Dear Future

14884702_10207637245595981_384251857058761294_o“Look ahead” they say. “It only will get better.”

They warn you about being stuck in your past, encourage you to move on to the future.

Well, You’re my future.

But you have to know about my past.  Finding yourself, being true to who you are and who you want, is the most difficult thing you’ll ever do.

At least that’s the case in my story.

I thought it would be great.  Continue reading

The Key

14856129_10207637245115969_4982728063728620631_oThe first thing she ever said to me was a lie. Lying was her oxygen. It’s how she survived every day. It’s how she took breath and ate her food and walked down the street and drove her car. It’s the only thing that made her feel safe. Putting up a wall the rest of the world couldn’t climb. Pretending to be something she wasn’t. Lying. I understood, I guess. But I needed to know who she really was. I needed to get inside that head of hers. I needed to be a part of her life. But she didn’t have people in her life. She had passing faces and passing names that she probably won’t remember in two days time. But I needed to be there. So I came up with a plan. I wanted to know who she really was. I wanted to know what was the real face behind that mask. I wanted to know if she was even wearing a mask. I want to know why she was running and what or whom she was running from.   Continue reading

Flower Me Angry

15941107_10208257309377188_4801604402307860374_nI really love succulents.

I was never a big “flower person”. I’m still not. I love nature and I love flowers and greenery and gardens but I don’t know a lot about them. I don’t know the different flowers or what type thrives and which climate. For the longest time I didn’t even have an answer to the question “what’s your favorite flower?” Because the only flowers I could think of were roses and daisies and those weren’t my favorites.

But I’ve finally found my answer to that question and that’s succulents.

I always thought that your favorite flower was a good way to know the kind of person you are. Continue reading

Graffiti

heart“You wear your heart on your sleeve,” was the mantra he heard day and night. The words were whispered against his ear, shouted from the roof, scratched into his skin by the people who were supposed to love him.

“Weak,” the insult is spat his way after he once again let tears slip out of his deep, hot eyes.

“Control yourself,” he whispered, pulling the blanket over his chest and turning on to his side.

His phone started singing promptly at three am that night. He slapped the ‘off’ button and pushed the blanket to the floor, exposing his sweating legs to the cool, sharp air. He tugs on his dirty pair of jeans and a large sweatshirt before fishing the worn bag out from under his bed. Continue reading

HERS.

14352270_951674774956083_3263135980559809627_oTherapy. Doctors. Endless conversations. Even a hypnotist once.

“You’re in shock.” “You’ve experienced great tragedy and loss.” “Trauma plagues you every day.” “You need help.” “What you’ve experienced follows you every day.” “You’re demons will never leave you.” “Broken, you’re broken.”

Broken. Broken. Broken.

I don’t remember what it’s like to have a normal beating heart. Most people don’t think about it. The way your heart thumps in your chest. Most normal people don’t realize every pump of blood being surged through your body. Continue reading

his.

14324224_951674698289424_6069276409962481787_oIt was a Friday. Which Friday doesn’t matter. Any Friday. All Fridays. Every Friday.

Every day.

Pounding. That’s what I remember before anything else. The pounding in my head. It was like all my memories, all my desires, all my relationships I had stored away, were thrashing around in my head, fighting to get free.

I needed someone to talk them down.

I need peace. Continue reading