love

from the very beginning, it seems, my care and unaltered love for others has been apparent. i always thought it was completely genuine, but as i grow, i see that it's not well received. clingy, emotional, attached; many hurtful adjectives misinterpreting my seemingly misplaced love.

do we all expect to only get hurt in life? is that why we can't accept true love when we find it?

i've found that no matter how pure and genuine a person is, they are not trusted 95% of the time from the very beginning.

i, however, am in that minute 5% that believes that they are truly there for you, not wanting anything in return, but genuinely good people wanting to love just as much as i do.

more than i want to be loved, i want to love. i want to show absolutely how much i can care about someone, but not out of arrogance, not out of selfishness and not with the intent to get something better in return, but because my heart has been entombed for so long. the beating walls have almost cracked the very foundation of the cavern it is trapped beneath. it holds so much "love".. a word that's lost so much of what it deserves.

finished.

drunken breath along my face, tastes so bittersweet. 

knowing you're hers, never really choosing me.  

however tonight I burn all of my mistakes, all of my addictions. 
I watch as the embers of memory blow in the stale air and remember the pain I've felt through everything. 

tonight I put an end to it all. I wash my hands of every insecurity and every sick twisted feeling I've caused myself. 

will it be hard? more than anything. is it worth it? more than anything. 

i regret waiting so long but can only look forward. 
my tear spotted glasses have in turn blinded me to flaws and failures to which I subdue myself. 

in every way am I worth more than I've gotten. so let me for just a moment become a conceited human being and inform you of what I deserve. 

I deserve to be happy. 
that is all I ask. and in every way that I have had in my power, I honestly can say I have sacrificed my happiness to allow you yours. and now I'm saying it's over.  

Its my turn. 

you don't owe me anything. for I am deserving of far more than you could ever spare. 

long time no talk.

i lay in bed for the millionth time, scanning over through the daily grind.

i cant help but wonder how long its been, since i've seen you hold that girl you're with

you make me feel like i'm brand new, like i'm special, love, and important too

everyday that passes by with care, i see your face, breathe your warm air.

what the hell am i doing, laying in my bed crying, knowing she's with you, in your warm arms. 

i'm just a footnote, while she gets a whole book, when i should be bolded, you edit me out.

what the hell am i doing, tricking teasing and lying, telling myself, i belong in your arms. she's yours forever, through any weather, she's your sweet baby, while i'm alone in the rain. 

drenched in my own anguish, pain sorrow and danger, i cause myself, thinking i deserved you. 

bliss.

sometimes the world takes you by surprise

you live everyday in fear of the unknown...

why does it have to be fear? 

i live everyday excited for the adventure i'm about embark on..

whether its merely trying a new food, meeting a new person, or putting your shoes on in the opposite order of your normality.. its new, its different, and it can open your eyes to a new adventure, one that you never thought you'd see or stumble upon. 

as i sit here for the second time, hopefully of many, i explore past the pale blue pigmentation of the afternoon's blissful and unflawed sky, and notice the behavior of those around me.. 

to them i am a nameless face with a lit cigarette and a purple hat thoughtlessly peering through my spotted glasses at their gossiping sun-kissed faces. 

to them i am a peer.. 

another face in the crowd and another student, waiting for class to begin. 

what they don't know is how i have dreams. i have aspirations, and as i sit here observing their lives, i ponder my future. 

he lays there in the sun, not a care in the world about what he must do next, or maybe those thoughts rush through his mind, but his grinning face leaves me believing that he has no worries. his hands neatly folded on his shallow chest, sleeping peacefully. he is happy. 

he dances like a buffoon, with the only goal to be making his friends laugh, trying to impress a girl ? or does he already have her? did he win her with his unrhythmic and patternless footwork? or perhaps she sees past his boyish figure and looks to his eyes, seeing the mere joy he gets from causing that smile that slowly grows across her windburned lips. he is happy.   

who will i be? 

