Realization: Philosophy of Communication

Realization:

Comes when a person has reached their limit. In anything they have been wishing to change, due to stress or discomfort. A common issue I have seen in the area I live in specifically is that- it’s people that are the root cause of many issues and struggles. I am a prime example as well. My most recent example would be my last relationship. For two years I struggled to come to the realization that the one component that was causing me the most grief, needed to be cut. But infatuation and manipulation are two powerful things. I was blinded by both. Also at the time, I thought I deserved what I was getting served due to my abuse. But that is a victim mentality I know longer believe in.

We all have to come to a realization in order to change our personal nations. No one on this planet knows us as well as we do. If we make it a priority. I used to have people that knew me better than I did because it is easier to be taken under someones wing, rather than spreading our own. But how do we achieve full control if we do this constantly? We don’t.

A lot of people have problems or a fear of change. Which is something I have always embraced. Anything new I have always been excited for. I mean why not? I do understand that some people are the most comfortable in their bubbles and schedules. But I wonder, even for them, if it ever gets boring. It must. A key to happiness is to have variation in one’s life. Without it, we know what to expect- and that’s never fun. I am one who encourages challenges and new relationships. Flux is a constant and natural state of our lives out and in our control and liking. I will never understand the beings who insist on never changing or trying. How are we or they supposed to learn anything new? They don’t. When we can expect how a day will go- it is not an exciting time. For someone of us I realize there may be limited options to changing things materialistically. Okay, well fuck materials, what about the mental? We have the absolute power in our brains on how we want to feel and act. I don’t even believe that mental disorders are set backs anymore- though they are challenging and make daily life harder- they are still no excuse as to why one shouldn’t embrace change.

From my view: I have been through more abuse, in such a short amount of time- than anyone should even think of in their life time. So when I see people struggling with things that just include a change of mentality, its hard for me not to be stern. For I know what its like to be on the floor bleeding out, wondering and hoping if I would wake up as me, or an angel. I am an inspiration for a reason. I have fire to inspire. My words are meant to for my readers to close their laptops and feel stronger. Want to live a little longer. For I couldn’t imagine my life if I never struggled. To be honest, if one does not find inspiration or motivation through their struggles- that meant they didn’t truly struggle. For I believe in every human, we are smart enough to learn from our pain. But some beings bask in their fountains of agony.

Realize the lies you are telling yourself and the things you aren’t taking chance on. For how we are supposed to make new memories, stories or lessons without taking a chance?

Message to Survivors;

I’m tired of being censored.

I know all my loved ones are so concerned,

But haven’t you all learned?

I need normalcy- I yearn for it.

My trauma drama is getting real old,

And I have been told,

That I’m getting too old to be scared of;

Showers,

Certain hours,

Monsters dark powers.

I turn my trauma into a beautiful garden of flowers.

Notice this,

All this pain,

Took so long to tame,

To match all the names to the dark games that I got bored of-

Because being used gets really fucking lame.

So I ask you; don’t turn off that song because it took me so long to actually get those memories to be gone.

I’m twenty-one and woman enough,

Tough enough to make it through this rough,

To speak up for myself.

This shit you don’t understand,

And to be honest, I don’t know if anyone can.

That includes me.

The dark faces I used to see are no longer aloud to swim my sea.

Dear Monsters,

Though I’m going to be a doctor,

Don’t expect me to fix you,

Because you all tossed me in a stew.

And I fucking flew.

Now I’m losing the memories of you.

I hope it makes you shake that I no longer wake,

In the middle of the night screaming your name.

You play games.

Have you ever met anyone who has beat your boss level?

I didn’t feel as though I deserved to settle.

I can’t tell anyone of you apart.

I hope you fiend for my touch,

Because I know it’s such a rush.

But now I crush you.

In my beautiful words,

Worlds.

All created by my right hand,

In a new written out land,

Where no hands have ever stricken me.

You said you liked me.

Mother fucker you were thirsty for innocence,

You make Pennywise not want to throw in his two cents.

Don’t take it personally when I don’t pick up my phone,

Because it comes down to me not giving a fuck- really.

My current role just feels so right,

The connections I have made without you are so tight.

I am light.

No here’s the “damaged”,

“broken-hearted-”

SURVIVORS.

We are the revolution who can come up with a solution to make sure,

No more monsters drown innocent children in their poison ocean.

You just have to shine,

Get back to what makes you prime.

This takes patience and time.

And most important of all- your mind.

I used to wake up every night in terror from the nights I used to be trapped in a demon’s lair.

Pulling at my hair,

Wishing he would take all of my air—-

I looked at his eyes, multiple times,

“HAHAHA, I’m not scared”.

Breathe.

SCREAM.

Find yourself then go get a supportive team to lean,

Instead of turning to white powder that gives you twenty minutes of temporary power.

Don’t spend time regretting all of those lost hours.

You’ll never come out of that ivory tower.

Listen;

This isn’t the answer to this,

But I believe that my words are as powerful as Athena’s kiss.

Here are some tips;

When you feel your PTSD seams start to rip,

Don’t chase a drip,

Find yourself a mental whip and put that itch back to bed.

My abuse comes with a bottle of booze,

All because some idiot thought he could choose me,

Use me,

And chew me.

Watch why I fly so.

Free.

Philosophy Of Communication: Part one, Chapter one

Today I drove into the morning sun rise. And was completely taken by surprise. When my soul soaked up the premature rays that were so eager to appear first over the horizon. My soul felt as though she was being regenerated.

Today I also realized how comfort and patterns are connected in addiction; both good and bad.

