Monday, November 24

231B

As I get older, I've come to realize that there are more and more forms that I have to fill out as I enter adulthood. There's also nothing wrong with that, as it is usually formality, and everything is pretty honest and exact. One necessity I can't over, as of recently, is the line on a form that asks for your home address. I'm pretty sure I'm overly philosophical and analytic on this one, but it makes for a good blog. Oxford Dictionaries defines home as, "The place where one lives permanently, especially as a member of a family or household." One day, I may formally write them a letter for the sole purpose of telling them that home is misdefined; I totally made up the word misdefined, so they can add that too. To me, no two persons have the same home. If I were Oxford, I would simply, and vaguely, define home as a safe haven. That way, they won't be wrong by any means. Homes are not broken as people describe them, they are achieve. Your geographical positioning doesn't always determine your home. Home isn't Ferguson, where you feel safest playing your race card. It doesn't have to be you against the world or the world against you. You're there when the world and you coexist. The world in you and you in the world is home. Home isn't your apartment of residence during transient milestones and career paths. Home isn't where the heart is; it's where the heart dwells. It may not even be where you sleep at night in your lover's arms. I've tried all of these thing and couldn't put down my "home address" as any of these. What does a form know about my home? In fact, I can't fit it all on lines with address, city and state with a zip code. Next time they ask me for my home address, I'll politely throw this verbose blog in there. Home is where you feel safest. It may be with a person or persons, or it may be without people with your guiltiest pleasure. Home can be where you sleep at night in lover's arms or your residence in all. Home is rarer than happiness now-a-days, as the two may be synonymous. I couldn't say where or what your home is or what mine is. I'm still looking for home. It maybe at the bottom of fine red wine or the sweetest feat. It may so be that I spend my whole life in search of home, not a house. You can inhabit all the houses and the world and not find anything remotely close to what is considered a safe haven. If you feel at home, most likely, you are at home, and the home you commonly refer to isn't home at all.  So, to all your forms out there, keep the phone number, age, date of birth, given name and social security number on there. Albeit, take off the home address requirement, because I couldn't and wouldn't be honest or exact with the amount of lines provided. Find your home and stay there, away from insecurities and oppression. Return there once and awhile, get acquainted and accustomed to staying there. That's all we can ever do. If you're an employee of Oxford and you're reading this, please change the definition. It's not working for me and probably 99% of the world.

Monday, October 27

Walls of Evasion

Let's mask the last post with this one, and forget it ever existed. Here's the newest finished one, not the newest per se. A finished draft. Here it goes:

They cut off the lights and turned us into strangers
placed us in a dark alley, an unfamiliar landscape
It's too cold and too damp for romanticism here
The road looks exhausted
I'll call for you, but these bricks only reverberate voices into distortion,
withdrawing prospect while implementing discomfort
You evade in fear while I journey in hope.
They say, "Fear is the best motivator."
So you run, I chase and you'll run
This alley holds more cruelties, even more casualties
Hearts that turned into stone for masonry only echoes my aches
I hope you find your sun-kissed silver-lining in this ominous place
My heart turns stagnant and my entity collapse
I'm reaching for you, as I always am, and
All I can think is, "Oh, where do you go young girl."

Thursday, October 16

Grow'n Up, Feeling Down

If you're looking for inspiration here, you won't find it today. I have this rule, you see, that says if I'm angry or sad, I'll wait a whole day before posting about my sentiments. I usually never follow through with posting. Today, that rule doesn't apply. Once in awhile, I hit these lows, these unbelievable, abysmally lows. However, I've decided to write about it as a vent, which I seldom do. I don't talk about my problems; I'm sure not alone on that one. Maybe I'm just overworked into these monotonous days on mundane Mondays, tiresome Tuesdays and wearisome Wednesdays. Never have I understood why adults cry so much. It's probably because of their inability to break routine, something I am currently experiencing. It was decided, by me, that being a provider/helper is my life's occupation. Majority of days, ups outweigh the downs. If I stay positive and create positivity among others, I'd say it's worth a couple downers. I cannot do it today. It isn't because I've failed my daily mission. It's that the product of my actions are not fruitful or deemed worth enough of my efforts. Tomorrow, I'm sure I'll feel different. The only person that can pick me up is myself. I wish it wasn't that way. I wish someone would give me a bottle of milk and I would stop whimpering. The bulk of my emotional distress probably stems from not being where I want in life. One number constantly reminds me of what I am not doing, and that number is 25. I'm 25, and I haven't done anything productive or successful, by my own measures. Sure a few nice gestures, good deeds and a college degree goes a long way. However, what have I contributed to the world? I just have not made it yet. I can point fingers about why that is and how that came to be, albeit what can I do about it. Right now, I'm paralyzed and confined by a lifestyle I didn't make for myself. My mind is free, but my routine is intact. Another year will go by, and I'll still be here. Maybe that's why I'm feeling this way. Maybe, just maybe. Enough for now. Sorry you had to endure this nonsensical, depressive post. Through all this darkness, I hope you stay beautiful considering I may see you.

