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Patricia Arches Oct 2018
I always remember how as a child, I would always go out for an adventure. My true identity as a wanderer is what I believed it to be, a child’s simple curiosity is what they branded it as. I was nine when I went down to the riverbank and breathed in the fresh air for the first time as I watched my brother skip stones against the river’s seamless stream. Not much could be heard but the patter of the rocks and the very breath of my lungs in the morning dew. I remember picking up that one rock that my brother carelessly lay to the side and putting it in my pocket.

On the way home, I could hear my mom shouting our names. She always had to tell us to come on home before the sun would set, but I never minded for more adventures awaited in the house. Dungeons and dragons is what we called these games. There was never a damsel in distress, but a duel to the finish line, a prize of milk and fresh cookies. Forts were architecturally placed around walls of pillows and streamers of blankets. In the center lay a solitary flashlight to emphasize our voices when there were stories to share. I always put clips in my pocket, just in case the fort would fall. I was the repairman.

My grandpa was never the one to shy away from big puppy dog eyes and small grinning teeth. He was a sucker to the pretty pleases with extra sugar on top. Chocolate was never past his reach and always in his hand, but so were his complimentary hugs with each and reassuring pats on the back. The forehead kisses were sweeter than the candies itself and much more worth it. I was his grandchild, the one blanketed with warmth and love, compassion and dreams. I was a result of his love. I place the candy wrappers in my pocket for mother never enjoyed a litter bug.

Now, I slip my hand into my pocket. There is no candy wrapper, no smooth pebble, or handy clips. There is no anything but an empty pocket, completely and absolutely empty. It is cold and black and quiet yet readily available for the next smooth pebble or bright orange pick to strum a guitar and claim me as a musician. If I put my hands in my pocket there is nothing, yet there is everything left of the wanderer, of the repairman, of the grandchild. My pockets are empty; simply in lacking of something to make it full …for it is in the simple emptiness of my pockets where I can create my identity, for it is in the simple emptiness of my pockets where I can place my dreams. Emptiness doesn't always have to be just empty. Empty makes room available to be full.
I wrote this in my final year of high school. It was a prompt where we had to write about what was in our pockets. Mine were empty so I decided to make a lesson out of it. A lesson out of the beauty of an emptiness.
Patricia Arches Sep 2017
I want to know
All it took
to get to this point
Right here
Right now

Your "hello, my name is _"
Will carry the weight
Of your struggles
Of your mistakes
That were really lessons learned
And have made you into the
Strong and secure person you are today

And the answers to the endless prayers
I offered before I even knew what
Name would fill in that blank

What did it take for you to reach this moment where we meet?
The lines that we will draw to connect all the dots together
No matter how seemingly insignificant
Or painful those dots may be

The end is our own little masterpiece
Our own story backed up by a million more stories
And the prologue
to rest of our lives
There a million more stories to find out.
Patricia Arches Jul 2017
Even if our what if will always still be suspended in the air
And I will be forced to breathe it in and out once in awhile, remembering your smell
I'm on solid ground
And no matter how many free moving particles of our what if roam the skies
What's sure is keeping me on the steady floor

Our what if may never be seen, even if I may feel it once in awhile
But my here and now is where I walk on
Even if it's just one step at a time
I'm moving forward
And my when is in my view.
Patricia Arches Jan 2016
that my struggles will never know no end
oh, the mountainous heights to overcome
though my fears of falling may wish my descent
the higher breeze carries your delightful hum

every inhale reminds me of what I know
even if my hands and feet do tremble
regardless of where my path may go
what awaits is monumental

well what I've gained is more than what I have lost
or rather what I will lose
what I've risked I know is for a nobler cause
in you, I see the proof

to live and have not loved, I wish not of
for it is the grandest of adventures
Although your walls reach the stars up above
the highest walls guard the most splendid treasures

when I reach the top, for you, I'll bring back the stars
though it can never capture your whole essence
trace out all the risks and all of the scars
just to be in your

presence.
I can't wait.
Patricia Arches Oct 2015
Well you have shown me your true character
through distance's filters
When I gave you the benefit of the doubt
you left for some time and came back
offering in return your inconsistencies

Don't get me wrong
It's not that I'm mad at you
I'm the farthest from that
I just hoped you would have chosen
to prove them wrong

I just hoped that you'd be different
Seen it time and time again.
Patricia Arches Oct 2015
I want you to keep in mind
that you are my sunshine
on days when the rain never ends
and the clouds around me do descend

As of now, the rain has not stopped
your rays of light are sadly blocked
yet even in the darkest hour
I stand her smiling in its showers

because you are my sunshine
I know everything will be fine
you are still there just behind the clouds
"to bring back the light" you have vowed

although, now, I may not see you here
your warmth and presence still is near
So I patiently wait for when I may see
my sunshine smiling back at me
To the one who will one day be my sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray.
Patricia Arches Oct 2015
write as if you have something to say
because you do

write as if the sky wasn't blue and every day is as upside down as the next
write in colors then write in black and white

write to me
write to those who need it the most, even if they won't admit it

write about your dreams and hopes for the future
and watch them come alive before your very eyes

as you write whatever thought comes out of your head
though it may sound like gibberish

write because you can
it is your freedom

write novels that span pages upon pages bound together by leather or
some short words

write as if he didn't break your heart
and then write as if he did to piece it back together

write to unlock doors and open minds
write to make others and, more importantly, yourself aware

write because you will see
you will see your ideas trickle down into your fingertips and out your pen

onto a tangible and real medium that you may look back on one day
and remember why you started writing in the first place

write to make sense of what doesn't
in hopes that, one day, it'll be more than just in writing

write and fold it into a creaseless paper plane
let it fly and, boy, enjoy seeing where it takes you

then write to: home on one of those rectangular postcards
document every day and its little details

write it all down
and then live it all out
note to self
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