Astroturf & the Sky

Sleep on AstroTurf in the dead of night with your two best friends
one with the hiccups
one drunk
one laughing her ass off each time the boy hiccups.

Be 27
but also 6 years old

Escape reality because your time together makes the world stop

The stars pepper the sky looking down at you from their vantage point
smiling and shining at your pure joy in each other’s company

A lot of innocence slip away as we enter our late twenties
but when you’re laying uninhibited staring into the night
A piece of your innocence revisits
bringing fondest memories of forgotten friendship and youth.

 

 

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The heart, the mind, and the soul

Time passes and I’m completely unsure now at this point what I want.

The head convinces me I haven’t matured,

Girls just want to have fun

The heart yearns for a meaningful companionship.

It’s time to open yourself up 

The war between the two is at a standstill however eventually one stronghold should have bent to the other.

But, whom is deemed victorious?

The head proclaims out of silence, “Patience child. The time will come and enlightenment will arrive.”

Then the heart steps forward and pleads, “Dearest one, understand prospects will show but what if he’s been here the whole time? Why not give it a chance? How many prospects will pass by before you realize you’re now bewildered by options that only confound what is actually right?”

Soul eventually breaks the dichotomy.

It says it’s piece and vanishes back in search.

What the fuck are you holding out for?

 

 

I grew up ugly & stupid

His friends used to call me ugly.

She kept telling me I was too dumb.

Their extended family would mistake me for a boy because I didn’t have feminine enough features.

Her coworkers would snicker because they felt their kids were smarter and more cunning.

I grew being told I was ugly.

I grew up being told I was stupid.

She used to make me feel worthless. She used to yell at me like I ruined her life. She would say all my friends manipulate me because I’m too nice and dumb to notice.

I had a childhood friend growing up. Let’s call her Tilly. Tilly was always smarter because she was one year older. But Mother would tell me everyday that I’ll never amount to Tilly.

“Tilly is going places.” She’d say. “I bet she’ll end up at a better college than you.”

“Tilly is stronger.”

“Tilly wins at all these games you play because you’re too stupid to anticipate her moves.”

It wasn’t easy being told I wasn’t pretty for a girl.

It wasn’t easy having a mother resent me for being stupid.

But as I sit here two decades later looking at the place I bought for myself close to the Cali beach. I wonder, is this enough to prove to my mother I’m more than what she’d lost hope in?

Tilly now works in retail and still lives at home with her parents.

So, why do I still cry thinking about my upbringing? I can still hear every remark from her ricochet from my memory, cutting me like bullets from deep within.

Why does she hate me so much?

If I can’t even trust my mother to love me, how do I trust someone to enter my life without hurting me?

Am I still so broken?

There’s a reason I feel safe living alone. Isolated. Single.

No one can tell me I’m ugly or stupid. No words can hurt me here.

 

Is there truth behind my words?

If you stopped loving me, would you ever tell me?

Would you tell me as easily and boldly as the way you proclaimed you loved me?

Words are so easily spoken without action, we tend to use them for granted.

We swing between “never” & “always” on a pendulum without ever fully meaning both.

“I’ll never drink again,” says the girl hungover on a Sunday. But we all know she’ll grab a bottle the upcoming Friday surely after a long week at the office.

“I’ll always love you and cherish you,” says the lovesick boy on his wedding day. But a decade down the line, his eyes will wander as the candle he once held for his partner flickers and dies out.

We say so many things without conviction, it becomes hard to value the words we hear from others.

Where is the underlying truth? How do we learn to trust in a world where everything is accessible and nothing is valued anymore?

So before we dive into the next bold statement we carelessly spew, think:

“Will I ever so freely speak the opposite once I stop feeling this way?”

“Will I so openly tell her I’m over her, just as quickly I’ve promised I’ll love her?”

What’s pride worth if we all lose

I lie awake unable to sleep
head and heart thrown asunder
losing my mind thinking about you
this isnt love I tell myself.
this is defeat.
it’s not a battle for affection
but a game of cat and mouse

The worst part is, my heart’s pleading to spare you
yet my head is chanting conquer
so which do I feed?
one on it’s knees…
or the one shouting to break free…?

You’ve seen enough pain.
I promised myself not to hurt you.
I don’t want you.
I just want victory.
so I keep playing.

At night I lose sleep.
plotting and fabricating.
your move,
then mine.

We’re in an infinite loop.
eventually, my pride wins.
I withhold from telling you how much I care
So you leave without opening up your feelings
both our egos walk way feeling triumphant.
but somehow we both lose.