Monday, September 1

Forever a Builder

It has come to my attention that I have only written once this whole year in here. So, I'm going to just spazz whatever comes to mind. Randomness at its greatness.

I am forever a builder
I build bridges to burn them
take the ashes to flourish fruitful flowers
like the dandelion is used to build wishes by blowing them
only to have more wishes for buildings
like how skyscrapers make skylines filled with rusted pipe dreams
with the right scenes you could shape reality
But in actuality the buildings don't stop, like city lights never mattered
Science says everything is matter, so I matter and you matter
I built fat, I built mass, so much I'm glad someone built belts, in fact, for my built ass
we build, we create, and what is not finished is passed on
meaning building is constant
You build your career, your education, your memories
only to pass away and pass on
till you make another passage in a book that doesn't stop
like the never-ending story
Chapters were built, and with that character/s
I even built hatred and let it build up
I am a boulder of a builder, an architect and carpenter to all
I've built walls to keep the unwanted out
I call them building blocks
Built paper planes Boeing wanted a mock-up
I've built desks from ikea, I've built messes and ideas
I've deconstructed the past to build the future
Later, I'll build a life, a family
until building finally becomes an infinitely, finessed feature at its finest

Thursday, February 20

Seven and Five

Hello World. Seems like I haven't been here in awhile. I've revisited unfinished blogs, which I talk about frequently, but still I'm inactive. December passed by and so did a New Year and not a blog to my name. As of late, I can't think of anything to write about. However, I'm feeling a little bit more appreciative tonight. I'm just going to ramble about random subjects so you can stop reading because I can assure you I will bore you. I'll number each subject so I don't get carries away. Seven is a good number, so I'll stop at seven. This is my seven subjects at 5 A.M.
  1. I very much appreciate the people in my life. I find it odd that sometimes I want to shout out "Hey bro/sis/friend/family you know I love you!" Somewhere in time I became less expressive and the only gesture I can accumulate is the words, "I love you." Thinking about it often, but saying it less often hurts. It's odd you know just to out and say it without reason or validation. Also, I don't want to exhaust the times I say it causing my loved ones to be deafened by it.
  2. I take pictures for granted. Nights like these come from old Facebook pictures. I regret deactivating it so sporadically because there are pictures out there that I'm not tagged in. In term, that's another memory that is harder to recollect. I need more pictures yo.
  3. I'm a runner, physically and emotionally. I run away from problems just as swiftly as I can run a mile, without fatigue. Not wanting to elaborate on this subject, I'll leave it as just that.
  4. In a sense, I don't want to go back to school in fear that I'll lose another 4 years of my life to something so trivial without my family and friends.
  5. I wish I contacted my friends more. I let them fall off the wagon and have become that friend that you have to go to first. I hate those friend, hypocritically. We don't have to talk every day or once a week, but catching up annually isn't my example of holding a friendship. Becoming passive is killing me. They mean to much to me to agreed with "Life happens."
  6. I've realized recently that I no longer have to look over my shoulder. The drama is over, the fighting is over and hopefully the grudges will be over. Feels good to enjoy life as it comes. I now disgusted at that part of my life.
  7. I want to shout out several people without isolating others. There are names I could list off top right now to say thank you, but I won't. Moreover, this number 7 isn't about already repeating what I've been saying, but that I'm scared to write. I'm afraid because what I write may hurt someone, under their assumption. I believe one of my earlier blogs, I said that I'll keep it indirect. There are so many reader I do and don't know about here that one thing I may write about one person may affect more than one person the same way. Bear with me.