I live differently compared to most twenty-one-year old’s. Don’t get me wrong, I still have many of the same interests and influences around me. But one of the differences that makes my mentality stand out from the my generation’s status quo; is the fact that I realized that we are all present in all of our events, processes and CHOICES. In the peak of a bad choice, we are present, but not fully aware. Granted everything is circumstantial in this life and I recognize that. But lets take a party for our example setting; and at this party walks in John Doe who has never tasted snow, and wants to play. He was raised under the influence that all drugs are bad. But John is at a party, surrounded by his friends who he all knows and trusts. And if they’re all doing it, will one time really hurt?

And John Doe, became John Snow.

With the new name change from Doe to Snow; John develops an addiction. Addictions are patterns of fun, comfort and then survival. Fun, in the beginning. When the drug is still so new to your system, you snort up every euphoria that is promised to always follow after each line. John is present physically for his every day choices, that eventually do evolve from fun to survival. Making sure there’s enough money in the bank to re-up, or at least hoping there will be enough left over from last nights run to get him through his day. John Snow is not fully mentally present in his choices; he hasn’t reached Realization.

Not all patterns and sought out comforts are bad. This is where Aristotle’s ethics and personal favorite quote of mine come into play: “Moderation in everything, including moderation”. The negative and positive number line for what can be classified as a good or bad pattern; is as apparent as night and day.
Negative patterns are tightly intertwined with addiction, as well as a considerable amount of mental disorders and impairments. While I do believe that experimentation and curiosity are completely normal and should be practiced in safe environments as well as good mental places- the gamble of John Snow getting caught in the comfort of his pattern vs challenging his inner self. As he lies awake night after night. In physical and mental agony from the come down of his choices; lets hope he realizes his choices before it is too late. Positive patterns in life are as followed; Set schedule, closest thing to a “normal life” as one can achieve (think American Dream), healthy diet and so on.

A life of no trauma, is a rare commodity in this world. The world is truly in a constant state of flux. And as players in this world, game of life. Change is within us. Where did the humanity make a point for change to be something that is so feared?

First Step: Realization

This is this is most important step in the process of change. It is the hardest, because no one else can do it for you.

More later.

No Name Street

Everyone is fighting their own demons,

And when they all collaborate and lean in-

It makes anyone want to quit.

I’ve been full of whit- never only had half of it.

That crimson tasting sinful poison lures you into my petals-

And

Thorns.

I tried to warn you I was torn out and worn.

Darling I promise you I don’t act like a drone,

When I moan,

It’s as fluctuating as the moons phases that are written in the stars to be

Forever changing.

Our physical fatality is more than I can breathe.

I have shed and shredded so many worn out,

Texts, phrases and passages,

And not because you told me too,

Just like you, the people who I drive to are ones who I respect for their life intellect,

That I might at the moment neglect because one of those old phases was,

“My words in a constant wreck”.

But I’d rather live correct than a mother fucking beautiful wreck.

Sweetheart,

All my bad habits were and are temporary bad phases.

But I always remember,

With or without you,

My soul is not only excited,

It’s ignited,

By my independent lighted, delighted dreams that are so high they pass Ms. Aphrodite.

My demons are in an over stuff closest,

That represents all the stuff that layers my house- that’s just lost.

I hardly raise my voice, never even raise a hand to try and stand against you.

Don’t you get that basic math is; one, one- two?

I fight myself not to close myself out from humanity.

Oh,

But here shes goes on another probably already told tragedy-

She doesn’t want to sound like a broken record; but her mind just goes through changing processes to cling to some sort of closure.

I know your affection is not charity,

But handsome used to bring me so much clarity.

The Four Headless Horsemen

F U C K Y O U;

For blocking me from the door; locking my mind making me want to hit the floor.

I want time,

To write,

And recite,

No longer live in a god damn fucking fright.

You know for me how hard that is, right?

Even pen and paper can make fear.

Lately, I’ve made it rare that I shed any tears.

Because I have learned through the years- don’t waste them on monsters that call themselves “men”.

While you all burn in hell, I’ll rise to heaven.

So many years being tasted by empty faces, that make sure to burn out their finger traces.

But the great thing of amnesia is they all become unfamiliar places and faces.

I hope I’m your biggest headache,

Biggest regret.

I know out of all of you I was the only one who had to reset her world.

I’ve been over being beaten,

That’s why I once stopped eating.

Neglect is one hell of a ghost that can haunt a woman to insanity.

But I later found clarity, once I stopped being so angry.

After I let myself be forgiven.

I dream of you begging for my mercy.

But if you all haven’t figured out by now-

Fuck or traumatize a writer

And she will write you and her feelings out because her legal rights can’t reach the appropriate heights.

We were so depressive,

Suppressive.

Just a cocaine cock that was an absolute mess.

But like all the rest,

I was the only one who was left to deal with the post-traumatic stress.

Shit.

I should have taken all of your whips.

And made you all strip.

Maybe hoping it would kick you all into reality, making you realize it was insanity when you said,

“This is okay”.

Assholes.

I never said I wanted to play.

You all were just salty when you couldn’t get laid.

I weighed so little, almost to nothing.

But you want to know something,

I’m stronger.

Wiser.

Self-mother fucking starter.

