Scribbles

The empty space in the beginning, looks as beautiful as after you have written something on it.  Each and every day, I realize how thick the walls you built around the room I have given you.  I have managed to tear down the layers of wallpaper that seemed to take forever to rip out.  And then the wall hit me of how thick they are.  It seems like if I’d let somebody in that room, I wouldn’t be able to hear them anyway.  Because right before you left the room, you thickened it so much.  But, I accept the challenge of tearing it down,  I’ll get there eventually, maybe not now, but I know I’ll get there.

As I was in the room, I heard your voice again.  I heard that laugh when you find something so funny.  I know I sometimes gave you a hard time and it wasn’t because of you, it was me.  There are battles only one person besides me know about.  I was wondering because, I was listening to Perfect by Ed Sheeran, on that line where it said,  I see my future in your eyes, I no longer saw yours.

The future excites me though.  Lately, my anxiety have been so unkind.  I’ll figure it out.  In the fall, when the leaves are magnificent, a new challenge will arise.  But let’s put it off for tomorrow.  Let’s talk about today.  One day at a time.  There are a lot of things I have realized after I’ve stayed in that room for some time.  You wore my heart down.  Sucked all of the blood to the very last drop.  But well, I’m slowly getting there, slowly standing back to where I was.

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-juliet 04222018 1105

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What’s new

Everything is different but it’s all the same.  Looking back, it’s has been a long way, but it’s so slow isn’t it?  I’m the same girl who decided not get hitched when I was 13.  I still listen to rap, rock and old songs.  I still write, whenever and wherever.  Day dreaming is still my favourite pastime.  I still use music as my timer, I got that from a camp I went to back then and I never stopped doing that ever since.  I’m joyful and peaceful too.  I still don’t find the need to explain myself to people.

I still do everything I used to.  I belt out some notes when I’m alone driving.  I don’t like anything pink.  Black is my favourite colour.  I have my morning rituals, which is get up, have breakfast before my day begins.  Then at night I wash my face, brush my teeth and day-dream my way through.  There are still things that I keep doing.  When I wash my hands I still check how dirty it is.  There are still things that I keep doing.

I have noticed, that my life might have big changes but I haven’t lost who I am.  New things, I have added though, I only drink warm coffee once in the morning, then if it’s after 11:00 AM I want my coffee cold.  Regardless of the weather, may it be sunny or snowing.  I don’t take so long when I shower.

I just thought maybe my inside world is too colourful of a universe for me to feel the need to have my outside life as mundane as possible.  As mediocre as the life I have lived, in my own little world I live a grand life.  So who’s to say about who is living a happy life and who isn’t?

Stranger Tides

When an artist paints the whole world shuts down, no background noise, no nothing, just the artist and its canvas.  When a singer hums, it’s much more raw than when she’s in front of a crowd.  The tune is nude, with the singer’s heart beat as the instrument that leads it.  When a poet writes, the world doesn’t shut down, but it comes alive.  All the objects around him move with every stroke of his pen.  When a rock star is alone, with his guitar, even indoors he feels the breeze with every string he strums.

When an explorer discovers new land, no feast can ever express the greatness he feels about himself.  When a general wins a war, not even the grandest parade can beat the feeling of home.  That is why soldiers search for a wife, a lover, a family, something to look forward to when they come home.  Something or someone to come home to.

But for some, solitude is what they seek.  And the world does not understand, so it tends to destroy the spirit of such a warrior.  Someone different, is just abnormal and yet, when we look around nobody really is alike in the world.  The world would never permit happiness upon those who go against the tide, reminders are plastered all over the walls, magazines and even on the lips of those for the world.

There is no telling when it all ends, but I for one would want to come home and tell a great story of my life, rather than, tell a story that is somewhat similar to everyone elses.

In My Book

I have written this.  I have set the terms and the characters in it, the setting is perfect, well to me at least.  I walking towards this and along the way, there are characters coming and going.  Only few stay but the important ones.

I have written this, I didn’t include you, sorry.  I remember one time, you wanted to be written on this but I had to figure if you’re worth the ink.  Through that, I have torn my walls down, so I could investigate only not to find you there.  Weird, I know but I’m thankful.  That part of the book made me realize that I could let the walls stay down, but I could build a minefield.  So that’s how it is now, people can walk freely, but I decide if I will let them take another step.  One, to save them from getting blasted, or let them take it.  I have always said, I may not be always nice, I may not be or will ever be a ray of sunshine but I was never cruel, I’m always fair.  I would always tell you the truth, that I guarantee.

I have written this, the walls are never going back up but the bombs stay.  I’m no longer armed, for I have realized it is cowardly.  But for anybody who dares to go in, I will allow them armed with the best that they have.  I will carry with me my tongue and give me time for a conversation, that’s all.  Sometimes, I would need a pen, not to stick it in your jugs but to write with.  I heard it’s be mightier than the sword.

I have written this, not the whole book.  I let the chapters work their way to what I’ve written.  If you open the book, it is filled on the first 3 soon to be 4 chapters, blank in the middle, but the end is written.  Not that I predict that’s exactly what’s going to happen, I’m no psychic.  But that’s the end game.  That’s what I’m working for.  That’s where I’m headed.

I have written this, but I wrote it backwards.  I started from the back before my pen even touched the front.  It’s nothing glamorous, it’s nothing grand, it’s not about what I have but what I’m in.  If I’ll paint it, it wouldn’t be appealing, that I know of.  But of course to me it’s my Mona Lisa, my Sistine Chapel.  I’m the artist and all the tourists that sought for them.  Elements of 2 and with me makes us 5.  All in black and white.

-juliet 04012018 1641