Parochialism is the bane of my existence.
Disney Downtown 2014 - Lake Buena Vista, FL.
a girl once laughed when I mentioned the word “love”
and when I asked why, she said that the word was obsolete.
is that what our culture has come to?
disenfranchising what we claim to hold so dear?
we are laying “obsolete” terminology that once defined a person to rest
and putting human sentiments to the ultimate test.
there are no right or wrong answers on this exam
for fidelity is moral
but cheating is immortal.
and dishonesty is the way the game is played.
look around you—we call people “players” day-to-day.
they play the game of love
where the goal is to sleep in as many different beds as possible;
the objective is to know the person’s body—not their heart.
and that, my friends, is the mentality that tears our world apart.
if love is obsolete, does love still exist?
when two people claim they’re in “love,”
do they really just coexist?
I don’t understand how society lost the shine in its eyes
or the hope in its heart.
it must have forgotten that there is spring after snow
and light after night.
for there is more than just human coexistence
existing only to briefly acknowledge each other’s presence.
love in all its levels holds people together through light and darkness,
where everything is nothing
nothing is everything
and all humans are something.
in other words, love is not obsolete.
taken advantage of, manipulated, misused maybe
but everything has good and bad.
love holds people close and keeps them warm
like summer bonfires we know all too well.
my heart is my compass in the day
and love is my light in the darkness.
Does beauty lie in knowing or not knowing all of the little pieces that holds something together?
I’ve realized that I’m always tired.
Not because I’m sleepy,
But because I’m tired of feeling numb.
Sleep weans away my struggles
And lets go of what I hold so dear.
For a fleeting moment, it’s liberating:
Free of chains, convictions, locks, and cruel predictions.
No longer who I am, but who I aspire to be
Because, to me, they are not always the same person.
As sleep swallows me whole and throws my worn armor aside,
The weight of the world is lifted off of my shoulders.
My scabbard & shield start to rust on the floor,
No longer fighting with the world.
Peace prevails through my mind and heart,
And I wake up briefly only to sleep a little more.
over-analysis is mental paralysis.
since when have I been like this?
darkness and doubt infuse with my thoughts,
reducing life to a monochrome color-scale of denial to desperation;
preoccupation to paranoia;
stripping me of hopes for elation.
my mind plays tricks on me, you see.
it claims I’m not alone
when in fact I feel rather lonely.
I watch as my life and friends unfold,
molding into unique origami figures that bend this way and that:
pointing in directions because they know where they’re going and what they’ve been
but I remain a flat piece of paper praying to be something I’m not;
trying to trick myself in being satisfied with what I’ve got.
a flat piece of paper has so much potential
to be a crane, a flower, a hat;
so what is stopping me from making such an impact?
left unfolded and untouched
I long for company
hoping, hoping, hoping
that someone will come along who can see potential in me
and will push me on the edge to create something more than myself
I may not be the brightest or the best
but I’m willing to trust you with my heart,
unlike the rest.
you see color in my monochrome world
and hear music where silence is prevalent.
almost as though to you obstacles are but irrelevant.
so take my hand as I take yours
and we’ll guide ourselves along the rocky shore
upon which temptation tries to stab our toes.
but if there is anything I learned
from the darkness I’ve left behind
it is that you saved me
by taking me along with you;
your hand in mine.
so thank you for being the light that vanquished the darkness in my heart;
for stopping me when I wanted to tear myself apart.
thank you for teaching me to see hope where I once saw despair
and showing me that life is worth living, though it’s true that it isn’t fair.
but you taught me that life isn’t always about playing by the rules;
that you have to bend them to have a little fun,
so life might be unjust with consequences unfair
but take me by the hands—one by one—
and, like paper planes, we can fly
a n y w h e r e.