Three Keys From a Modern Philosophy King

Remember who you are:

Remember who you are.
Not always where you came from.
Because little do some know that the strongest souls are formed in broken homes.
Find a purpose and push through. There are days where my head feels as dry as the desert.
I’m a beautiful writer, this is what brings me pleasure.
Pounding my fingers on a keyboard; breaking records for how fast I can make a masterpiece and at the fastest pace.
I have been told I am rare; souly, biologically, genetically;
Technically I come from two families; that all do love me.
But at the end of the day, it matters most that I see myself grow from a little seed, into the tallest redwood tree the world has ever seen.
I want to grow in evergreen reality; not in traumatic tendencies and drug-induced fantasies.
I enjoy seeing clearly.
I crave more knowledge, life- so eagerly.
My eyes are no longer hazy, and have never been lazy.
Because believe me, even when I was my own worst enemy- I never let the drugs, abuse or treason get the best of me.
For why would I want to have my life be swept away by a paper man; they fall so easily at the truth.
Halsey sang to me, “And you know the truth hurts, but secrets kill”.
I’m no longer for sorry you not wanting to- what was the word again?
Oh,
DEAL.
With me. Then without me.
I am no one’s god damn key- you have to have a soul and the strength to be able to see.
People confide in me about confidence, and ask how I make mine fit- just like my favorite pants.
I tell my loved ones,
“It’s like a trance”.
A dance that can not be taught in class.
Think of life as a mass.
How do we pass through the messes?
We make them into lessons.
For how can one go through life without taking a risk.
Borrow my eyes; here is another one of legendary Philosophies;
Every choice,
Step,
Action;
Is us taking a chance.
There are variations of situations and so many possible destinations-
But I have one.
Because at the end of the day you want to close your eyes- like me,
Knowing you have won.
Knowing you didn’t run.
Here’s an example for you simple minds to handle;
How do find our favorite anything?
Like that shop where I found my favorite ring.
Though this is a lesser example in the vast complication that is humanity; and the game we all play called,
“Life”,
I believe I was put on this planet to help make it so we can all live with a little-
No,
A lot less strife.
Living under a knife is anything but nice-
So for fuck sake get rid of those bothersome problems and anxious thoughts that are almost as itchy as lice.
Is when we realize- not always once, sometimes twice-
That living to be nice should be a priority.
Don’t be like the current and upcoming majority,
Say to yourself, “There is more in me”.
Some that don’t grow, ended up slumped and stuck,
Thinking and being used-
Like a garden hoe.
I can promise you that being caught in the negative under toe,
Is a lot stronger than any drugs that can be put up your nose.
And that dark under toe will leave you decomposed.
Now you know.
Don’t make a mistake to think that I am perfect,
Another rare trait of mine is that I know I am worth it.
Battered.
Rattled.
Beaten.
Stirred.
SHAKEN.
To awake a flame of a million suns,
That can either burn one so hard they with that December night that they had just run.
But I am in a constant state of fun;
Doing everything with a smile,
Makes life so much more worthwhile.
So I invite you to stay a while-
See that the this world of Philosophy is so worth it to me-
Floors made of diamond tile-
That never goes out of style,
Have you ever walked down an aisle,
Paved with rose petals?
This is why I no longer settle.
For;
Anyone,
Or thing.
Tossing that ring gave my drive a new spring.
Why do I have to called a Queen, when I so obviously hold the strength of a thousand kings.
Realizing that life can give you wings
Is a gift.
But life doesn’t just hand them over- you have to lift.
Your boundaries,
Spirit.
Body.
Mind.
Persona.
Be open to change because life is in a constant state of flux-
And maybe there are some of you that will say to this,
“Who really gives a fuck?”
And I smile and say,
With that mentality,
Good luck.

Undecided Title Love Poem

It’s happened,

I have fallen.

God fucking dammit,

I told myself no one deserves me to commit,

But then you went and spent all my bad dreams,

Turning them into the sweetest flavors of ice cream,

And the last time I was in your bed,

And I fought off those demons in my head.

But I will admit,

You lead me,

To a place above and beyond.

Infinite.

You love how well you fit,

Into me, on me, with me, beside me.

Baby boy just know that you are not the only one who is scared to trigger all this joy,

We were both used for sexual toys,

In a time in our lives that will be covered by my sweet honey vibes.

I love climbing,

Your body and mind.

You say I’m beautiful,

Darling,

Don’t you know how you startle me?

My soul was once an empty hole,

You had been used like a tool, I promise I don’t that shit to you, its so uncool.

Can you teach me how chemicals react?

Because I find myself wanting to be wrapped in you.

You feel me get stronger,

Maybe that’s how this lasted longer-

Than it was “supposed too”.

I never understood so much until I got to know your touch.

Your now my favorite rush,

Because we didn’t rush.

You told me to hush my rapid quick fire demons

And I was the one who decided that I no longer wanted to keep them.

I wonder one day if you’ll be him,

But I feel like I’m in a deep freeze swim, going out on such a fragile god damn limb if I asked you,

“Do you want to be him?”.

I always love being wrapped in your vines-

Because we agreed I’d never go back to running white lines,

Or telling white lies.

I believe this winter isn’t warmer because of global warming,

The heat of a thousand amber suns road into my life with no warning.

You still have me soaring over horizons.

Somebody’s son, look at all you have won.

Writer’s Curse

This Writers Curse,

Is as heavy as Hearse.

This writers shit is always on a quick shift,

It’s so god damn dangerous,

It lead me to be completely outrageous,

Raging all the memories that I was caging in hope that it would change me.

No.

A writer can erase their mind from all

The pain they feel inside.

And in time if that pain doesn’t get turned into an entry, talk or rhyme,

It caused me to once follow little white lines.

But that was 2016,

I’ve been done, I’ve been clean. Don’t fucking ream me a new one.

I told you, I’m done and have won.

I have to thank my supporting team for letting me lean on their shoulders,

So I could stop thinking about little white boulders.

