Franchesca

Franchesca Oct 2019

It was the type of hurt that trembled within you.
The type to make one’s heart shiver in anticipation for another's warm reassurance.
To think she and I are the same is nothing but a shame to our pronounced love kindling flame.
Hearing those words, my self esteem boiled while dripping down my legs and into my feet, leaving me with the numbing sensation of not knowing where we stand anymore.
I hope you do not slip on over those drops of me, my self identity.

Franchesca Sep 2019

Mystery Of Perception.

To love oneself is a mystery.
Am I fulfilled or empty?
In admiration of others, do I see myself or just a delusion built from my imagination.
From what perspective am I best?
His or hers?
Mine or yours?
How does one become content knowing they will never be on the other end as the eye of the beholder?
We all accept not knowing the entire truth, being held onto this whim.
This whim of mental security.
To understand that letting go of what can not be controlled is taking control.
We can not control what others see but can control what it is we see and that is the base of truly loving oneself.
Because maybe we may never be in complete control.
Maybe we may never be on the other end.
Maybe we may never understand the perspective of anyone else’s, but our own.
But as the sun rises everyday, that is something that is set in stone.
Our mind is a reflection of what we see on the outside.
To indulge in oneself is the biggest gesture of passion.
We must grasp onto ourselves and hold our spirits tight.
To never lose sight of what is in our own control, not others.
Because to do it for others is impossible.
From one mind to the next, what the world is thinking is simply just a mystery.
A mystery of what the truth really is,
and what we may never know.

Franchesca Sep 2019

Milking The Loneliness.

The cup half empty, half full yet the mind still finding some way to drown. Funny, looking through the glass from the perspective of sinking while life is
moving at its own set pace up-float?

To what extent does one feel lonely in a crowd full of people, with the pressure of isolation condensing against us? We don’t know how the irony of it happens, but it happens. Right?

The repetition of this overpowering societal abandonment is the only of which reassurance ever happens. It will surely come back. Hasn’t it already?

The solitary confinement of the human mind is deserted .It is empty. The comparison to prison is short of one aspect. At the least cells have someone next door, does your mind have another?

Lonesome, Comfortless, Secluded.
These are all of the titles we categorize ourselves with when feeling alone. So the question we ask ourselves is this, as the planet and the human race is at its peak, how do we find ourselves individually milking loneliness?
And when, when do we go dry?

Franchesca Mar 2019

Till The End.

They say it’s what we strive for.
It’s what we desire.
It’s what we chase.
It’s what we need.
Its why we live.
Love.
It hurts.
It grows.
It changes over the years.
But it’s always love.
To cry.
To laugh.
To smile.
To break down at 3am in a shower, wondering to yourself what is wrong with the universe.
The feelings attached to this idea, painful yet most exhilarating.
Nothing of what you don’t already know though.
So why?
Why love be the important concept in us human-beings?
Because it’s passion.
It’s hope.
It’s faith.
It’s the base of our life’s purpose.
Why do anything in life if not searching for more dept?
Looking in-between the lines for happiness.
From the moment we open our eyes till our last breath, it’s what we desire, chase, and need.
Its why we live, because till the end, it’ll always save us.
Love saves us.

#quickwrite

Franchesca Jan 2019

Glass.

Shown off the glimpse of a piece of glass.
We see ourselves, we see each other, we see the world.
The person I see is finally starting to become recognizable,
But what about us?
The images shown as us is becoming blurry.
Salt water filled into my eyes at the thought of losing it.
Is life always win some and lose some?
Am I only starting to see myself because I’m losing the vision sight of who we are?
What we’re supposed to be.
No
Its glass.
Shatterable.
Destroyable.
Materialistically nothing.
The perception of who we are is given to us by a hand crafted thing, but what about within the eye of the beholder made by a woman's womb?
What about the humanistic perspective?
Are we going to constantly separate the idea of others because of the ideas of our own, given to us by a momentum that leaves our vision of sight in a second, if wanted?
Too see what we want is a self conscious choice of spacing out the other things,
And if we aren't aligned with what we want to see, we just aren't there yet.
Time goes by fast with the right beat
Have I found mine yet?
Who knows.
In this life, our reflection is internal and external.
Mental and psychical.
To hope that one day, if the glass disappears, we as people will not vanish too.
For we have the highest of confidence, no need for any of the materialistics.
Not even the piece of glass.

Franchesca Nov 2018

Mixed.

My voice is the clouds and ears are the sky, but blue is blue, regardless of a white clump getting in the way.
Though, that isn’t how it should be.
That isn’t tranquil.
Tranquility is knowing that blue is not always blue because maybe that clump of white gets mixed in and makes this amazing new color.
This new inner-connection.
Maybe one day, laying on the earth’s green, the new color is looking down at me and, I finally know what can be.

Franchesca Jun 2018

Yellowish-Orange.

When living in a puppet show, the strings are always attached.
To live a life where what should be yours, is considered a favor or gift, is a life not worth stressing.
In the moment, hatred turned into permanent resentment, is not why I am here.
To let clogged emotions devour your peace of mind, is not what I am going to do.
It’s not worth it all.
Looking at these yellowish-orange walls and to only wonder how many shades lighter is it going to take to suddenly feel like home?
It’s never felt like home, but to accept that is the comfort that home gives, in your mind.
Wasted breathes but a lack of redemption.
It’s not worth it all.
The ceilings rising higher giving me the space to feel but my personal space only seems to get tighter as if it’s condensing between air and my skin.
No air bubbles, no space for progress.
Time is up.
As the chandelier sways, the essence of this house mimics it’s movement ; still, dull, dead.
I am always below the chandelier but my spirit is higher.
I am higher.
I am higher than the walls, than the ceilings, than the atmosphere that is my “ home “.
I am higher, because it’s only the beginning of my life.
Where I planted myself, where I rooted the person I want to become and not the person I am now, sitting still. To feel upset for not changing is not worth it at the moment, for there is still a lifetime to grow.
It is not worth it all.
All that is being, the beginning of my life.