fallacy

There’s a strange kind of fallacy,
about my sense of inadequacy,
that I have so much love
that I’d give away happily,
to everyone that I know,
until there’s none left,
But for some reason I struggle,
to give that love to myself.

It’s a bittersweet truth
we don’t want to have spoken,
like fears over promises
we risk having broken,
So we fold in our corners
to avoid being hurt,
and rely too much on others
to define our own worth.

We make ourselves sick
with insecurities and stress,
forget things about ourselves
we used to like best.
Losing sleep over questions
that we don’t have the answers,
like “Who are you really?”
and “What are you after?”

Drown in uncertainty
under the weight of decisions,
convinced that by choosing
there’s something else that we’re missing.
But you are more than the fears
that you see in the mirror,
you are a vision of love
that will start to get clearer.

Trusting your heart is at once never easy,
when we constantly struggle
to define our meaning,
But believe in the universe,
in its power and grace,
trust that your pieces will all fall into place.

Be at peace with the things
you thought would not change,
remove all your shadows
so only light will remain.
Our pasts do not own us,
we are not our mistakes,
All that matters
is who we choose to be today.

 

A poem from Kathmandu

You made me remember the taste of lonely.
Empty coffee cups and stale cigarettes.
Silence heavy and sighs solemn;
We were made of moonlit midnight moments,
pinkies intertwined in uneven cobblestone alleyways.
I’d never wanted forever before you.
But now you’re just a blurry afternoon daydream,
forgotten with the rest of them;
as the sun begins to set —
I lay to rest lost lovers like one ashes out a cigarette.

The real price of freedom

It is strangely fascinating
how much freedom we barter away
for the sake of
comfort and convenience
how easily we count up currencies
yet the conversion we care least about
is the cost of time

You are not your habits
or your attachments
your shiny objects
your wants
or your fears

I spent so much time
boxing myself into
an idea
of who I thought I was
and now here I am
trading in 8 years
worth of blackened lungs
for a breath of fresh air

When you actively decide
to change yourself
you realize that everyday of your life
is a choice
there is so much power
in the time you take back
to do what you really want
to be someone different
than who you were yesterday

 

I never thought I’d be writing about this for people to read, but it struck me as one of the few things I might actually write that would benefit someone reaching a similar crossroads. 17 days ago I smoked my last cigarette, and I believe it is the longest I’ve gone without one in, give or take, the last 8 years. For anyone that knows me, my relationship with tobacco is my longest and most committed. Hell, I obviously love them so much I included them in the title of my poetry book. Cigarettes were not just a “bad habit” for me, there was something ritualistic about it that I always loved — the moments I took for myself to be alone, to think, and to usually write. And no, I was never not aware of the health risks — people do worse things to themselves everyday — and I do believe we have the autonomy to make our own choices over our bodies.

But recent circumstances have reinforced the one thing I thought I knew all along: that it doesn’t matter how much money you have or how accomplished you are, if you don’t have your health, you literally have nothing. So no, this isn’t a New Years resolution or some patronizing PSA, though I’m sorry if it sounds like one. What I mean to bring attention to, is the concept of choice.

Making a commitment to lose weight or eat better or not smoke — and in an even more meaningful sense, when we make commitments to make more art, to be more outspoken, to get more in touch with ourselves — it is not about the actual intention you are setting forth, as much as the power of making that choice in the moment. Discipline isn’t about being hard on yourself, but realizing that as the creator of your own reality, we are actively choosing what we do, every moment of our lives. “Depriving” yourself of something you think you need, or something that has come to define an aspect of your life, is not easy. However, it is more feasible than we sometimes allow ourselves to believe.

On that note, I am actively interested in healing my relationship with tobacco, by educating myself on the history of it amongst indigenous peoples as plant medicine. Rather than abuse it, I would like to incorporate it into my life as a form of sacred cleansing and ritual. For friends who have information or contacts about this kind of practice, please forward whatever you can my way. As always, if you got this far, thanks for reading.

The songs we sing

Wash the sickness from your skin,
in order to be born again,
You are made from mother Earth’s design
the same way stars burst to align
in perfect shapes across the sky
to travel light years to your eyes,
“Don’t forget who you have been,”
Speak the words til they sink in,
Each memory will start to spin,
We count them up like childhood sins,
You let the waves wash you ashore,
Someone different than you were before,
Returned to paths you left behind,
when you left home to try and find,
Some hidden truth buried inside,
when it was all right there, within your mind.
So feed for now your raging fires,
to discover what the soul desires,
You’re made from dust and ocean tears
may the salty waves erase your fears
You came here now bereft of love,
maybe feeling like you weren’t enough
but here you are, a perfect pattern,
connect the dots to find your answers,
Become what you were meant to be,
a chord that joined a melody,
creating joyous symphony
the song that you were meant to sing.

erosion

It is time you stop cutting yourself down,
Carving off your wilder edges just so you can fit into spaces,
That misshape the contours of your figure,
Embrace all the parts of yourself,
You are still learning how to love,
You are both the entirety of the ocean,
And the quiet wave lapping upon the shore,
Both the pebble made smooth over a millennia,
And the vast swells carving statues of their likeness,
Along the rock faces of cliffs
For far longer
Than you can even begin to remember.

the runaway

Swell me up like a wave,
Stir me up like a storm,
Leave me as something that I wasn’t before.
I have grown into a woman,
With the heart of a child,
In love with the world,
Fierce, fragile and wild.
I hear my voice echo out,
Screaming in the abyss,
Still searching for answers,
I’m not sure even exist,
Juvenile ponderings of a restless young soul,
Constantly looking for new places to go,
I don’t have any place that I really call home,
Besides the fire in my blood,
And the marrow of my bones,
So I will write the same words til they lose all their meaning,
Speak them out loud until I’m hard of hearing,
Drink all my coffee, breath out smoke from my lungs,
Try to sing songs, I haven’t already sung,
Take off for the horizon, like a bullet from a gun,
& tell myself that I’ll leave when it stops being fun.