Love is…
captivating
powerful
inspiring
unending;
a well compiled list of heartening adjectives.
but I have often found
in my own heartbreak and in the heartbreak of others,
that love was never simply
enough.
-e.daye
Category Archives: Personal Writing
In my sickness, but not in health
Hopeless wanderer I am, and a hopeless wanderer I fear I will remain.
My legs, my feet, they have led me astray. Break them.
Break my bones, that I may not walk away from You.
For in my pain, I will cry out to you. Leave me broken.
If I am healed, I may leave.
Leave me here, Lord. Leave me in my weakness.
Leave me in your constant need. I should need you.
I should want you always.
Hopeless wanderer I am, and a hopeless wanderer I fear I will remain.
Blind me, God. My eyes cause me to look away from all You have to show me.
Leave me blind, so I can not see the things of this World that lead me away.
I should only look to you, Lord. I do not deserve my sight.
When I can not see, I will cry out to you. Leave me blind.
If I am healed, I may leave.
Leave me here, Lord. Leave me in my weakness.
Leave me in your constant need. I should need you.
I should want you always.
Hopeless wanderer I am, and a hopeless wanderer I fear I will remain.
Break my heart, dear Lord.
My heart is filled. It has left no room for You.
Break my heart and rid me of all that is not of You.
Break my heart now, before my condition worsens.
For in my pain, I will cry out to you. Leave me in pain.
If I am healed, I may leave.
Leave me here, Lord. Leave me in my weakness.
Leave me in your constant need. I should need you.
I should want you always.
In my weakness, I need you.
In my strength, I may leave.
this and that
The year I followed my firm heart,
was the same year my heart changed.
The year I ignored the feeling in my gut,
was the same year I realized I had to trust it.
The year I stopped believing,
was the same year I realized I could not afford to stop.
The year I followed my only truth,
was the same year I realized it was all a lie.
The year I tried to make it right,
was the same year I realized not everything can be fixed.
The year I tried to evade people who needed me,
was the same year I realized I needed some of those people, too.
The year I tried to follow a dream
was the same year I realized I could happy living a different one.
The year everything was going to change,
was the year it did.
from what I remember
I remember thinking I was going to love you. I knew it as soon as the spark hit.
“I’m going to love this kid.”
I remember hoping and praying, literally praying that you would love me back. Even if it wasn’t at that moment in time. I knew in my heart that we should have loved each other. I knew it. I keep trying to tell myself that I made that up, that I actually had no idea what I was talking about back then because of how it is now. But I don’t care. I knew it.
I remember knowing you loved me, and I remember thinking you were so embarrassed to. Like loving me was something you didn’t want to do, or planned to do or wanted anyone to know. I tried to tell myself that you needed time to get used to the idea, because you were going to know one day that we should love each other, non-stop. That’s the love I had for you… non-stop. It’s like I couldn’t stop. Even when I wanted to. I prayed that it would stop. Every night. I prayed and cried that I could stop. But I never did. You always told me you couldn’t stop loving me either. And I would think to myself, “See. I knew we should love each other. I knew it.”
I remember thinking we were going to see the World, and once we saw it, we could change it. In so many ways. I thought that’s what God was really telling me. You said you felt that, too. I remember thinking I could be with you anywhere, ANYWHERE as long as we were changing the World. I never had that before. I never had someone make me think that I had a partner in crime to really get to the heart of people and change it. I remember when we used to talk about the Bible and what we thought God was going to do in our lives. I just had to be a part of whatever it was God wanted you to do, because I knew it would be big. I wanted to be right there, thick as thieves. I remember feeling like we were really best friends, and that at one point in time, it wouldn’t matter if we weren’t going to end up together, because the love we had as friends was so much stronger. You were my best friend, which is probably why trying not to love you was so damn near impossible.
I am trying to remember more, but every time I try to, I start to cry, and it becomes too hard to stop. I always wipe my tears and think to myself,
“How could I have been so wrong?”
rambiling 12/23
I think all this time I’ve mourning the death of my soul, my spirit.
