So what I can't function.
So what I'm broken.
So what I'm blank.
So what.
That doesn't mean I need a hug
Or a comforting talk
Or medicine.
Your empty support won't fix me.
Its not just a bad day.
It's a bad life.

I'm fine.
No really,
I promise.
There's nothing wrong
There never has been.
You worry too much
I'm just having a rough day.
Then
As my open casket is cried upon
My pale, emotionless face
Conveys the reasssurance,
"I'm fine."

To: Past Me
From: Future You

Hello, my past self.
I hope you’re doing well.
But then again,
I know you’re not.
Because I was you,
And you are me.

I know about all the smiles you’ve had to fake.
I know about all the silent tears your pillow is stained with.
I know about all the people you’ve loved and all you’ve lost.
I remember it all.

But listen,
It doesn’t get easier.
You will still go through hard times.
People will still leave you.
You will still feel sad sometimes.

It may not get easier...
But you do get stronger.
Strong enough to overcome it all.
The pain.
The tears.
The obstacles.

Small things won’t hurt you anymore.
Every rock in your way will turn into a pebble.
People will go and others will come.
But you'll be alright.

You’ll grow stronger.
You'll be wiser.
You'll get bigger (not in height though, we shall always be 5’2)
It may not get easier but you will be happy.
Of that I am sure.

So past self I tell you.
Dry your tears. You’re not alone.
You’ll be surprised of all you’ll overcome.
                                                                                         Love,
                                                                                         Future You ;)

"I can see my door, my bed, my window, my chair, and my table.

"I can feel my spine against the wall, my feet against the floor, my jaw tightly shut, and my fingernails buried in my arms.

"I can hear the wind coming in from the open window, my heartbeat rapidly thumping, and that familiar voice in my head, shouting once again.

"I can smell the dampness of the ground outside as the breeze carries it to my room, and the sickly sweet odor from the soap used on my hands.

"I can ******* blood spilling from the bite in my lip; my last harsh reminder that
        I
        am      
        still
        alive.

The Canvas
(c)08-25-2012

A canvas sets on the edge of greatness and beauty, blank, waiting for the touch of the master’s hand. She takes charge of what is to be. Gentle strokes, broad strokes, strokes that caress the canvas… leaving the marks of imagination, transforming nothing into beauty. The image emerges revealing the thoughts and desires and power of the canvas. It is breath-taking to the beholder. She understands the difference between OK and great. Nothing will do but great. It must emulate the original. It must be the original! So it is with our canvas of life.

We start life as a blank canvas. Brush strokes are made by those around us as we begin to grow. Made by mom, dad, friend and strangers alike. All try to add their image to our canvas. An image of who they think we are. As we grow into the artist we strive to be, we accept or reject the strokes of others and create a portrait we strive to become.

Some strokes by others can leave an off color, covering who we really strive to be. A brush stroke that is not us can be covered by our touch, our color, our imagination of who we are, adding integrity to the texture and hue. Revealing an inner beauty as the artist of our life takes control, guiding our hand, adding the touches that transform the canvas from OK to great.

The Artist chooses the colors, the brushes from which she wants to define her life. The decisions are hers to make as she selects the shades of color, or even black and white, that will define her life. She paints a portrait of peace and joy, of self-less love for family and friends.. All else is unimportant. The things of past are covered. Today and tomorrow are forming a painting that will be great.

Letting the Master’s Hand guide our hand, we find freedom flowing freely onto and into our canvas. In doing His will in our life, we are set free. A freedom indescribable at times as we are lost to the distractions of the past. Caught up in the hope and love of today.

The Master guides our hand, willingly or even unwillingly at times in our artistic endeavor. As we learn to relax and give Him control of our hands, He reveals the beauty that is within us. It is great.

I have heard being an artist and painting described as being easy but living life as being difficult and unsure. Life can be described as a series of brush strokes, choices. Some can destroy the beauty intended for our canvas. Some strokes can create breath-taking beauty which radiates outward, inspiring the ones observing our portrait.

This was inspired by a young friend of mine, she left a few brush strokes on my life. They will not be painted over. They will be treasured, remembered for a long time to come.

When I look into a mirror, I want to see Jesus, the Creator of my portrait.

time have already passed
new friends came and went
flowers bloomed and died
sun and rain danced

but my mind have
its own rules
it plays memories
about you repeatedly

my mind doesn't care
that i don't like this game
it's like hide and seek
where it seem that i can't win
...
/M.A./

Because I’m alone,
I can enjoy the silence.
Even when my many, many, but oh so many thoughts are rambling around as loud as a heavy metal concert.

Because I’m alone,
I realized I have amazing conversations skills.
I mean THE. ABSOLUTE. BEST.
Even though I'm mostly talking to myself.
In my head.

Because I’m alone,
I can read the book I always wanted to finish.
While eating at the corner table of the fast food I decided on.
Alone.

Because I’m alone,
I can play the music I want out loud.
Not worrying about others taste.
Doing the air guitar solo.
Without being weird in anyone's eyes.
But my own.

Because I’m alone,
I don’t have to think about what I say.
Or say what I think.
Or think of what I should’ve said.
Or say anything at all.

Sitting. Eating. Talking. Laughing.
With everyone.
In a group.
Where everyone is everyone’s friend.
I realized that I have always been alone.
Even when I’m not.

The boy I love,
is funny. He makes corny jokes not taste that bad.

The boy I love,
is a great cook. His salsa is almost as good as his dance steps.

The boy I love,
is kind. He wakes up earlier than usual every morning so he can help the old lady cross the street.

How many guys does it take to change a lightbulb?
One. Because the boy I love can fix anything. From cars to world peace.

But theres one thing the boy I love cant fix.
Im dying.
The cancer came back. Its taken over my body this time.

Now the boy I love,
can't sleep. He lays next to me.
Checks if im still breathing every five minutes.

The boy I love,
cant stop looking at me with sad eyes.
He looks at me move around the room as if I was already a ghost.

The boy I love,
sighs of relief whenever I answer the phone.
He knows I haven't gone yet. He just wanted to make sure.

The boy I love,
doesn't want to live if I die.
But the boy I love doesn't realize
that the only reason I can keep living is because he's alive.

Another person has fallen victim to the heartbroken syndrome.
Not me,
but the girl who’s sitting next to me at the bus station at 1 am in the morning.

The first symptoms she showed were slight.
Constantly staring down at her phone.
Desperation seemed to reflect on her face.
As if waiting for something.
A call.
A text.
Anything.

I knew she had reached stage 2 when she abruptly stood up.
Paced back and forth.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Not caring about anyone who watched.
Calling someone who clearly would never answer her.
The more she dialed, the more sick she got.

She escalated pretty quickly to the final stage once she bursted into tears.
Looking for reasons as to why everything went wrong.
Sobbing her eyes out.
As her body and feelings gave out.
Letting fall one last tear.
While she gave her last sigh.

She’s not the first victim I’ve seen.
I myself have fallen prey to this disease.
It is an illness that everyone is bound to have,
at least once in their lifetime.

And she will have to learn that,
The only cure,
The only antidote,
The only remedy,
Is time.