I am dying for productivity that makes me feel alive.
I am dying to be able to feel like I've accomplished something.
I am being suffocated by my own laziness.

Please don't mind what I'm trying to say,

 'cause I'm, I'm being honest.
-Cartel, "Honestly"

I just want to write. 

I want to take all of these shut doors and smash them in. 

Smash in the wooden panels and escape the claustrophobia of letting 

'everything happens for a reason' 

become my mantra.

Watch the fragments splinter and feel the rush-- 

of blood to my hand

as it begins to turn the vibrant pink of pain

of adrenaline

as my heart begins to beat out

a new frantic pace

of warmth 

as the light streams in

from the outside world. 

I want to take back the keys

To decide when the doors lock

and when they open

I want to crush out the rhythm

of voices telling me 

to let things happen

to escape the nagging

of my own subconscious

to do more

be more

I want to take all of these ridiculous words

and find something constructive for them.

I want to use my words 

to smash sense into the ignorance around me.

I want to understand the misguided intentions of selfish people

and selfish endeavors. 

I want to stop wanting

and to start being. 

Maybe Someday

Maybe someday
You’ll find it in your heart

To branch out
To reach out
To take the tendrils of your soul and embrace
The incongruity
In continuity
Of the human existence


Maybe someday
The ache you feel pulsating inside your chest
Will no longer be a painful reminder
Of the things that you missed
But instead

They will be the gateway
    Stairway
      Hidden hallway

To your innermost soul


Maybe someday
You will crack open your rib cage
And bare out your soul
Challenging
  Captivating
    Catastrophizing
Urging those who ogle
to turn the pages
Of your mangled soul
Rub their fingertips through the gouges
Left by harsh tongues
And even more dangerous silences


Maybe someday
You will allow your soul
To be painstakingly reworked
Carefully plundered
From the scrap bin in which you have banished
This burnished soul


Maybe someday
Maybe someone
Will carve their way
So deep into the crevasse
Between your sternum and spine

That where one of you begins
And the other one ends
Are no more than some dreamers
Lucid belief

Maybe someday
You will allow
Your soul to be exposed
To the exfoliating scrapes
Of true love
Whatever the fuck that is


And maybe someday
You’ll realize that every tumble and tarnish
Every chip and every crack
Was absolutely worth it
To unearth
Whatever
This is


Maybe someday

All that I'm after is a life full of laughter

The clarity is streaming through my veins with the ferocity of a lioness on the prowl. It's overwhelming when the cliche light bulb is lit and suddenly you see your surroundings in an entirely different way. All of a sudden, the light is showing me those hidden pieces, the trap doors that have been lurking in my adventure. Maybe the incessant listening of love songs isn't because I lack in having love, but maybe because I have so much. Maybe, the feeling of loss isn't about a boy, or any number of the sort but about girls. About the 50 girls this year, and the 50 girls last year, and the 50 girls next year.

I love this job. I love these people. I love the feelings that emanate from the building and the sense of home that envelopes me as I breathe in the stale air and the heart beats.  So maybe this 'loss' that is thrashing it's way in my subconscious isn't because I'm searching for someone to fill a void, but because I'm afraid of the void that may appear. That as this chapter of my life closes, I will lose these memories and these important, these so very important people, in my life.

I'm anxious about a void that isn't there.

I have so much to give, and so much love to share that there will never be a void. That someday, I will find another place that my heart fits perfectly, but only because my heart is outgrowing its surroundings.

Its time to move on. I know that. I know that this change will not kill, nor maim me. My heart has run rampant these past two years and maybe it's time for the course to change. Maybe something else needs my undying devotion, and love.

Maybe, it's time to love myself and let my life's adventure play out because I know that I have too much to offer to not share my love again. My time here has been so varied and colored that it's hard to imagine loving anything else, but it will happen. My best passion is my passion for life, and that is why I know it will all work out.

I am sad, and that's okay. In reality, all I am losing is a title. The rest of it? The relationships, the experiences, the undying passion and love -- that's all me.

So I'm losing an outlet to share it. That's okay. Like I said before, I'm going to be someone, do something.

I will grieve this loss but it will be because of love. A love for this world, this journey, and these people. These love songs remind me that there is life after love. Sometimes, it just comes in different forms than we expect.

I hope people read my blog, look at my Facebook or creep on my Twitter and just marvel at the incredible level of intelligence and resilience that I have.

I'm going to be something, do something. Shock the world and make it hurt.

Don't you forget that.

My room is becoming this real life representation of the channels of anxiety that are burrowing in my skull.

I'm done though. I'm taking it back. Starting today. Gone will be the clutter and useless dead weight. I am starting now, to refresh and renew.

I am enough.

I am more than enough.

I am spectacular in so many facets that it's hard for me to figure out where my path leads. As hard as that is for me to accept, due to need to control my game of life, I'm working on releasing my white knuckle grip.

It's a bit more time consuming than can be described and involves plenty of falters, and re-grasping of the safety of familiarity and routine. However, each time I work to let my control loosen and the easy flow of living life by the day instead of the fear it becomes easier. My knuckles are the bright pink of happiness for longer and longer. Every now and then a set back makes me grip tighter and longer than I have in awhile but that's normal. Everyone has their set backs as they attempt to grip onto what is safe and known. It just so happens I've spent my whole life gripping the safety bar.

So I'm done. I'm letting it go, at least for now. I'm going to focus on what I can control, and how I can continue on my path, whatever in the hell that means right now.

Starting now. My room will become a comforting space once again, and I will relinquish my hold on material objects. This summer, I will find my body again through the sun, the water and the pavement. This summer, I will use not only my intellectual brain but my creative one as well. I will take pictures daily, and I will smile often. I will spend hours wrist deep in dirt planting the flowers I love and getting scraped up playing tag with the dog. I'm taking myself back. I am recreating myself around the scars of anxiety.