Their wasted space and lost times.

But after last night,

I’m going back to quote I said I was nine, that I wish I had said to myself last year, but I was doing way to much yay at the time-

“I don’t ever want to drugs, I don’t want to lose control”.

Beautiful girl, put up your curls, the world is about to throw you on a full forward motion into a hellish ocean.

That was five years before I’d being crying tears of,

Fire.

I was his underage desire.

For I was convicted at fourteen to be made out to be nothing but a flower used for a thirty-two year old mans disgusting power-

And I can’t tell you the pain of the first hour when he first climbed on top of me to claim his power,

That first hot boiling shower-

That all ended up making me tower.

It ended without any wounds being mended.

Mentality addicted to chaos- I looked to every man as not a boyfriend but a boss.

I lived for the danger so I wanted to be its first ranger-

But I got tired of trying to find revenge in strangers.

A writers curse is both a blessing and a curse,

For I can write a verse in the middle of being so hurt;

I do it for me and my family who loves me so much, who has taken me to above and beyond.

This mass of energy is is something out of the world,

But I swear to you I’m fighting this battle with my hands and not a sword.

This is my world.

Let’s get out of my dark past,

Because look at where I am now, that traumatic bullshit never lasts,

It will always pass.

Beautiful girl who doesn’t let herself get called baby no more-

Because that name has scars beaten in.

Your life is at the touch up your fingertips- for the FINN.

Stop blaming yourself for all the treason-

NO REALLY STOP.

It wasn’t by no means yours, Dad’s, Matt’s or Mom’s fault that we all got written into his,

Twisted plot.

Dear Family who loves me endlessly,

I know sometimes I shout and scream-

Okay well maybe we all do on the daily,

But that’s because I want you all to see,

That I write these words carefully to help you three come to find,

That this happened to me and not you

And I know that sounds so selfish, but that just isn’t true.

Just trust that when I am not talking to you, I am writing for you, for me and for those who can’t find the light that I did to live,

Because in order to survive you have to give;

Your body,

Persona

and

Mind.

I know I am the prettiest when,

My smile shines the brightest-

And being a write-tress

is a blessing and curse,

that makes me

Shine.

“Though she is tiny, she is fierce”

The cocaine lines done on the outline of my soul are heavy

I’ve been screaming that I’m ready.

To take charge,

I’ve been living large,

Choosing to indulge in the natural highs of life.

Because no one tells you that the worst come downs are when lies are uncovered,

And I landed in reality.

That you really liked fucking her.

You wasted time,

No,

Spent time

Chasing a shinier god damn dime.

Who was as new and ripe

Like a freshly picked lime.

Mean while,

Your little lady was sniffing in her white house,

In that lose white blouse.

Little light clouds,

That aloud me to drown out all the crowds,

That no longer speak to me.

Because you had to go and smack me,

In attempt to try and remind me,

“How to act right.”

Fuck

Y O U.

I ducked you.

Ow.

Oh,

Wow.

What a surprise,

Another free written reprise about your demise.

I write this for really,

To bring honor to me and my family.

I swallowed my pain,

Was suffocated by your vain-

Just for myself.

You don’t deserve my love as he does.

I left you.

I’m an angel sent from the skies above-

You just had to go and shove me.

Devil in me-

We will never be we.

Don’t even dream about me.

I aspire to be your worst nightmare.

Because I still remember the pain

Of you,

Pulling on my January embers.

I made my own healing potions,

I use them to make my skin so soft like lotion.

And I let him soak it all in.

Because of you,

My mind was once a rouge ocean.

“Oh, son.”

Someone should have said to you,

“You don’t have to use your fists when a scared woman resists you grabbing at her tattooed wrists.”

Neglect is one hell of a knockout.

I look back at the girl who was once in a constant state of pout,

Thanks to those blackout lips,

Those bruised hips,

That Brown Eye’s lips,

kissed away.

And now I sway my hips to his touch.

Because you gripped me like a broken clutch.

I was never your stupid whore.

I grab my oar to swim away,

From all the hate.

And even if I’m late to my destiny,

I know that even though I am tiny,

That me leaving you,

Was the best thing done right,

By

ME.

Remember December?

Why must I feel as though I am sinking ships either for myself,
Or the disappointment of others.
I refuse to give up on me,
Because I’m doing this for all of the beautiful souls who never got the chance,
Little honey bees that were never able to fly,
They got stuck getting high.
I never really noticed until the seasons changed,
That I have a never-ending craving for freedom.
I’d rather live my own life than play by someone else’s rules.
My game is much more fun,
Because I am on a lifelong run
For knowledge-
I always say Philosophy saved me.
The shade of blue that has cast itself around my ora is one of the challenges, temptations
And trust.
I give myself the most credit for my self-edit-
It happened so quickly, didn’t it?
You cannot spell trust without us,
Do you remember that day we met in December?
Our lust turned
Stable.
Sanctuary turned into smiles in your sheets,
When she used to look so scared.
My rose garden dreams were almost stolen by thieves,
I nearly swept us away like autumn leaves.
Change is so strange, isn’t it darling?
Look all around me,
That progression is me-
Helped by we.
There was something in the wind that summer night,
It only caressed my face,
Until I faced it.
And it wasted the old me away.
Don’t deprive the world of your greatness,
I have just been so lucky to see it.

Little Lion Cub: Rewritten

Formally, I would like to point out that writing this piece; I kept my peace. Once upon a dark time in my life, I was one some nobody’s ‘cub’. And though I had long loved The Lion King before this toxic time, this movie became a strange and twisted theme to my life. But I had owned memories related to this movie; deeply rooted in my psyche.
My parents had this wooden chair. It’s red (green, but do I really even know?) Anyway, enjoy this. It is truly from one of the most purest and untainted times of my life.

