-Part 3, December 9th-
My True love.
She entered my life at random, miscellaneously speaking with her about her beauty, injecting more flirtation, as is my way.
Then one day I started to stress. The woman I was trying to court, the one with the gorgeous name too beautiful to be spoken, I was falling for her. Far too quickly. And I needed to let her know, I needed to advance the relationship.
I was panicking. I don’t know why, but, I chose a girl at random, the most beautiful I could see at the time, and I began to ask her advice. I wanted to know from a beautiful woman’s perspective what I should do.
She, Belle, told me I should just walk straight up to her and kiss her right on the face. The thought of it made me turn red with embarrassment. It was such a bold move, could it work?
I asked if she was serious, and sure enough she was. This (at the time) blonde woman I chose at random was telling me to march right up the this girl I was head-over-heels for, and kiss her.
I never did. But for some reason, I fell in love with Jami Belle. I still feel guilty for leaving the gorgeous name behind, but, this woman, was something more.
She sent me a preposterous photo of her making this awfully crude face akin to a duck. And my heart melted. This drop dead beautiful girl I don’t even know just exposed herself in one of the most vulnerable poses I’ve ever seen. I loved her. I wanted her. And I told her.
I didn’t pull my usual bullshit and just, try to manipulate her into being in a relationship with me. I told her “I’m falling for you, Jami.”
The next couple weeks were spent wooing her. Constant messaging. Exchanging of truths and flirtations. Then one day, I was sitting in a park, surrounded by amazing music, perfect weather, and I told her “I’m sitting here, surrounded by beautiful people, and I can only think of you.”
I think that’s when she fell for me. Thank god. My chest exploded every night thereafter.
The next two months were spent in love. Complete love. Kissing and snogging and exchanging the most sacred of ourselves to each other. Promises. Embraces. Comfort. True love.
She was in my dreams, almost every night. I loved remembering those dreams. She was my everything.
We had some bumps, who doesn’t? She left me for a bit, we kissed and made up. She told me she couldn’t be rid of me. I melted.
-Note here, This isn’t some shitty teen drama. This may legitimately be the rest of my life.-
Time passed, we were good again. I told her, I asked her “Will you marry me someday?” She made sure I heard her yes.
I ended up with some jewelry for her, A red beaded bracelet and a ring of steel woven like a Celtic knot. I suppose It was a planned promise ring.
He and I... Started to go downhill. As the temperatures dropped, so did both of our emotions. We both seeped slowly into depression and neither knew what to do.
She lives many many miles away. Some nights I lay awake thinking that if she were just a little closer, it could have been better, but no. We both seeped lower.
I couldn’t get her my gifts. She couldn’t get me hers.
We slowed talking. Soon neither of us had anything to say.
She began to ignore me. I can’t blame her; life was terrible, and nothing could be said.
I was terrified of her. She could break my heart, my will, my name and my power at any given moment; through ignoring me, or responding curtly. I was horrified of what we had become.
This didn’t feel like the tru love it once was.
Eventually I became convinced that our love was dead. I was in shambles. I cried a little every day thinking of it, deciding if it were true.
Then an influential figure of mine got me to begin speaking on the subject. Soon, I poured every detail I cared to tell to him, about how I felt, was feeling and all of it. I cried so hard, I don’t know how to describe. I was hysterical. This was the worst I’d ever felt. And it was my fault. I was deciding to end it (with the major influence of this figure I was speaking with). He told me he was shocked, not thinking I was that deeply in love. Me said how he hadn’t felt a heartbreak, a TRUE heartbreak like this until he was in his 20s. I was only 16.
I poured the water. I decided.
It must be dead. She didn’t love me anymore.
I needed closure. I wrote to her, telling her things I shouldn’t have. Absolutes about our relationship, our present, and our future. I spoke to her of her strength, her perfection, how she will always be wanted and loved. It was impossible not to.
And I walked away. I tried to grow. I tried to learn.
I put bandages on my wounds. They began to heal. And scar. Scar deeply.
I got to the point where I could finally flirt with girls again. They jumped on that train and took much of a liking to me. It was nice to feel the attention again, but every time I did, I could really only remember the compliments and sayings and kisses Jami gave to me.
I was still in love.
I was trapped in a purgatory. I had said goodbye, forever; but my heart screamed for her.
Then the astounding happened. She texted me. “Marshall?”