who will know, or not care for me?

who will love me, who will i care for?

questions that will forever bounce through the disconnected and tangled wires of my mind. 

i do not envy the thoughtless mind. 

i do not wish to not have dreams. 

i do not want to forever be content with who i become.

i wish to continue with my dreams, whether they are reached or not.

why should they be reached? once they are reached i admit completion, and i don't want my life to have  a completion, if we all stopped thinking, dreaming, and contemplating, who would then create? who would then invent the world of our future, and the art works for others to question?

my balding and bearded professor made me think today.. as should all, but not all do. 

at first i thought that these professors, causing us to look at painting after painting discussing what the artist was thinking as he used geometric shape to map out their plans, were just bullshitting us to believe that there was a point beyond paint on a canvas.. but as my overly worded professor made me realize today, we create the meaning. we create the point. we INTERPRET. the artist did not sit down with a pattern or a meaning in his head. he saw an awkward woman and asked her to sit still, but still presently fidgeting, and decided it was a moment worth capturing. 

it was then, as we discussed her misshapen hands that it hit me, art, be it music, painting, drawing, lyrics of poetry, is meant to provide an idea for its viewers/listeners. the artist did have an idea in mind, but just one, maybe two. however, any observer will create their own. and that my friends, is what art is about. PERSONAL INTERPRETATION. 

whoever reads this, depending on their choice of study, or their brains habitual reasoning and ways of interpretation. they will see and read what they choose. 

an english major may see my grammatical errors; a misused comma, how i would be lost without spell check, a misspelled word, or even how there is in no way a sentence structure, rhyme or reason..

an art major may look at the lines and see how the spaces between and breaks in the page can create a seen or a portrait of its own.

a music major may see notes and sustained beats. 

they made read in a rhythmic pattern.

one may even see a song or lyrical capability. 

others may see just a story. a page written by a girl in a green sweatshirt on a break in between classes writing her thoughts for her day.

i only meant it for me. 

my interpretation is so i can look back and see how i've changed. my outlooks, my dreams, my thoughts on class, my inspirations. 

this is me. coffee in one hand, phone in another.

not conscious of those around me, just my music, caffein and nicotine. the ladder of which my mother does not approve. she's still on the fence about the caffein.  

...

It’s so hard to cry, to surrender. But eventually it’s all you can do. When every muscle quivers in fear of the pain, rejection and anger coming. When each gateway to your heart is blocked from layers of torment and hurt. Happiness mocking your pain. When the dam can't hold up against the salt licked streams of sorrow and your body can do nothing but fall. This is when you really learn feel.

KJC

i sleep. i cry. i hold.

I sleep not because my dreams are better than my reality, because in all truth, they mock and expose the life I ask to run away from. my heart no longer wishes to continue this way, it wants to change. but I cannot escape now, so I sleep. to chase the dreams I feel I will never reach, to escape the numbing reality in which I choose to ignore the pain. my hope, my joy, my laughter, they all shadow what I feel inside the depths of my soul. they blanket the fear and anxiety. until I face and conquer this feeling, I sleep. a numbing sleep hopeful to wake and be changed. but never am. because instead of pursuing, I am unconsious. the only things accomplished in the unconcious are the ideas which must be thrust onto actions. once these actions occur, it is then that the unconcious can be credited. I, however, only sleep. sleep to escape, to dream, to waste. I sleep.

I cry not because of sadness or happiness or fright. I cry for myself. for the feeling of release. nothing will cause this river to break the dam built before my eyes. only the thought that I have not acommplished a goal or that I never will. the tears fit my face like they belong there. they tell a story, each holding a word, phrase or sentence. however they cannot be read. the words are there but will never be pieced together until the last tear is cried. the last drop of thought and feeling. until the dream is reached that the tears are searching for, they will not stop nor be understood. it is for this, I cry.