 

Come with me,

to run free,

to Pride Rock.

I hear there are sapphire skies.

Fireflies replace street lights.

Hold onto me tight,

Can you feel the love in the air tonight?

Every queen usually has someone she leans on.

I don’t need a ring! I’m glad you can’t wait to be my king.

Everyone will look left,

Look right,

To see us standing in spotlight.

Lets hop right to Rafiki’s tree,

to remind us at last,

that we are not our past.

“Remember who you are”,

Young Nala, young Simba Cub.

And you’ll go so far across the stars.

Life is breezy and sweet like G-Eazy,

when all you gotta do is by,

Hakuna Matata.

It means no worries, for the rest of your days.

So stretch out your tails as slow as a snail.

In the warm African sun,

where wondering free is absolute fun.

Most importantly of all, remember to always give love,

To the Circle of Life.

Wandress State of Mind

Though I run till my breaks hurt
I have loved till I tasted dirt.
And all of the embodiment of a 4’11 squirt.
I have no reason to apologize for all of his lies.
Those caskets are dry to the bone and buried with his dull knives.
People come and go but I still stay me,
I still slay me.
In the control of myself,
I get to know the most of myself
Lately I have been posted by myself,
Blasting Post Malone is better than taking unwanted blows.

Sex used to be an excruciating vex.
But now it’s a spell from my body,
I do not just cast on any body.
My body is a temple.
An example,
Of how a woman should lick her own wounds
Instead of letting goons into her goddamn bedroom.
Dear Daddy’s princess,
Dear John Doe’s bae,
I have something to say.

Hey, try a new part of life,
That contains little to no strife.
Because it doesn’t involve trying to be someone’s wife.

Being twenty-one is so much fun.
And you only live it once;
So don’t be a fucking dunce;
And god damnit, why are you on his arm again,
The night after
He called you
A
C**t.
What?
Slow down.
Take your mentality to my town-
To the streets that are paved by a wandress.
Opportunity in any direction her eye can see.
So start exploring,
Honey bee.

Crowded Places

I know you want to go different places,
I know the way I tour around so freely is so romantic to you,
No set destination,
Just me, tapped into my destiny.
Who is this girl?
She’s so frantic.
She’s so clumsy.
She’s so crazy.
Hair of January embers,
Her red still shines in peeks of the darkest of lights and colors.
How?
Oh honey.
I wish I could take you to all these different places, but
You seem to be scared of my possible different faces.
And, I’ve been scared of crowded places.
And I swear I never meant to mess with your head,
I’m so sorry if I have made you sad-
But I’m so scared of crowded places.
Come with me, I’ll take you home.
You turn around and say to me,
What if this life is built for us to be “we?”
Wee lass, I have experienced to much loss in my life from reaching for that we,
Us.
Trust.
I’ve been scared of crowded places.
I know I’ve had to put two walls up for you to lean on,
For all the times I stood you up.
Darling,
I know you want to be in my spaces,
Just give me your patients.
For I can give you what you want-
I see the way you watch my eyes fall back as my smile grows outward.
I’ve just been scared of crowded places;
For my faces make me want to be waisted.
But sweets, I am already so tainted.
I know you waited,
So have I.

What will I do with you now?

Poems continued

See all this inspiration, love?
See all this ambition, love?
I flew from you, a broken dove
Bleeding dry from lack of love.
My darling Lucifer,
this if for you.
Your fur was made of scales,
that reflected each one of your
twisted tales.
And then when the princess became witness,
she came to the conclusion that his love to her was all an
i l l u s i o n.
Never to become reality; as she became ready to slay the commodity of her wild past.
So the princess slayed her dragon, gaining the strength,
to take on anything.
The rips in her gown were worse than the attempted blows to her iron heart.
For in her mind she knew he was poison;
and now she was finally
closing
in on a happy ending.
Built, written and slayed all by herself.
**************************************************
The sea of shadows is a place no person wants to swim.
Welcome to her head,
welcome to her hell.
Mesmerizing. Chastising. Glisten, Gleam and Glow.
Listen. How far will she go?
Can you hear her demons play on her dendrites?
Crystallizing a broken branch; attempting
pushing,
pulling,
perceiving for her perseverance to push to a different major.
When she just wants her natural gifts to be appreciated.
Shit.
Who is this kid?
Trying to kid herself she could be a science major just like her father, and supposed to be her brother,
but she is the genius prodigal daughter who was gifted a pen.
Who almost didn’t allow her to become who she is.
Eminem once sang it perfectly,
“…he goes home and barely knows his own daughter.”
Daddy, your girl is turning into a lady,
who needs to accomplish a few lists before she can come back and commit to comfortably sitting in your lap, like when I was little. Remember?
Mama,
My angel.
My angle for a majority of inspiration I put out into the world.
I never forget about you- even though the image of me is blurred like the pee in the carpet;
contribution to the cats as well.
I’m sorry it’s not better for you. And I wish it was.
But that involves bank.
That I will soon have after I submit one essay,
just wait a sec- hey.
Time to close that laptop now.
I’m sorry there is always at least one deadline I always seem to miss,
like how I was once a mistress,
to a mind so in distress,
he held me captive in his kiss.
But I remember better now that I stay away from white lines.
That every day is another day to woman the fuck up.
Beautiful girl don’t let anyone destroy your,
including you.
Cause you have a tract record of getting a head of yourself.
And that beaker boy,
who you see the sunrise in his eyes,
doesn’t belong to you.
But the disappointment in his when
when you visualize doing an activity from your past life,
is not worth it to me.
Though this sober celebration was started by me,
continued by me,
flourished by me,
the rose petals that reside on the my book-shelf remind me of the closest thing to red he and I can both see.