I began to pour water from my eyes and sob silently. “Jami, I need you,” I screamed to myself.
It was slow. There were a lot of revelations between both of us. Truths, some great, others... destroying, obliterating. But she was back. She loved me.
I loved her.
Always, and forever.
The most gorgeous, the most perfect woman in the world. Mine.
Too much stress, not enough sleep
Too many problems, your girl you won't keep
You fell in love, but you've fallen too deep
Now sit there smiling silently and don't make a peep.
My everyday thinking.
I appear to be afloat
But secretly, I'm sinking.
It's been almost nine years
Of course behave forgotten haven't I?
We told her never to breathe a word
why would we want to hurt him
Idiots!! He's way past this
He never had to deal with being quieted
I had to be quiet only to protect him
And why? Just because we see him all the time doesn't make it easier
I still remember how he messed with everything in my mind
Distorting I so I thought his was okay
It's been nine years
But I've never gone without thinking about it
I don't own myself
Since first grade my body wasn't mine
he did what he wanted with me and my mind
Convinced me it was just fine
And you think I forgot about that??
You shut me up to protect him
but it was me who got hurt and wasn't healed
Everyone has forgotten but me
Everyone has forgotten that a 'innocent' first grader
Had to leave school early once a month to go to therapy
and tell her friends that it was just a doctors appointment
Act like it was no deal
Sit in he waiting room playing with dolls in a doll house
Knowing that I would be stuck in that room for the next hour
Doing nothing but fiddle with stress balls while she talked about using the word stop
She's trained to teach me that?
Even if I did say stop hate outcome would've been the same.
Now I'm the age he was.
And I can't get any if it out if my head
The air feels dense
Heavy with my inability to
Hold onto my sense of self
I fight my anger in a
Futile attempt to free
Myself of violent stress
The Frustration Is driving me insane
I thought I was Abel then turned out to be Cain
Sometimes I just want to step in front of a train but
that would be to easy these days seem so much the same
Patience is a virtue yet I'm frustrated and may hurt you
only to feel bad because the human in me hurts too
My quest for happiness is like a trek to find the end of a rainbow
I've lost my light and my path I don't know which way to go.
Seems a lot of people would like to see me fail and
well I've done just that since my boat has set sail
It's a wonder I'm still afloat seems it's not my time to die
I can't even control emotion at random moments I cry
Abused, abandoned, I wouldn't pay my own ransom
I'm damaged, unrepairable, yet somewhat handsome
Life threw me a fastball and I struck out every time
my days consist of nothing No wonder I learned to rhyme
trying to climb my way out of my hole hoping this may be my gold
I haven't accomplished much of anything at 23 years old
Yes, I've wrote a bunch of non sense
but to my name I have not one cents
I'm actually in debt for sharing my two cents.
College is my blueprint
My life is like a comedy I, myself laugh maniacally
at one point someone thought I was inspiring.
I write and smoke a lot hoping to ease this stress
as I feel the rope tightening around my neck
The lightning bolts my only hope the reason I log on
if you didn't give me strength there's no way I could write on...
Thank you to everyone for your support and love
it goes along way.
i hate the stress.
i love the stress.
i hate the studying.
i love the fact that i don't study.
i hate the fact that i'm stuck here till friday.
i love the fact that i'm stuck here till friday.
i hate the fact that i have to go home.
i love the fact that this semester is finally over.
i hate saying goodbye.
i love saying hello again.
I find it funny that the girl who brought us together
was the one who taught me how to smoke.
It’s funny because now, whenever I smell cigarette smoke
my mind strays to thoughts of you.
My mind wanders back to the times
when we would share a cigarette together,
when the only thing I could be conscious of was how your lips
had just touched this very same filter 10-seconds ago,
and how nice it must feel to have you
inhale all the good parts in
and exhale the bad parts out.
I concentrate on how delicately you balance
the cigarette between your lips,
how knowingly you
grasp it between your fingers,
how you hold it like
it means something,
and how much I want to be held by you.
My eyes un-focus
and all I can visualize is the
way the smell would stay on your fingers
as you caressed my face,
leaving untraceable fingerprints on
the edge of my bottom lip.
All I can think of is how the taste of the tobacco
would still be present on your lips as you kiss me softly,
with just enough nicotine staining them to give me a slight head rush.
I know you enough to know that cigarettes are your biggest vice.
