A letter to the older me,
In the upcoming future nobody knows who they are going to become or with whom are they going to be? Now that's a question?Well everyone is busy enough to achieve their goals and desires while we forget thinking about our future.We are all growing up but we often forget we have responsibilities ahead. Some of us would become A mother some A father. But as we talk about ten years from now we all would have settled happy families and kids.Some would be wives some husbands some great some not so great. We would be great "Parents". A person needs to make efforts for every relation to be held together be it 'Mother-daughter',Spouse' Etc...The aim for future is to be a good person and then play the role of anyone in someone's life.
Lying under this smile is my sadness.
I told you I was fine, but I was lying.
I thought you were just joking, that you really hadn't fallen in love with someone new.
I guess I really thought we could be something, too.
I know it's not the first time that I've gotten my hopes up and they've died but, this time felt different.
Somehow, each time time always feels different.
More or less hope.
He's handsome, I won't deny that.
Funny, I can admit that too.
But meant for you?
I guess I waited too long.
Let's see how long this lasts, and maybe then...
I'll have hope again.
A man of darkness is what I am.
Dressed in rags from alleys of hex,
my language lost beneath
this filthy face.
Sunset is receding and
midnight is alive,
climb the fire escape to reach
the ledge and jump.
Foreshadow, I sink, overtaken,
emerge off the street towards a
crowded mirror to see a man of darkness?
A man of many is what I am.
It was warm when I arrived in that big city- a suitcase and my purse are the only legacies I had left to my name.
I could start over here.
I could be someone new here.
My driver was a nice man from Delaware- he told me that the city was old and that I was brave for traveling so far alone.
He was a kind man.
He told me the weather was going to change soon.
He knew nothing about me... I don't think I knew anything about me.
We got to this broke down apartment over in West Philadelphia.
I remember thinking... this can't be the right address.
But it was and that was just the beginning to my endless self struggle.
I thought I could start over here.
The weather changed fast- overnight it was freezing and I was struggling to find warm enough clothes.
I remember thinking... how the fuck can anyone live here?
I remember thinking ... how the fuck am I going to make it here?
I learned a lot about myself that month I spent in the city.
I learned how to take a subway, how to take a bus, who to talk too and who to avoid.
I learned I can survive being alone.
I also learned.... you can't run from yourself.
You can't change as quickly as the weather.
quirky only made sense
when strangers wanted normal
why try to understand
when variation is
the life of spice
Girls often reject happily ever after
when experience is wackier
than the life of a writer
is less absurd
Photography is poetry using light.
Poetry is painting with words.
Painting is sculpting on eyes.
Sculpting is music for stones.
Music is writing through feelings.
Writing is pottery with thoughts.
Pottery is photography of clay.