Breaking Her News

I make headlines
like bloodlines
bloody eyes,
bloody lies
bloody demise
I’m on my reprise; it should be no surprise
when I rise to make a point that this joint
has been worn out, has been blown out and sneezed away.

 

So sway to the rhythm of something new, and maybe you’ll get a clue to who you are currently and who you’ll evolve to; futurly.
Because truly we all have curiosity as to who that will be

 

Especially when it comes to me,
that sweet pea,
Don’t you know how bright you shine?

 

The emeralds in your eyes are worth more than the hope diamond,
worth more than all the demands in this damn world;
for we are all walking in our own hells.

 

I think I’m finally starting to like who I become.

 

For this is the start of my story,

 

which will one day make

 

history.

From an Existentialist

The Rhetoric or Lying

Lying. Being a liar. Telling a false truth. In hopes of gaining either an emotional or material benefit. Manipulation loves laying with liars. But it happens. We are humans with no set ethical way of life except for our interpretations and perceptions. As well as the help of our environments throughout one’s life.

But I seem to be stuck in a time where we were once playing this ‘lying game.’ And there are a select few of individuals who come to my mind, that still spit out tall toxic tales. I can quickly forgive my younger and more vulnerable self for the time that I was involved and even lead this sort of foolish lifestyle.


It. Always. Comes. Back. Around.

One just has to be brave enough to identify what their ‘come around’ is. Whether that be in karma; having the same or similar wrong-doing done to you, that you have once done to another.


But, do not feel bad.

This is how we; some learn.


In my opinion, it is the beings that hold the boldest and beautiful souls, so powerful. Sturdy enough that bravery takes over ego. Confidence left confided in cocaine baggies and careless outbursts with the people around me at one blurred time in my life. One has the right to get frustrated with an individual who possesses this sort of persona. For in most cases that I have seen, they do not change. For the longest time, I even believed my life would with away as my septum had started. Being brave is such a blessing. Blessings come from religion, in religion, there are Lucifer and God. It’s a balance of using such strength for the ethical good of one’s self. Or the selfish side. Though, I do not believe in god. This is the closest thing to a religious connection I will ever make.


It is a person’s choice to take anything they have experienced in their lives. And choose to either destroy it, learn from it and hopefully do better. One of the many tedious and insipid ‘facts of life.’ Don’t we all love those?

Many blame themselves if they are in case an of “taking someone back.” And yes, that someone is toxic for them. That awareness is somewhere, suppressed logic is a symptom of shitty relationships of any kind. Or damaged by trauma; those insipid facts go again.


There truly are so many ways to describe how to be an ethical person, but unless one can live a content life in following a rule sheet in how to be somebody, they should start believing in themselves that they are a good person. That’s how anything positive starts to sprout, in my opinion. Is just believing. It is the kryptonite to lying and causes for the opportunity of hope to shine in. The days where some I see still get distracted with dust and ashes. But some have claimed, and I once too- joint papers are sometimes the only things that seem to hold our joints together. For sometimes this crazy world makes us feel as though we are all flying away to a place of pure light, authentic life. Maturity is what the young people around me SAY they want most. But for some, there are complicated corridors created by young whores who tried to stand in the way of magnificent accomplishment. Even ‘adults’ think they have things stupidly under control.


Recognize the natural bodily high reward system of yesterdays or that one proud day’s accomplishments. But remember to manifest it to days such where we get a little distracted. For some.


Recognize the natural and honest intoxication that comes with the connection. Something as simple as the first warm sip of a hot beverage on the most mesmerizing fall day. When the air outside lingers the aroma of pine, freshly poured rain, and cleansed soil. I have read in some places the rain cleanses the soul as well. Whether that comes from a book, beaker, Beethoven- make sure you find it in yourself. Notice how I didn’t list finding it in another person. For there was a time that the pockets of my jeans from when I was nineteen, constantly remind me of when I ran into the arms of my “savior.”


Find your muse, reader.

Find your natural flow.


For how long do these drugs really last


Do we really want to live so fast?

Pennywise’s Dancing Clowns

How could it be that some get away with murder,
After I wasted 27 hours of being pocked and pried open
Do you know what its like to try and defecate after having an unwanted entity repeatedly shoved in and out of you? Back side.
These are the gritty details no survivor has had the balls the speak of.
As you grit your teeth, regretting eating that first meal since the event,
I couldn’t starve myself anymore. Even for me…
Clenching onto the closest thing to you, it sounded like I was being raped all over again in my bathroom.
This made me scared of food, doing the most natural human functions,
What the fuck?!
I still hear my fathers muffled tears through the door. He never left my side, and if I had let him come in,
He would have held his sixteen-year-old like she was six
And couldn’t go to the bathroom without Daddy holding her, or at least outside the door.
For fear of Pennywise appearing out from the floor.
But Pennywise later came to her,
In his different forms
Of three demons,
Shaped like men.
Each snarling, drooling, waiting to feed off her fear such as IT.
But Bev boasted herself from the book and through her bones
Looking the dancing clowns in the eye and said
“I’m not scared of you.”
January embers always save her day.

In awareness of the “#Me Too” trend,
Thank you, Alyssa Milano, for being the first to send out the inspiration outline for this trend.

Paper Chasers

One day, she thought: “you’ll be able to solve the theory.”

