#self-discovery
It's a plan in itself,
Not an open invitation for suggestions
To go on long walks, or dancing,
Or paint-balling, or take a drive
Down to the beach.
It doesn't mean I am free
To do one of the hundreds of tasks
You decide are more important,
In an attempt to fill my day
With a different kind of meaning.
Today I am doing nothing,
Because I have become lost,
In a world where doing something, anything
Is so expected of ourselves and each other
That simply doing nothing is viewed
As a waste of time.
We so rarely have opportunity
To have the conversations in our heads
That determine who we really are,
As we watch the moments floating past,
Lying under the stars.
Today I am doing nothing,
Please understand that what I desire,
Is silent doorbells, unknocked doors
And that the phone doesn't ring
As I curl up by the fire.
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 4:35 PM UTC
Naive little waterdrops never knew
What they were, what they could do
Upon their downfall they saw the sun
The sun shone bright and magic spun
A band of colours poured from the drops
Exquisite scenery high above the crops
Bright old sun had till then just burned
It saw then the rainbow the drops had churned
It saw its own reflection in the colours that appeared
It saw itself caring when it had never cared
It made the water shine when it fell from its height
It showed the drops too their very own might
Dear old sun makes rainbows everyday
It still burns and still makes the drops gay
The water never fears and takes on the fates
As long as the sun shines, a rainbow awaits.
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 6:45 PM UTC
Lost
A voyage of expression
Of pain
An examination of ones own worth
A date with desperation
A way to find solace, identity
The words kept by the heart and abused by the brain
Where dreams go to die and worries come to stay
To be stuck in an endless void
Where warmth is a stranger and coldness a neighbor
To dance with the monsters that dwell in your head
And comfort the ones that live under your bed
A forbidden art with sweet release
To tangle with your own desires
The darkness brings something the light cannot
Courage, anxiety, strength
A candle provides a dim path
The heat from the fire burns
Reminding you of how alive you are
How blissfully free
And how utterly alone
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 8:53 PM UTC
you haven't exercised in a week
you haven't exercised and you've been eating a lot - ice cream and candy and not entirely healthy things
you haven't exercised and you've been eating a lot and you've developed a slight pudge around your tummy where previously you wanted rock hard abs because you wanted to be strong
but you're finding that strong isn't what you've made it to be
maybe strong is more than slim bodies and powerful arms...maybe
and the strangest part of this journey of self-discovery is that, as your stomach starts to make itself a delicate padding and as you roll over in bed instead of going for a run, you are curiously the most happy you've been in weeks
and you love your body and it makes sense and you are happy
Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 10:57 AM UTC
A whisper echoes
In the purest parts of my heart,
And it doesn't still.
What are the things that you want?
What are the things that you dream?
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 3:52 PM UTC
I look through my window,
When the day falls asleep,
And silence prevails on the busy city.
Then the night turns restless.
I look through my window,
And wonder of the secrets...
The world beholds in its heart.
And could hear the sounds of adventure.
I look through my window,
And find myself into deep blue sea;
Standing on a peak amongst the clouds;
In a quest to discover the undiscovered.
I look through my window,
To return to the reality of life.
I go to sleep with the hope...
To fly off the window, one night.
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 5:45 AM UTC
I may not be perfect, but at least I know who I am.
I may not be a fighter, but I know how to walk alone in dreary desserts.
I may not have wings to fly, but my dreams have.
I may not control my tears, but at least it’s not fake.
I may not be the richest girl, but guess what? Who cares!
I may not write the best, but my words are true.
I may not be loved, but I am in love.
I may not express myself, but my eyes don’t lie.
I may not be perfect, but it’s just me.
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 3:01 AM UTC
*Yeah, I'm at a point where I'm handicaped by fear
When stimulant sadness clogs my eyes but can't shed a tear
A point when I'm afraid of both the future and my past
Feeling tethered to bad karma,feeling cursed
Stuck in this minute with the clock ice paused
On the fringes of life where all doors are closed
And heated so that not even opportunity can dare knock
Seated in the quiet of the noisy silence watching the clock
Frozen to a single moment yet seasons are ticking
And there're signals that rest of the world's moving on I'm picking
I'm living like a ghost that died a million years ago
One whose owner ailed of an incurable syndrome pride
A disease born of a blood ******* vector called ego
One from which the wondering soul's holder died
I'm at a point when I ask myself why I was born
When It's clear I have to work my fingers to the bone
But not even myself can get me to my feet to start the journey
I'm at crossroads, and I know I have to choose
Because I've got rest of my life at stake, everything to lose
At now, and thing about now is knowing the actual value of having money
I'm at a point when a have to make the big calls, hold or move on
Keep being a cry baby or put the badass pants on
Looking back to the age when I was afraid of Gekkos
And it's how I feel calling out and feedback's my own echoes
I'm at a point where I don't need spectacles to see my mistakes
Yet it still feels like I'm not ready and haven't what it takes*
Sep 24, 2015
Sep 24, 2015 at 10:22 AM UTC
I wish I knew how I felt,
but I don't.