I hold onto you, not because I know you but I hope to find you. you have to be out there somewhere, or am I destined to search this world without encouragement and fall short and empty handed? I want you to love me with the love I know I have to give, but I don't want to lose you or chase you away for I'm scared I won't know how to show you this love I hold onto so dearly. because, darling, it was once taken from me and never returned. I have kept it behind an iron lock and seem to have forgotten the combination. if i can find you, maybe I'll remember. maybe I'll learn to open my heart again and let you in. I burn with a fire of hope that I will find you but I am iced by the 'reality' that you are only in my head and the hope is fully extinguished. for this, I hold.

KJC

numb.

numb feeling

how oxymoronic

how fitting

can you actually feel numb? or is it the essence of a lack of feeling ? are we so used to feeling that it becomes numb and numb in actuality becomes our feeling? when there is nothing left to feel, feel numb.

KJC

i am stubborn. i am unchangeable. i am rebellious. i am unique. i am fragile.

i am stubborn; the essence of being stubborn- being difficult to handle, to manage. am i supposed to be manageable? to manage something is to control it, to have it under one's power, completely regulated and restricted. you do not want to manage me, for i am stubborn. you cannot handle me; not because i am too much for you, and not because i have gone mad, but because i stand for something and i will not betray my beliefs. i stand for something very few respect presently. i stand for an idea, that once was an actual practice, but in fact remains solely an idea. i am stubborn. 

i am unchangeable; plain. simple. exactly as it seems. i am not unchangeable due to my stubbornness. i am unchangeable due to my familiarity of myself. i am who i created myself to be, i have been this self forever. no matter how much you try to shape and mold me, i shall return to who i know myself to be, it is if fact all that i know. 

i am rebellious; i will tell you now that my rebellion is different from the acts that you are most likely used to witnessing. i do not rebel against war, 'the man', unequal rights, etc. i rebel against what is becoming of those around me. i do not wish to be a clone of what i see. though i love each and every one of my peers dearly and deeply, i do not wish to be one in the same. i am me and i will forever be all that i know. rebellious? well that's how it seems. 

i am unique; just like everyone else. i believe i can make a difference, just like everyone else. i believe i am different, i believe i am stubborn, i believe i am special, i am new, i am change yet unchangeable, i am a light to someone's darkness, an open arm to someone's weeping heart, and an answer to someone's confusion; just like everyone else. i do not wish to please you, nor prove to you that i am unique, because you as well as others have a standard. i am not entirely sure that i will ever meet this standard of yours, and i am content. i am content in knowing that i am unique, no matter how you feel.

i am fragile; please do not let my concrete visage fool you. i am only as strong as my weakest link. and my friend, you must know, my heart is as weak as ever, however the wall around it has never been stronger. although i am fragile, there's one thing you must know, you cannot break me. for i am stubborn, unchangeable, rebellious and unique; and not for one second will you fool me into believing different. 

KJC

.blind love.

when i was young i was taught that love is undefined; that love is unexplainable; that love is blind. as i've grown i've come to realize that it is undefined because there is no answer to what it truly is. no one wants to say that love is heartache, love is sleepless nights and stressful days. why do we want it? love is unexplained, not because it is indescribable but because no one will admit that there are hardships, there are tasks that not many want to take on, but mostly, its unexplainable because very few will ever know absolute love. they do not want to go through the pain to find it. Now, love is blind? is it no wonder? love is not blind because it can see past flaws, and love is not blind because it seeks only inner beauty. no, love has become blind so that we may settle. love became blind because we could not see ourselves deserving of what is rightfully ours. is that love? no. love is pain, love is agony, love is conscious and wide-eyed to all details. because to love, to feel pain, and to see clearly sounds almost too good to be true compared to an unscathed heart, habitual days and blinded, glazed eyes. 