Can one live a life without slaving away at one piece of paper or stacks of another?

Let’s compare.

Manager or CEO

Barista

Or be the one they call in for “the big guns”

Ending up in customer service calculating a total;

Or that button down boy in the lab breaking his back over some goddamn beakers.

Where does it stop?

If ones does not evolve with the ethics of our unethical society;

They are deemed unworthy and more often than not, damned to the streets.

Homeless.

So I, we, turn to

Who?

 

We’re all just paper chasers at the end of the day.

Philosophies and Poetry

I’ve been accused of overdosing on confidence.
Never.
That girl used to sniff poison to her veins,
Now the chemicals that concoct all her congrats and credentials
Are thanks to her newest confidence confection
I drive to the empty parking lot of my
School
S * A * N* C * T * U *A*R*Y
To empty out all of my thoughts without pausing to the blaring of blasphemous bullshit on the box outside of my room- that never seems to turn off
Sanctuary;
A place I  skip too
Never to be scolded
For being something
*unwritten*
UNEXPECTED
People look at me like I’m crazy when I tell them of the miles I’ll drive. Destination, another chapter written. I am blessed that this is my gift. I believe being a writer is its subcategory of one having a wild soul.
There is no set definition, no fixed compass set for the due north.
Just a girl, with her pen and paper and passion.
I also know what it is like to have a gift take over vulnerable times; engulfing on weakness from one’s own mind or blows brought on by others. The spaces between my lines sang an album of sorrows; what was the POINT?
The point of writing about my poison, past, present, and future; moderately between good and bad.
For I believe the arche of life lies in the ability in one to balance, listen and learn. Do not be “the last word,” for it will never be remembered.
I see no point to hostility. I used too. I thought that by “roaring so loud” to the wrong collaboration of individuals; there is no one to blame EVERY TIME.
There are some cases that call for call backs.
There are others that cannot be mended; I say no blame,
For no human knows exactly the perception or thinking process of another.

You cannot blame; only explain.

Tattoo’d Meanings

Sinking

Seeping

Sweeping

Where do all of these things come from?

She is looking for a sign, to lead her in the right direction

Haunted by the successions of her brother

Of her dear old,

Father.

Mother swiftly lifting away

But can still admire her little sunray

Rinsing

Relaxing

Rising

Regrowth holds immaculate power that can pull any willing soul

She rinsed off her ripped skin,

Wounds heal.

Daddy’s little science girl- you should know that.

How those mediator cells react and interact to weave over a haunting memory.

Stupid girl- get your head into beakers and out of those books.

Relax. As she gets high off the smoke of her own flared ambitions. Her mind is like no other

She truly is fine, and she knows it

Rising to her own accomplishments

After almost being;

Repeatedly

Reported

Dead.

 

“She does not wear survivor on her arm for nothing”

She’s

A

Survivor

Staying

 

Strong

Mama’s House

There was a boy who lived in a house
Where the walls had holes that echoed opened wounds
That secrets and cement have paved over
This home raised a boy
Who turned himself into a man
But childhood is a parabolic shadow
That molds and metamorphoses
From boy to man
But though he wrote chased his fate in dreams
And turned into something magnificent
The scent of his mother’s wrongdoings disable his sense of smell- when it comes to finding someone with a gentle face and heart to match
Dear boy,
I empathize with you.
For I know what it is like to chase the environment comforts
That reminds us so much of childhood
Comfort
You should celebrate the fact that I am taking the time
To express the words
On this keyboard; contrasting our upbringings that have lead us to the young people we are today
But Dear….boy? Are you a man?
You have been controlled and conjured by the most horrific beings
But when something as sweet as cherry wine in the sunshine beamed down on your essence
Your pit turned raw

Headphones and Hell Nos

I just want to go home
Seems like everywhere I go
People have the same languages
Green smoke that turns eyes red
They all go off to ski in the powder room
Making love to Jack and Jamison
I swear that door slammed when it closed.
No, I don’t want another drink.
I just
Just want to be alone.
You know these days I stick with headphones and hell nos
To make sure I can drown out the white witch’s tempting urges
But you know these days
I choose to stick with headphones and hell nos
To keep my nose in tact and out of trouble
No I don’t want another drink,
Or what you think
I wish I could go home
But I’m still sticking with headphones
And all these “friends” of mine are leaving soon to go find another high
But I can’t go home,
Finding myself on another strange bed
People are blowing up my phone, asking where their party girl is
Guys, I’m sticking with hell nos and headphones
And they’re all leaving now, and I’ll be sitting in this strangers room
I wanted to be alone
Sticking with hell nos and headphones
Gives me the ability to get high off of empowering melodies and ballads
That my ballet slippers twirl and swirl to in the moonlight of my cherry wood floors
I was never that great at skiing anyways

For My Dream Job Partner

Authors note: I am profoundly and wholeheartedly broken at the horrific news of the passing of a magnificent young woman. Who walked hand in hand into a job with me, we both dreamed of pursuing.  Though I suffered a loss and hardship and had to let my dream sail sadly away- she continued her journey. Rouge waves wrongfully have affected everyone that she left her beaming essence on. Rest in paradise, door buddy. I am proud to publish my first ever Julia-Katherine original poetry piece. That will forever be in honor of cash-wrap partner, Suzy-Q.