Loving you is like opening a fridge door

I open the refrigerator door knowing there’s nothing good inside save for leftovers and uncooked groceries.

10 minutes go by and I find myself insatiable for something delicious. So I open the refrigerator door once more hoping there’s something worth eating yet knowing it’s the same as I left it the last time I opened it.

Being with you makes me feel like this damned fridge with nothing good inside. I’m hopeful that each time I open it, something will change, but nothing ever does. I can’t seem to learn and go back for more each time.

I tell myself it’s not worth it. I’ll just leave feeling frustrated and disappointed each time. But like an old habit, I’ll open that door again soon enough and see the emptiness of our relationship filled with rotten leftovers.

Alcohol Provokes not Numbs

why does our mind stray to the insecurities

the pain

the suffering

when we’re uninhibited.

“uninhibited”

what does it mean anyway? each time we learn and we know we’ll drift back to these upsetting thoughts and yet still we sip, drink and spiral to where we are once again.

contemplating what makes us happy then in self realization wondering if we ARE happy…

we know alcohol does this yet we sip, drink and spiral back to this place.

sip

chug

and next thing we know, here we are again hugging our insecurities, lying with our pain and spiraling down a path of misery.

Waiting Room

The room that gives & takes
With reflective floors sterilized clean

Worry penetrates the air
Anxiety drilled into the seats

In here, you see colorful magazines and dulled faces
In there, you fear the worst and wish for the best

These walls have collected decades of tears, screams, and prayers.
These doors have welcomed life and stripped away hope.

I can’t help but eavesdrop each time a doctor visits our area.
I can’t help but look away, promising myself to make no eye contact with anyone.

Nothing works.
Reading, playing games, watching TV.
My mind only strays and wanders.

The doctor will be here shortly
and the walls will eagerly wait to collect.

Destined to be the other woman

I was in the winter of my life, and the men I met along the road were my only summer.
At night I fell asleep with visions of myself, dancing and laughing and crying with them.
Three years down the line of being on an endless world tour, and my memories of them were the only things that sustained me, and my only real happy times.
I was a singer. Not a very popular one,
I once had dreams of becoming a beautiful poet, but upon an unfortunate series of events saw those dreams dashed and divided like a million stars in the night sky that I wished on over and over again, sparkling and broken.
But I didn’t really mind because I knew that it takes getting everything you ever wanted, and then losing it to know what true freedom is.
When the people I used to know found out what I had been doing, how I’d been living, they asked me “Why?”, but there’s no use in talking to people who have home.
They have no idea what it’s like to seek safety in other people, for home to be wherever you lay your head.
I was always an unusual girl.
My mother told me I had a chameleon soul, no moral compass pointing due north, no fixed personality; just an inner indecisiveness that was as wide and as wavering as the ocean…
And if I said I didn’t plan for it to turn out this way I’d be lying…
Because I was born to be the other woman.
Who belonged to no one, who belonged to everyone.
Who had nothing, who wanted everything, with a fire for every experience and an obsession for freedom that terrified me to the point that I couldn’t even talk about it, and pushed me to a nomadic point of madness that both dazzled and dizzied me.

Lana Del Rey.

Ride

What if I’m destined to be the other woman? It breaks me to even have to question this but for the longest time I’ve asked myself why. Why is it that I’m not with him? Picking up groceries holding hands, planning long lead vacations on a crisp Sunday morning, and even sitting down each night with the same person breaking bread? I don’t mean that I’m the other woman to a man who’s married or even in another relationship. I just mean that I’m not the woman he spends his life with. I’m the phase. I’m the adventure until he wants steady.

It’s like I’m fucking diseased with a big fat scarlet letter slapped across my forehead that I’m not perceived as someone good enough. Someone that’s priority. Someone that he sees valuable enough to dedicated a meaningful friendship. Aside from my name, does he even know how I like my coffee? Or which way I always turn to sleep?

I don’t belong to anyone which made me belong to everyone.

Drink after drink, mistake after mistake. I reflect on the patterns and see nothing’s ever right. Bad decisions follow me like the plague, and I ride each of those waves only for a momentary gratification. The high from an addiction, telling myself I’ll be good after this one last hit.

Morning comes and he’s still in my bed; sleeping away without a care in the universe. He wakes up, holds me for a minute and walks out the door with his things.

The text doesn’t come for a few weeks, but then one night when I think I’m back on my routine, my phone beeps and I’m back here again asking myself why.

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