KJC

.:my fault:.

my heart never healed from when you left. you let me get close to you. you let me feel secure. its your fault i can't feel. its your fault i can't trust. its your fault my tears have dried. its your fault my pain has turned numb. its your fault my heart will never

race. its your fault i walk this world blinded. but its all my fault; i let you in. 
KJC

.:painful beauty.beautiful pain:.

it has been said that beauty is only skin deep.. how about pain? pain burrows through my veins. it has also been said that pain is beauty. could it be that we cause pain in the search of beauty when in reality our beauty is how we push through our pain? or is our beauty the journey and knowledge we gain is search of fictitious and materialized beauty?

ticktock.

waiting is the hardest part of life. living in constant anticipation of how things will line up. but once we actually finish waiting, it feels like it was gone in the blink of an eye. make sure what you're waiting on is worth it, because who knows how long you'll wait for nothing. 

.

sitting in a world where no one knows but you. your story is not yet shared. when your world is crumbling all around, their wind still cools, their laughter is still heard, their hearts still beat; yet all you feel, hear and see is numb. all senses shut off for mere seconds. will they ever feel you? will they ever know? they won't. they will still return the empty smile you loan out. but maybe, just maybe, their world is similar to the remains in the rubble as yours is. maybe, just maybe, they understand too. but you will never know, for you left them with a generic greeting indicating nothing other than you acknowledge their presence. 

dreams...

why are aspirations called dreams? dreams happen in the unconscious state. dreams occur without control. dreams are a faded thought. are they called dreams because they do actually occur without control; or does the effort put forth actually affect the outcome? or are they called dreams because they are mythical and unattainable? they can't be, because people have reached further beyond their dreams before...

everyday that passes is another wasted. a wasted opportunity, a wasted moment; just time not used to benefit the goal of reaching the unattainable. 

most questions i ask are open ended.. who will i be? how many people will i inspire, hurt, or affect in general? why can't my questions be answered? hm. ironic. 

sometimes a question is the only answer... but does it matter? or is the point of life to continue searching for that answer to keep you alive? because only when you find it is your time truly up. if you no longer ask, search or wonder... well is there even a point?

trapped heart.

where did you come from?

what are you made of?

when did you form?

questions i can't answer. 

stone, strong, and bulletproof. 

soundproof, overshadowing, and forever there. 

BREAK.

i want to answer those questions!

you didn't come from one specific circumstance, it is impossible. 

you were created, for me and by me. created for my protection, created by my fragile heart. 

you are made of dishonesty, broken promises, and every single time i lost trust.

you've been forming my whole life. if i had known i were building you, i would've destroyed you at your weakest. but now, now you are stronger than ever. 

IMPENETRABLE.

you were created, for me and by me. created for my seclusion, created by venomous defense.

you are made of fear of lies, fear of unrequited promises, and fear of losing the trust given so seldom. 

you've been forming my whole life, higher and higher until no one is let in. 

outside, you are defended by the scorching thorn traps of hatred and anger; flaming dart words refuse anyone closely approaching. 

much like rapunzel trapped by her master, i am trapped by mine; fear. 

the fear alone did not build you, however. 

it was only the mere foundation. 

each stone, brick and layer laid contain the distrust and lies i witnessed in others' lives. each piece of resentment i've held to those who have hurt the one's i love. 

each layer of cement contains the tears, and pain i shed and felt for those i know. the one's who wouldn't fight for themselves. 

my guarded wall was made for them. 

the outside flames were built from the words spoken to those who i can no longer trust, the one's my loves have already forgiven. 

my heart will never feel the pain they have once felt..

or has it already? 

has my own defense mechanism weakened my own fragile heart? is it crumbling in shadowed darkness and lonesome quarters of the protective wall?

please! please fall! crumble before my only heart does! or else, all i will know is the cold, dreary chamber i've lived in for a lifetime. 

i want to see the light of passion. i want to venture out to smell the fragrant scent of peace. i long to feel the the softness of the love so many have known. can i please taste the bittersweet roots of forgiveness? let me hear the sound of him calling to me, "you are mine forever, and i will NEVER hurt you."


KJC