You know that feeling you can’t shake… that you’re on the edge of a cliff, and it would take something so small, like a light breeze to make you go over it? I think I fell over that cliff and I’ve been freefalling for so long and had no idea. I opened my eyes and I’m inches away form hitting the ground face first.
I’m afraid that one day, I am going to walk out on everyone I know. When I moved to North Carolina this year, it was pretty damn close. I am afraid that one day I am going to smash my phone against the wall and throw my laptop down until it breaks into a million pieces so no one can find me.
I’m afraid that I have nothing left to give anyone. What if I can’t love someone? What if someone walks into my life and could change it, but all I am is decaying bone and flesh, unable to see or feel anything from them? All I ever imagined was loving people, loving people that I’ve known my whole life and people that I pass on the streets, and just crying because humanity, my God humanity needs something more. And I know that, and I see that and I feel every time I come in contact with someone. I wanted to be a spark that ignites change and hope in someone’s life. I’m afraid I can’t be that person anymore. What if I can’t give someone that spark? What if that’s what’s killing me?
What if I’ve grown so cold that all I will ever be able to do is feel bad for those people on TV, hungry and hurting, and just change the channel? I keep changing the channel when those commercials come on because when they come on I can’t stop crying. I’m crying because these people are hurting and I’m crying because I don’t think I have it in me anymore to help anyone else. I’ve tried so hard. I’ve tried so be there for everyone, and I’ve tried so hard to give everyone something to hold on to. I tried to keep the hope alive in my heart that one day my friends will get it right. I kept thinking someone would follow my lead. But no one. Not one.
And I’m crying right now because I feel like every ounce of life has been taken out of me. I’m crying because I am so heartbroken… my heart is completely shattered into pieces and I’ve lost sight so badly that I don’t even know where to look. Why does everyone have to be so disappointing?
Why am I so disappointed in myself?
H&M
A tear for you, and a tear for him
each day is sullen, each night is grim.
I cry, because I’m watching you drown.
I cry, because you won’t put the needle down.
I’m no good with poems, and one other fact holds true:
though my heart remains heavy, I’ll keep praying for your break through.
there is this line in a song…
there is this line in a song that makes me think about
you.
and when it plays I
stop.
and sing as loud as I can.
because in school they told me sound waves carry
great distances.
But I guess if you could hear me, you would sing it too.
and come back to
me.
Or maybe when you hear it you think
“this is just a line in a song.”
And so you keep walking (away).
Remus Lupin/ INFJ
Last week, while browsing Pinterest (AKA being sucked into the never ending pages of never ending stuff”), I came across a Harry Potter personality quiz. So OBVIOUSLY, I had to take it. It turned out to be the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator, which would then fit me into a character from the series. I have never taken the MBTI before, which is weird to me because I am THE QUEEN of taking any personality tests, especially if the topic is even slightly interesting. This of course, is way more legitimate than “What Kind of Lover are You?” in Cosmopolitan magazine, but whatever. After getting my results and discovering I was an “INFJ” (Introverted iNtuitive Feeling Judging), I checked the chart to see that I was matched with Remus Lupin. I was ecstatic about this. He is one of my top 5 favorite characters. I knew there was a reason I felt a connection to his character so quickly. I wish the movies displayed his personality as well as the books do (standard book to movie adaptation problems). But let me get back to the topic at hand. So, Remus and myself are called “The Counselor.” The chart says:
“SEEK MEANING AND CONNECTIONS IN IDEAS, RELATIONSHIPS, AND THE NATURAL WORLD. WANT TO UNDERSTAND WHAT MOTIVATES PEOPLE, AND ARE INSIGHTFUL ABOUT OTHERS. ORGANIZED AND DECISIVE ABOUT IMPLEMENTING THEIR IDEAS. PRIVATE, INTUITIVE, AND COMPLEX BY NATURE.”
I’ve been reading a lot about INFJs. Figuring out who I am has become crucial to me in the last couple of months, because I feel very disoriented. I know complete understanding will not happen over night, but the more I read about INFJs, the more I understand so much about myself. Once again, being a Potterhead has brought me some clarity to my befuddled mind. Here’s to figuring out how complex I am, and being okay with it. And like a true INFJ, I can’t wait to write about it.
