Tell Me Something New

By forces uncertain,

And intolerable to me,

The urgency returns

To a room where patience has no need.

 

I have to admit to absent knowledge,

The vacancy makes me static.

Consciousness arrives,

The instructor tells us to make it a habit.

 

I seek what is full of promise,

A perpetual opportunity

To uncover rewards incomparable and undefined,

A place where entitled and full bodies

Explore their empty yet inquisitive minds.

 

With every passing day, the ignorance subsides

As questions and answers materialize,

Maybe the dull days are worthy

Or I’m just reading into the selected reading, a fruitless journey.

 

Something.

I wanted to believe in something

bigger than us all.

Maybe it’s because,

I want to mean something.

And then I realized,

that would take the power

out of us.

Maybe,

the power lies within us,

and that meant something all along.

This used to be called hunting szn until my poetry professor last year said it was stupid.

I can’t tell if I’m a lion awaiting sedation

or prey awaiting being eaten.
You told me it didn’t matter
as long as I sucked your dick.

So I did,
as to avoid dehydration.

 

I thought you blinded me,
but then I realized I just couldn’t open my eyes.

You told me to open them
not so I could see,
but so you could see my eyes.

 

I tried to speak,
but there was something in my throat.

I look up at you,
but you’re someone different now.

idk what this is

 

You always said I had something to say, but we don’t speak anymore.  My mind talks to yours though, I think.  Can you hear me?  I always thought I had a guard up, but that was just you.  You guarded me from the world, and I think maybe I liked the safety.  I thanked you for your protection but I should’ve seen you for the brick wall you hid me behind.  You made it look nice though, like an art project for your drawing class.  You used to draw pictures of me, but I never would’ve thought that I was the project, perfectly primped to your liking, like you were gonna eat me for dinner.  Every time you fixed my makeup I thanked you for your help.  And every picture you took from a carefully selected angle as if to not show my uglier side, I thanked you for those too.  But they were never for me though, were they?  It always took weeks for you to send me the pictures you took after I asked and asked.  “It’s my photography project,” you would say, and you were right.  I felt at home with you, because I felt safe inside myself, because you never let the world see my imperfections and never let me see them either.  Every ugly drunken night was an erased memory for me anyway.  And you were always there to clean the vomit until I got used to using it for a pillow.  Gross could just be another cute dimension to my charming personality that you dutifully constructed.  You hid my ugliness in the dark shadows of our dorm room until I forgot they were there.  And then months later, the smell of its rottenness overtook our febreeze, and you were so shocked that I was truly imperfect the whole time, that you locked me out to find some more vomit to sleep in, because you forgot I wasn’t your daughter or something, when I would jokingly call you “mama.”

Too Many Passions

Is there such a thing? I’ve been waiting and waiting for clarity to come, and then I waited some more.  When will I figure out what I’m going to do?

Here’s my story: I spent more than two years at a really good college until my mental illnesses and addictions put me in the hospital twice and my college basically told me that I needed to take some time off to get my life back on track.  I could come back when I was mentally stable.  Long story short, I’m not going back.  I really enjoyed what I was learning about, though.  I chose the major American studies which is a lot of sociology and psychology and political science and a lot of other things mixed together but focused in America.  We learned about hegemonic systems and American ideology and how they got to be the way they are.  So just learning bout fucked-up ness and how things got to be so fucked up  and how deep the fucked-up ness goes.  I loved it.  I felt like I was doing important work.  But once everything came to a halt and I ended up in a daily therapy program, I got to reevaluate my entire life and find out what I was really interested in.  Turns out, I really love art and fashion.  Which I always kind of knew because I loved to freak people out and draw attention with my unique clothing choices.  But I even got into making all different types of art, getting more into makeup, and even making my own clothes for myself.  I also started to really journal in therapy which motivated me to start writing about random things which eventually led me to creating this blog.  I started to actually acknowledge all the crazy ideas I have about things and want to write about them.  I also got really into yoga which was apart of our therapy program which manifested into its own lifestyle and the holistic and spiritual side of life.  I started collecting crystals and meditating to add more to my yoga practice.  On top of that, going to therapy everyday for months and confronting the many demons I have helped me to realize how much help I could be to others going through similar issues.  I really loved connecting with others in my therapy groups and giving advice, so do I want to be a counselor on top of all of this?

For months my mind has been scrambling to make a decision and actually start down a path instead of just staying stagnant as a 21 year old living in my parents’ house.  I always felt like there was nothing out there for me, but now that I have all of these things that interest me, it doesn’t feel that different.  The only thing that’s changed is that finding myself through therapy gave me the confidence I needed to actually get into all of these hobbies and interests.  I never felt good enough to write or create etc.  But I still feel like I can’t move forward.  I don’t want to open one door and end up closing all the other doors.  Can I just be a full time student as my career and just never stop learning about all there is?

If I want to do all of these things like possibly write a book, work in fashion and even possibly make my own clothes, help people with struggles like me through possibly art therapy, be a yoga instructor and help people cultivate their spirituality, and also pursue social justice in some sort of way, where do I start?  Is it possible to combine them all?  How do I get into these things without spending my whole life in school?  Will I spend my whole life thinking/learning about this stuff without actually doing anything?

I always thought being a passionate person was a good thing and I characterized it as one of my strengths.  Is there such a thing as being too passionate?  Or is it a blessing in disguise?

Comment back if you can relate.  I’d love to hear other experiences.

Thanks,

Young and overzealous<3