I'm getting more and more numb,
that's not good,
that's never good.
I don't want to get erratic
and paranoid.
I don't need to feel this broken.
It's not broken.
I'm not broken.
Why?
I can't understand.
Inside myself I'm at war,
a war I don't control.
I don't know what I'm fighting for,
I only know I'm battling against myself.
But why?
I can only ask that.
Maybe if I knew where to go and find myself,
all the pieces that I've never meet.
But I don't know where to start and I'm still.
And I don't care,
I really don't because if I did I would do something,
but I don't.
I sit here and I wait,
I wait for it to go away.
And another day is born, so I can pretend everything's alright,
night arrives and all demons come out to play.
It’s all my fault.
Why do I do this?
I do it to myself and it's real.
It's not in my head anymore,
it's everywhere.
Encrypted in disastrous hellos
and peaceful goodbyes.
They are everywhere.
One day I'll have to face it all,
I won't have anywhere to run, it will either
**** me* or make me.
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 4:06 PM UTC
Her mind was in Hawaii,
Dancing under waterfalls,
Wandering through rainforests,
Picking tropical flowers and
Braiding them into her hair,
Simmering on sandy beaches,
And gazing at the stars.
Her heart was in Normandy,
Eating crepes and sipping lattes,
Strolling through spring green fields
And along lazy river banks,
Kissing the walls of castles,
And scooping up scallop shells,
Soaking up French syllables.
Her hands were in her pockets,
High-fiving friends and
Running through her lover's hair,
Sewing, cooking, washing,
Punching, tearing, scratching,
Caressing and confessing,
Catching the very first drops of rain.
Her feet were on the streets of Seattle,
Tapping to the rhythm of the bass,
Shuffling in and out of the rain,
Dodging puddles and strangers,
Observing art and sculptures,
Chasing down a taxi or her dog,
and embracing the crisp autumn air.
Her lips were on the edge of a soda can,
Singing along to her favorite songs,
Whispering sweet nothings into the air,
Empowering the impoverished
And scorning the injustice,
Kissing a forehead, lips, and hads,
And stonecold silent as her mind does the work.
Her eyes were fighting back frosty tears,
Swallowing scarlet sunsets,
Painted in yesterday's make up,
Tracing your stoic silhouette,
Rolling like thunder before the storm,
Lapping up dizzying moonlight,
And buried in words, and words, and words.
Her body was in Los Angeles,
But, she was on a metanoia,
Breaking free of past and future
To find herself a presence
That would always be worth fighting for,
To reach sophrosyne, namaste,
And to put her frantic body to peace.
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 2:53 AM UTC
I did not intend this,
A lust for soft hands, lips like rose.
I woke with it already in my veins.
But my love is not my own; they stole my reigns.
After taking what was left of my voice.
It isn't my choice.
Slowly the fear of myself becomes too strong.
Lost in the rhythm of this sapphic song.
I was bred from the blood of a great poetess,
A Greek Goddess who loved both Zeus and Aphrodite ferocious.
Unashamed of the lust in her hips,
Born to a world who saw no difference.
Daughter of Sappho why do you cry?
Please don't lose your life to a lie.
You can do nothing wrong in love,
Pray that Aphrodite is generous from above.
May she show you that true love transcends gender.
Dare Cupid to prove the existence of such splendor.
May the Goddess in your bones,
Find refuge on the beaches of ******
The people who disagree fear your unknown,
They cannot comprehend the grandiose.
When they demonize you,
Remind them Lucifer was once angel too.
Be too large in love for them,
Do not succumb to their strange,
Better yet prove that you will not be condemned.
Be the catalyst of change.
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 8:45 PM UTC
Drifting softly,
Like a cloud in the sky,
Going with the flow,
Feeling extremely fly.
No destination,
Just passing by,
No obligation,
Not even a suite or tie.
Following the wind,
Following the rain,
Just keep moving,
Ignore the pain.
So what? You're alone,
There's no need to feel shy,
Don't look back now,
There's a chance you might cry.
Endlessly drifting,
Does that mean you're alone?
Forever moving,
Never to meet someone.
Maybe staying wouldn't hurt,
There's a chance at a life,
Having a home,
And maybe becoming a wife.