For my fellow Potterheads, here’s a link to the blog with the website!
http://justkatea.blogspot.com/2013/09/harry-potter_13.html
glory to the newborn king (revision)
(I decided to rewrite a previous story I wrote earlier this month. I was not too crazy about the first one. This one I can live with. Hope you like it.)
I was lifeless. With my face buried in my cold hands, I continued to kneel on small steps, covered by a carpet of artless blue and purple patterns. The carpet was saturated in, “I am so sorry. Please forgive me” tears, just like my face. Being here night after night was becoming nonsensical. There was no more resolution. I was indignant, frozen, and hollow. As I raised my head surveyed my surroundings, I saw so many others kneeling with their faces buried in their hands. Everyone appeared to be so … desperate. A sea of people wanting to feel, something. Whether or not anyone does is not for me to say. But I knew I did not, and it reduced me to tears. As I walked to the pew to grab my belongings, I could not stop thinking about him. His name was Stephen. We had met at a bar, and while exchanging carnal glances and feral touches, his words penetrated deep into my mind. About a week ago, I brought him with me to the bland altar carpet. When I raised my head to see if he was finding comfort, he was no longer next to me. Stephen, who I was sure was filled with iniquities, was sitting quietly in a pew. He had no tears – he had no outstretched arms. Yet he was staring at me, with somber eyes. I rose to my feet and sat next to him. “Stephen, why weren’t you at the altar? I thought you would have stayed there” I said, slightly perplexed.
From the first night at the bar, I got the sense that Stephen was absolved of all his sins. He had a sense of liberation about him, an unmoored spirit that I assumed came from salvation (with a capital S.) But I could see it in his eyes that being here, seeing all of the others and myself, left him befuddled, far more than any amount of alcohol ever had.
“Erica, have you heard of Friedrich Nietzsche?
“Yeah. Of course.”
“Well I read something we wrote. He said God is dead, and I agree. We killed him. So why are we here?”
I knew exactly what he was referring to. I wanted to tell him I thought he may have missed the point of that statement, but something inside of me compelled me to let him continue.
“Remember when you told me you felt like a portrait that god forgot to finish?”
“Yes” I said. I slowly lowered my gaze from his eyes to my hands that were resting in my lap. I told him that the night we met at the bar, I was hoping he would have forgotten it.
“Well you said you really wanted to start finishing it, your way. You said you were sick of waiting for God to give you answer. That you had different beliefs, different convictions, and how amazing it felt that you thought of new ways to live your life. You were saying you stopped thinking like all of the others and you thought for yourself.” His voice was stern now. I just wanted to stop him and yell, “Of all the things I said to you that night, this is what you remembered?!” But I was speechless, and he kept going.
“Look, that night at the bar, you were real. Regardless if you were drunk or not. A real portrait. Whatever you were painting that night, it was beguiling. I bet you add to it every night, every time you expand your mind. But right now, seeing you like this, it’s like watching you trying to destroy that portrait. This, none of this is real to you anymore… I know it. I suggest you stop trying to destroy what you created here, because God is dead, and you should stop trying to change it. It’s not the time or place. I don’t know if that what Nietzsche was saying, but that’s what I’m saying to you. Besides… you look so beautiful every time you dip the paintbrush and add another weird and fucked up color to yourself. Better than any altar carpet I know. This place is a graveyard. Go live.”
The more I thought about what he said to me, the faster I began walking out of the church. I soon found myself sprinting towards my car. I sped off down the street, over the train tracks and to the same bar I met Stephen. That was where I wanted to be. I ordered a Grateful Dead, it seemed fitting. As I began to sip on my drink, I suddenly I heard a voice whisper in my ear.
“Shouldn’t you be at church or something?” It was Stephen, as he cracked the same smirk he gave me the first time we mad eye contact.
“Church?” I chuckled. “Why would I be there? God is dead. Duh.”
As he grazed my leg, I stared into his mossy green eyes and said, “I feel… animated.”
As the night passed, a series of hues and dimethyltryptamine exploded from my brain. I could feel the colors fuse together my heart and mind.
a poem with no title 