It’s the thing that brings you comfort in times of stress,
the one thing you’ve tried to quit, but always go back to.
We used to do this trick where I inhale the cigarette smoke
and exhale it into your receiving mouth;
our lips touching, closing off everything else but each other.
You’d exhale the excess and smile at me and I couldn’t help but smile back.
You see, it may have not been obvious but I wanted to be your cigarette.
I will always want to be your cigarette.
I want to be something you always crave,
something you go out of your way to posses,
something you keep close by at all times because you’re afraid to lose it,
something that you’re wary to give out and share
because you’re scared you’ll run out of enough of it for yourself.
And I know that they say that each cigarette
you smoke takes a day off your life,
but when we’re smoking together,
and we inhale the same amount,
and smoke the same number of cigarettes,
it’s almost as if we’re creating a bulletproof plan
where we lessen our days here so we never have to live without the other.
And I also know that cigarettes ignite then crumble to ashes,
and I’m aware that they have their inevitable end.
But maybe, you’ll have enough of my nicotine personality stained on your lips
to get you through the empty pack,
enough creativity to not let me burn out to the filter,
and enough passion to not let me disappear through the cracks
but let me linger
on your clothes,
on your fingers,
in the air,
like cigarette smoke.
Today I feel like today is not real,
As if my reality has flipped and now spins like a wheel
Up and down, sideways and backways
How long have I been here?
A minute? An hour? perhaps a few days?
This reality sucks like the thumb of a child
Looking for comfort, but forever beguiled
It makes me feel lonely like a knot in a tree
So different from others, there's no one like me
I sit here in this third dimension
With a desperate need for attention
Nobody sees things in the light that I see
My light shines bright, opening the lock with my key
I notice that I feel this reality quite often
Like holding a thousand pounds of ambition
With no courage to soften
Like a wrecking ball of abuse is strangling me like a noose
Like a straight jacket of hope is grabbing me by the throat!
Like a blaze full of sadness so viscous and angry!
This life feels like all that and more,
There's some feelings here that cannot be put into words
Ambiguous like art, quick fleeting like birds
The rush through my mind fast like a subway train
but they hurt no matter what, deep in my heart and my veins
This reality stinks, like a soldiers wet feet
full of post traumatic stress
my minds naked, undressed
I need hope, i need help, I need something to eat,
preferably a meal of woman's love,
gentle & sweet
I'll sit in my reality, waiting for something to come round'
Maybe just one smile, perhaps many! Leaping towards me in bounds!
Maybe a whole slew of "you can's" and "no need to frown"'s
Till then I still go backways and sideways, on my wheel of Up Downs
Many people may see art as a useless hobby,
just a waste of time,
something that one should indulge in only if they have enough time;
it is not something one should make time for.
It is messy,
that is how it seems for those
who have never known what it is like
to express themselves
or become so immersed in an activity
that you forget that time even exists.
It challenges the structured,
and traditional way of life,
but art is essential.
The moment that I truly started to see art as my passion and as
crucial for my existence,
I realized that it is something that I should do for me and not for others.
Art allows me to find myself
because I can express my feelings through it,
but I also lose track of time and forget about my problems,
like I am in another world.
It is not a forced skill,
or something that is tiresome or monotonous to me.
The idea of time itself quickly becomes forgotten,
and I get lost in a world with only my thoughts and idea.
There is really no limits to what you can do- it is such a broad topic and idea.
I feel that art is more beneficial for the actual creator,
because usually a piece of art displays some type of emotion
that he or she is trying to convey.
Art is a release of stress and built up feelings that sometimes can’t be expressed
in any other way.
Art can truly be a portal for the inner workings of the mind,
which served a great purpose for me.
I was never a very talkative person,
and art was one of the few things I loved
that required no words.
I am also a perfectionist sometimes,
so I get so fixated on making something look up to
the standards that I created in my mind,
that I forget what art is all about –
that nothing can really be ‘right’ or ‘wrong’.
The idea of it contrasts with my everyday personality.
For a person who is always comfortable in a structured environment
day after day,
art is a way I can escape into
the person I truly am
and want to become.
This is why I like the idea of no boundaries-
as well as society,
usually puts too many limits on myself,
so I like when I get the opportunity for feel more
Art has no boundaries,
and anything I create can speak for my soul.
Art gives me freedom
when everything else is structured.