Drifting is nice,
But only for awhile,
It then becomes lonely,
And you can't walk another mile.
In the end,
Find a place to call your own,
Look for your own castle,
And make yourself a throne.
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 9:23 PM UTC
Who am I? Who am I?
A question I always find myself asking and yet I have no idea why.
Almost as if I expect the answer to fall right out of the sky.
But seriously, do you know who I am?
I pretend that I don't give a ****
When really it's an act; a sham.
Feeling like you do not fit.
Honestly it feels like pure ****
I don't fit into society's giant puzzle.
If my opinion is outside the majority, well let me put it this way, if I were a dog they would force upon me a muzzle.
Freedom of expression.
Really? I think they mean repression.
Do this! Do that!
She's too thin! He's too fat!
He must go here! Now put her there!
All we seem to receive are your endless commands.
Expected to follow at clicking of your fingers or the clapping of your hands.
Did you ever stop to think that maybe we have other plans?
Have you turned me into some kind of drone?
Is my mind no longer my own?
Are my individual and unique thoughts not allowed to be known?
Somehow this hierarchy needs to be overthrown.
We need to let our shining personalities be shown.
Celebrate Individualism!
Let us express, share and have optimism!
And even scepticism!
Being ourselves is a basic human right!
Thank you and good night!
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 7:25 AM UTC
I'm just listening to Counting Crows,
and I get this feeling,
That I am so close to understanding,
Something, myself? Something.
And it leads to this eerie feeling of contentedness,
In the darkness.
But I'm just a step behind,
And the more I think, the more...
I lose my way, The more I question,
instead of listen.
But it scares me to let such a moment pass,
without pursuing... it.
Whatever it is.
Poetry? I think not,
Just splutter along the road of my soul.
Sure to be meaningless in the end, but,
Looking at it now, looking back a bit...
Oh to be **** half in the past,
And nirvana just out there,
A bit further along the way.
Almost childly, I blindly,
Reach my hand out and up,
Hoping that I'll be able to grasp the Sun,
As if I won't get burnt,
That since it seems so close,
I just need to grasp,
and the world will be mine.
But some things are not for mortals.
And demons, like kids,
Must too, one day,
Wake up.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 2:04 AM UTC
She didn't see the life left to be had,
All she saw was Darling Dear dark and sad.
She held so tightly Darling Dear, four years old
Little did she know, Darling Dear had grown up dark and cold.
Mama didn't know the strength in Darling Dear,
Befriended by the shadows, she had no remaining fears.
She loved Mama and Mama loved her back,
But nothing was as beautiful as Darling Dear gone black.
--Emily Rutledge
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 2:34 PM UTC
I exhale.
As I fade from this life, I’ll float into the next and to eternity. I am so deeply enveloped in this world that I dissolve into all the others. My body will decompose, and I will exist again as a new collection of atoms.
I suppose through delusional, philosophical excuse I am connected to this world. And I suppose that stardust constellates and buries themselves in my bones. So I must grow in dimensions greater than height, width, and length.
But the veins of this new world are thin wires of cables and in complex codes and formulas are sent to and received by another motherless machine. Although, I’d rather break these wires and create a spark that can be felt rather than seen.
Let me ignite a craving under the continents and satisfy a spark that cannot be replicated by plastic or manipulated into energy. Let me feel the pressure of the world and the thick atmosphere that caves my posture. Let me once more feel by the fibers of kings and commoners that lace through my veins.
The world is deteriorating and has been left so deprived of life’s ecstasy that it is now hollow and I can only hear my own echoes.
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 9:58 PM UTC
I know
That in some unknown woods
I will find my long lost footsteps,
And in the ruins of a forgotten castle, my dreams
My song, in the gurgling waters of a hidden stream
And my poetry, in the rustling leaves of a ****** forest
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 3:20 PM UTC
The child trapped within me, wonders
She still does…her heart filled with curiosities about the world around her
She still loves the smell of concrete after it rains
The feeling of velvet, the sound of Velcro as it detach itself
She is still intrigued about the intricate bends on an elderly face
And finds herself dancing among strangers to the tunes on her head
She still likes to feel the cold floor under her naked feet
…and at times she allows a smile without reason to fly away
The child trapped within me, still sings the songs she learned decades ago
When innocence couldn't make sense out of the corrupted lyrics
…she dares to invade my brain in search of herself
and tries,oh how she tries to take ownership of absent things, that no longer belong to her
The child within me doesn't understand
It is time to disappear
Lost among the day to day
She cannot add the weight on the shoulders
the creaking of the joints, the sleepless night of a busy head
the tired feet
rhythm-less arms that forgot how to fly, and now…now can only float guideless
among thousands of face, hitting the shore
lingering in an ocean of responsibilities
drowning, my child, refuses to sink and resurfaces
intrigued by a reflection of intricate lines
Lost, I find her
Hidden deep inside, she escapes at times
To remind me of what life ought to be,
…afraid my child, hides again.