I’ve never been called a crybaby
But you have made me cry lately.
My stage calls. My beautiful cast members need me,
I must cover up now.
I’ve never been known as a crybaby, but you’ve made me cry lately
How could someone who was once so beautiful to me,
Turn out to be
So damn ugly.
In the quickness
Of the
I M P A C T
Of a,
BLOW.
And I did.
I’ve never won anything in my life
Except to be the champion
At catching myself in the numbered statistics
In which one in four women and children get
BLOWN AWAY.
Your blow sent me
C A S C A D I N G
Tearing, ripping, bleeding
Through the branches, twigs, and trees.
Through familiar and unwordly mental territory
That was sworn by myself…
N * E * V * E *R
To be disturbed again.
Fuck you.
I got up from your blow
And was bleeding
“For no goddamn reason, little girl.”
They empty reasoning of three pairs of eyes
Three too many.
I calmed your demons as you used me as your antidote.
Thinking you slapped all the sweetness,
after roughly sniffing in all my fears.
*inhale, inhale, inhale*
Your fangs were dripping white lies, like your nostrils.
*exhale, exhale, exhale*
Trying to use me to satisfy that
INSATIABLE
Hunger. To fill that painful appetite.
Poor little boy.
You were never taught to fend for yourself. And that is why you seek wrongful “retribution.”
At the perfectly contoured corners, of my- of her, highlighted cheekbones.
Out of my sweet, rare soul.
Now, I laugh at you.
You tried.
And though the strikes you lassoed to my face
From the claws of your unearthly species
Did not fatally destroy me
The blows from others of your kind have.
And they have taken.
To early.
To young.
To what do you owe the mentally misdriven reason to think you may even think of laying your satanically scarred hands on our bodies.
Not all of us have made it through the tree.
1 in 4
But some of us
1 IN 4
Me
ONE IN FOUR
Survived, once again.
O * N * E
I * N
F * O * U * R

My sweet sister, may your angel wings thrive, develop and spread virtue to the ones who need it most. Though you are not here to spread inspiration for your daughter, in teaching her- her worth and what an example of a woman her mother is. You are still here. Your smile still lingers with me, door buddy. This is for you.

Mothers

Mothers. They are the matriarch’s of the universe, and the name most kids wail when we are in need of a little extra love. The saying usually goes “she’s your mother, you only get one of them.” In my case, I have two. One who has been watching me on the horizon of every sunset for a while now. I was told she had the warmest brown eyes a woman could carry. I see her every day. My Earthly mother, has already been caressed by angel kisses. She’s a fighter, much like ‘her fierce little girl.’ One of my earlier childhood memories seeped into my conscious mind as I sat in my empty house this afternoon. My empty house…the house that echoes painful coughing, the floorboards hollering as the walker is dragged sluggishly across the living room to the bathroom.

When I was a little girl, the living room glistened warmth from the sunlight soaked curtains. We would keep every door and window open, my mother, watching me dance like the wild thing I always have been. Catching the autumn rhythm of the leaves- twirling with them too. Mommy opened up her arms; her blonde hair poured down her neck. “Juuuuuuuuliaaaaa,” she calls me so sweetly. “My little sweet, come here darling.” Like the moon changes forms, I so naturally obeyed my mother’s request. Skipping full force to the oval ocean blue that her eyes glistened to me since the day I was first placed in her arms. I climb to her lap and instantly grab onto her pearl diamond Tiffany necklace my father had gotten for her. It glistened with my mother, not for her. “Julia Katherine, you are beautiful, and you are rare,” she began. Of course, her praising called for my full, young attention span. “You are rare because you see kindness and love in everything around you. You must be kind, but you must be fierce.  The world does not inhabit people who often carry the gift you have. Can you do that for me love? Be my fierce little girl, and then one day, become my fierce woman.” I am at this point nuzzled into my mother’s breast. That never fed my tiny body or touched my suckled lips. But never ceased to be home. Where her heart beat the loudest. I look up at her and nod my head yes. She pats my back as she always did. “But who are you kidding, you’ll always be my fierce little girl”.

That evening we watched the sunset and my mother smile at little me, and my mother as well.

The Dot Theory

“You never find enjoyment without having some sort of curiosity. The kind that pushes your limits lifts you out of your comfort zone and compromises all” — J. Katherine

Curiosity is just another component that sparks humanity’s lust for life. The universe holds a soul similar to a large body of water. Some of the greatest, Pre-Socratic philosophers once believed that the arche of life lies in the elements of the Earth (water, fire, air). Arche is the Greek term for “origin of life.” To find the first drop that triggered the ripple effect, leading to the creation of our current world. While I do not believe that the universe’s birth was brought on by a leaf or a drop of water- I find it fascinating to connect all of the world coincidences. To define why so many of us experience the “small world” feeling. Everything is connected to something in this dimension.

The “small world” feeling is just so. We as a species were given ears to listen and eyes to analyze; to find what Aristotle calls “the good life.” The good life is a theory that states that a person’s arche is to be able to leave the world knowing they found pure happiness. Leaving this life fulfilled in nurturing one’s theory of what their idea of happiness and beauty is. This is also where to the power of Free Will (my favorite human power) comes into play. For you see, there is not official ethic code for people to follow, like directions on an exam, to receive a 100% on passing Life 101. We are all neurologically wired differently to find our OWN good life. But instead, I witness so many followers who are comfortably blinded by media and materials; not truly looking for their self. Then again, those people have the free will to choose to live such a life.

As stated earlier, I enjoy connecting all of the dots and patterns I have to seem to find during my short twenty-one years. We each have our own stories, our dots to connect. This is also one of the MANY times where life can be “unfair.” When the dots don’t connect perfectly to where one might want them to be; it is easier to look at the good of what once was, while making new connections. Look at the sweet moments that drew you in to whatever has now sailed away. Be humble for the opportunities you had, and live freely.