrive on their ability to celebrate the life they have so beautifully lived for the last six months.

Orange, for creativity. For the change in all things, for the collaboration of song between the birds. The dances of light and a fog that still lingers in the morning.

Red, for lust and the need for passion. For storms that rage, smothering us in mountains of snow or drown us in flash floods topped off with the most exciting bolts of lightening and claps of thunder. To hold onto it’s mother branch through the torrents of winds and elements, holding on until she releases.

Yellow, for understanding. All things begin and end. Within the confines of minds ability to grieve we find the extreme ability to heal and with that healing comes winter, and with winter again comes spring.

It is the reason we learn and crave knowledge. To change or to enlighten in the hopes the when our colors begin to change and we fall, we nourish the soil for new life to spring from.

Tomorrow begins a sprout, a new tree from which the roots have taken hold and push the rest of itself toward the sky. I have no choice but to grow. I realize there will be pain and embarrassment and continual need to tell myself being judged by others is a natural human occurrence. I will do all that is asked of me with the best of my abilities. I will reach towards that sun if only to get the small bit of vitamins necessary to get to tomorrow.

Because tomorrow is 8 a.m. pilates.

Do trees have to do pilates? No?

I’ll be a tree.

One Thing Every Extrovert and Introvert Has to Deal With.

1. These stupid fucking articles about things the extroverts and introverts have to deal with.

#extrovert #introvert #go outside #stay in

A Soap Box If Ever I Stood On One

A soap box rant if ever I stood on one. Prepare thyself: Nobody wants to talk about! No body wants to hear about it because women complain about it all the time. But I have something to say about it. A real...a REAL fat women has something to say. Read or don't read, I don't give flying fuck but did you ever think, for one second, that when you say "ugh I'm getting fat." or "ugh I feel fat" in front of a person who actually deals with weight AND body image issues at the same time, how that makes them feel.

There is a line in which you see yourself as fat or you are in fact fat. It is truth that body image is an issue with all humans, male and female alike, however, most of those who see themselves as fat are still socially acceptable physically, THEY just don't see it. Now imagine NOT being socially acceptable physical AND not seeing it. And you hear the words, fat, obese, overweight, used in the worst, in the most disgusted of tones every day. You hear it on the radio "Holidays are coming, don't put those pounds on." "Get those nasty unwanted pounds off." "Tired of being fat and disgusting?" "Get rid of those ugly, disgusting pounds that are keeping you from the man of your dreams!" -.- Are you kidding? Are you not seeing my point here?

I'm tired of being shushed when I bring up the matter of weight and how I've been told it is "unfair" that I should have more self image issues than a thin person. I am claiming my god damn right, considering my weight is targeted every fucking day as if being fat drips and oozes that worst possible sickness. I claim it because I never hear "Don't lose those pounds and let your disgusting bones show." "That flat tummy is disgusting, eat a sandwich." "Don't be thin and disgusting!"

We take. it personally.

Don't roll your god damn eyes at me when I say, "Don't say your fat, I'm fat, you're not." It's the damn truth. I am fat. Why can a skinny woman call herself fat, but a fat girl calls herself fat and 'oh shit the worlds fallin' apart!'? And when you stand there, at the same table as me, turn to your boyfriend and say, "Would you love me if I were fat," and him say "no" and not ever RECOGNIZE the fact that in a fat women's (or person's) mind you've just made them irrelevant.

All women (and men) are hurt by main stream media, made to feel imperfect and undesirable so products are bought and magazines sold. But I'm no holding back anymore by saying it is NOT the same for fat women. We are told we're not socially acceptable every god damn day. Irrelevant. Undesirable. Disgusting. No, you may not have said it to my face, or to me as a person, but the moment you put the drip of disgust on the word fat, you disregard me as a human being capable and deserving of them same things you are. So take your god damn insecurities and put them where I can't see them. I, and everyone else, have their own to deal with.

I am a True American.