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 12:52 AM UTC
Scattered around my body, lies the remains of a girl meant to be
Cascading over corpses,
Hope is a weathered, out-dated state of being
A serving, political and manner-driven
What's new?
New is the passion, the fight and the might
It matters not how much hope you have
Whether it busts through your seams and gleams in your eyes
It matters not how fast the blood rushes in your veins as you pray
Look at me, cold and vain
Eyes frozen, I begin again.
Pin point and plan
Sticks and stones and pots and pans.
Life is nothing but a learning curve
So I move on to new experiences and new lives,
A million eyes.
Never forget who you are.
Who you came from.
Where you were meant to be.
Fate is not a destiny
Life is made out of parentheses.
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 11:08 AM UTC
Stifled tears and shortened breath,
earthquake for hands
that deserve rest.
Diminishing comfort
the deeper I wander
but closer to fulfillment
the more layers uncovered.
Not sure really, what I'll find
as I peel
myself alive.
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 10:27 AM UTC
Reflection
Written by Adam M. Snow
I am alone this night of flutter;
confusion reigns, so I utter,
"The air is that of a clouded dream;
so dark like that of an ordeal gleam."
I wonder where this fancy bestowed me;
in a room, damp it be.
My vision is blurred by this smoky scene.
I see only a table, draped of shallow green.
I pondered there for a moment, a moment it was;
but apparently a moment too long, came abuzz.
It echoes louder, louder atop of that table cloth;
calling to me my once forgotten troth.
So heedfully I approach the table with ease,
Seeing afar it covered in bluish frieze.
My vision once blurred, now felt clearer;
that vanity table shown an olden mirror.
Now from the vanity table, a mirror I now held
I glanced upon myself, now greatly compelled.
A face has shown, was I yet not I,
it cursed myself to die.
The image that was shown had shadowed a vision:
Ye or I inter sweet derision,
o'er thy pass of insanity wake
as much of pain as I could take.
The mirror’s shown cracked; I feel it no more.
My heart beats cold, my days be ****
I'd fallen apart to lose my way;
“Am I now one in a blackened day?”
I watched my life now turned to mist;
The writer is I, who cannot exist.
I shown cracked in my own reflection
these wounds are the signs of my affliction.
I am one in this reflection shown two;
seeking to make my life anew.
I asked my reflection to be shown;
my truth, my past is left unknown.
I ask of thee, "Let it be done."
The writer is I, the lonely one
My reflection, it strains drops of blood;
engulfs it now in life's lowly flood.
My eyes are stained as I lay cold,
I am weak-bound growing old.
My voice is muted as my heart now breaks;
my body's bounded, my soul still aches.
Misery whelms my ever being,
leaving I without a sight for seeing.
Burned into my mind, a vision of pain
as the mirror, cursed me insane.
To be upon a mirror image,
upon a worldly scrimmage.
My reflection does not show
this truth I do not dare to know.
The mirror’s cracked; I feel it no more.
My heart beats cold, leaving me sore.
I've fallen apart and lost my way;
“Am I but one in a blackened day?”
I long for amity among benevolence,
a sought after among your prevalence.
I am now we and we look back;
my ember morn has now grown so black.
The mirror is shattered, my image is not;
my demons has shown its devilish plot.
I've been raised yet to have fallen-
My life, my heart song is stolen.
My reflection in vision pains,
I am bound by my worldly chains.
I am force to face myself in this state,
the mirror shows, it-is-my-fate.
My image is broken yet is whole,
I seek only for my life's role.
I'm reaching through out the dark,
my only light a petite spark.
Nevermore will my reflection show;
I'm lost with no place left to go.
The mirror's lust has failed;
is this not where I dwelled?
My tears are falling upon my reflection
this holds for me no resurrection.
This cracked mirror now shows only one;
the life in this mirror is nearly done.
My reflection, it is not new;
like the mirror it's turning blue.
I, myself gone insane,
I shall not lack in vain.
I am not myself, let I be smite;
this is the shine of evil's light.
I only love yet I still hate,
I know now it is my fate.
I feared myself, of who I am,
curse me now let thee be ******
Bow ye not of I with shame,
only I am whom to blame.
I cannot live like the past,
nor the future of all in vast
http://amsnow.weebly.com
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 4:52 AM UTC