There will always be stupid, ignorant americans. I am not one of them. Nor will I read the words of those who are. I shall stand strong in the true fact that America was built on decedents of others. That white people are not the only ones who serve in our military to protect. Black people are not the only ones who serve and protect. Having an accent does not make you a foreigner. Wearing something other than what Cosmopolitan and the Bible told wear does not make you any less of a human. I understand, respect and accept all people. I allow what they have done be the driving factor of where they are and what they have become. I read books to learn. I read the news to educate. I learn about others with open mind and fierce understanding. I am a true American.

Congratulations Miss. New York for being beautiful enough, talented enough, and well spoken enough to become exactly what you should be. A Winner.

#miss america #miss new york #Miss Maine #miss alabama #miss new jersey #miss california #I can't #People #I am good #goodness is all #in the light #no darkness #light #be loud #proud #American #I am american

From A Performers Perspective:

So yea...

Miley...

I hate giving her more attention than she deserves but the blog I write I feel must be written.

We’ve heard the reactions about her “performance” ringing through the nether corners of social media, print media and every other type of media that exsists in our toss-out-a-string-and-find-someone world. We’ve heard from the angle of Ms. Cyrus being Slut Shamed. Which, in all honesty is a HUGE problem in our society when it comes to woman expressing their sexuality without being made to feel like a huge ho. However, Our dear Hannah Montana might have taken sexual expression to a whole new level.

We’ve heard it from a racial point of view. A fascinating article about the fact that Miley only used black female dancers, and not only that but used them as props. After reading the article I have to say all I could see, when re watching the clip, was a little rich white girl prancing around in her underwear smacking on black chicks. This made the performance even more disturbing to me making if frighteningly more difficult to let all this media hype go.

For some reason I was continually irritated by myself, the performance and all the god damned articles that went with it. I had a hard time separating my modern ideals and understanding of the world from something that I thought was just wrong. But why was it wrong. My mothers voice popped into my head over and over reminding me that’s not how a lady acts, especially not in public. I would then counter act the thought with, well why should she be criticized for just being crazy and fun.

Usually my brain stops at there. But no no no, not this time. The nagging sensation that some of my old school ideals actually played a part in this kept me reading articles and trying to understand view points until I finally came up with the answer.

I’m a performer. I teach performance to actors, dancers and singers. I spend entire summers teaching young woman that the stage is a place of respect, and until you learn that your words are more important than the ass you shake, don’t even enter the theater. They know that anything less than respect for the story you’re telling is unacceptable.

Why is it unacceptable?

Because, though the stage is “yours”, you are a guest to the audience that watches you. This is their house, not yours and until that is understood, there will be a continual onslaught of selfish performances that grace the many stages we see yearly. It is a view point we have yet to hear from because, to be completely honest we have become desensitized to terrible performers and performances. Being up on stage as become so normalized with performance based shows, that the stage (or screen) has begun to lose it’s respect and magic. It has been forgotten that it is a craft. It is a honed skill that many work years upon year to perfect. We read books, take class, watch film after film, study directors and actors and people and babies and animals and walls and trees. We watch sunsets and sunrises and write down how the stars remind us of pieces of our soul that we’ve let go in the hopes that someone might hear our story. How the clouds float through the sky as we do, silent and unheard though beautiful and unmistakably present.

We study our audience because we are our audience.

When we are in full understanding that once one disrespects our audience, we’ve disrespected ourselves, our craft, and our entire being.

Whether or not Ms. Cyrus had this whole thing planned out, whether or not she’s sitting in her hotel room laughing her ass of or smirking at the articles written, for many of us she is another terrible act. Another “performer” who may work hard but on the wrong railroads. Another child allowed to run around and prove her sexuality the wrong way. Though feminists may slay me for it, there is a right and a wrong way. There is a strong and weak way and there is a yes and a no way.

She compromised her audience (though I’m sure many 15 year olds will disagree) and from a professional performer, that was her biggest downfall.

Also, The tsunamic uproar of her performance had her overshadowing the fact the N*Sync is still as sexy as they were 15 years ago and that One Direction is a sad cry from what a boy band is and should be.