Just Under The Surface

I’m in a dark room. 

It’s cold, and hollow, and when I move I feel heavy. 

Panicked; I try to speak. 

All that comes out is thick, coarse air, my vocals ripped from my throat inexplicably. 

I reach my arm into the black emptiness, feeling nothing but more thickness, it’s like a fog. 

Then I hear them.

Faint whisperings... Telling me why I’m in this place,

“You’re not enough” 

“You make me sick”

“You’re a disappointment to everyone around you”

“They all don’t really love you”

The words keep echoing, getting louder until I can’t take it anymore. 

I try to scream, but there’s nothing there. 

I want to ask them why, why doesn’t anybody love me? Why aren’t I good enough?

But they don’t say anymore, just laugh as I stumble, trip, and fall to pieces on the floor. 

And I believe them.

A pain so excruciating it feels like my chest is about to rip open and bleed. My heart being imploded from the inside out.

My life falling apart. 

I cry out, but all you can hear is the air I’m breathing.

The hurt is so strong that my muscles feel like they can’t even lift my body anymore. One more breath and I will waste away to nothing.

What do I do?

I open my eyes, look at my computer screen, and get back to work. 

Eye Contact (Part Two)

Today was not a good day. I keep telling myself things will improve, but I just continue feeling this loneliness that I just can't shake. I've always told myself that I could be happy alone, and that being alone would give me the opportunity to get a good education, a good job, and to never have to rely on anybody. If only I'd known then how that would turn out, and just how lonely I would be today; I wonder if I would have felt any different. But, back then I was Janie: Strong, Independent Woman.

As I play back those words in my memory now, I just want to take a random side street and never look back. My apartment was never that nice anyway. All those years at university just for me to become a barista at my local Starbucks. All of those years and I'm still alone. More so now than ever. I can hear the small clicks of my shoes on the pavement as I walk silently through the night.

It wasn't so bad until I lost my number one fan. My father was the only one who truly believed in me, the only one who told me I could achieve everything my heart desired. Last August was when he spoke to me his final thoughts, told me one last time that I was the apple of his eye and called me his little girl. If I would have known that he wasn't going to return from that trip, I would have never let him go. I should have never let him go. I wanted then to run away and never look back, as I knew there would never be anyone to believe in me again. It was silly to even think about it.

I had come to accept the fact that I was now destined to be alone. I knew nobody could love me, and that there was nobody in the world who would dream of meeting someone like me. Walking down the streets full of spring time lovers who spread joy in every movement and touch they share just made it harder not to turn off the path to home and just run. But, I continued down the street, the smell of old booze from patrons of the bar a few blocks down floating through the air into my nostrils.

Ahead there was a crew of construction workers, each cocking their head toward me as I proceeded to get closer. I could already feel their eyes on me, as these men sometimes do, and panicked. I put my head down and turned onto another street, one not normally on my beaten path, and scurried down until I was sure that their eyes weren't on me. I slowed my pace to a walk once I was calmed enough to finally look back up.

And that's when I saw them looking back at me

Ballad for Love

With a deep breath, she stood in front of the mirror

Gazing into her own eyes, full of fear and nerves.

One more step, just breathe, she tells herself.

She puts her shoes on and departs.

Never did she imagine

The hardest part of love would be how others see it.

That in a world so advanced,

There would still be those who choose to break you down.

She heard about this kind of thing all the time:

Parents who disown, communities who triumph against,

But in the end there is always a river of support,

A crowd of those who are just like you.

So what makes her situation any different?

So, she isn’t against a gender norm,

Not deep in racial diversity,

These things that are typically known for causing angst

However; she is in love,

And believes that her happiness should soar above the hawks that are the narrow minded,

Whose unkind words bounce like shrapnel off her armour of pride.

To her surprise, there is a blanket of love all around,

Those relaying that happiness rises above.

Although there are always few who hate,

She has learned that there is more within life to celebrate.

So she stands tall and proud

Unafraid of fanciful consequences

For never was there a happier time,

than living without other’s interests at mind

Damaged Goods

And she knows she probably should have never let herself need you this bad, 

But it was so comforting,

She was fragile, and not handled with care by the last hands that grasped her, squeezing her tightly into the confines of his perception of a 'relationship'.

So, she arrived to you misshapen and in pieces, molded to his ways to the point where she no longer resembled the photo on the box - that was merely what used to be. 

But you didn't care about the physical appearance, and you saw her as she was underneath his grooming and lies, underneath her trembling skin, 

And you saw her mind as it was before it went to war with itself.

She saw herself as a nuisance, a dust-collector on the shelf that is life; trained to believe that she was destined to do nothing correct, and that for her to smile meant that she was up to no good.

But you fixed her.

Soon, she began to believe that she could have hobbies and friends, and that her love of cosmetics did not label her as 'just a whore,' but as beautiful in her own, self-expressed, way. She began to tremble less at the thought of partaking in social interaction, as you showed her that it is a part of life, and no suspicion should arise from a friendly, "hello," in the street.

But still, ghosts haunted her memory and lingered over her every day, telling her she wasn't worth it, making her feel dirty, remembering the 3am phone calls she'd receive when he just wanted to make sure she knew she wasn't good enough.

She could feel the dust beginning to recollect. 

But you always picked her up, dusted her off, and placed her as your centerpiece, because to you, she was so much more than an ornament meant to waste away in the confines of the dark corner shelf he had placed her.

To you, she had purpose, and you wanted the whole world to see her shine.

She then bloomed like a flower, you her sun. She was queen of the world, or at least her world, and you her king. In a world full of ash and rubble, you are her diamond ring.

When she contemplates the future, you never leave her side. And when confronted with the “what if?”s that may leave her without you, she feels empty inside.

So she sits with her mind, and a pen in hand,

And she knows she probably should have never let herself need you this bad,

But it’s so comforting.

The Sky

I've always loved the sky,
It's enchanting aura has always given me a type of high.
The morning shades of champagne, turquoise and blue,
I always have loved those hues.
As morning turns into day,
And the sky wears a mask of blue-grey,
I won't worry in a dramatic way,
Because I know it's not here to stay.
As day fades to night with a pale yellow,
The night animals let out their calls and bellows.
Flashes of fuchsia and apricot paint the clouds,
The birds sing as they depart in large crowds.
And as I watch the lavender, violet, and plum with a sigh,
I know now why I've always loved the sky.

Roller Coaster

My doctor and I have discovered that my depression is like a roller coaster that's laced with ups and downs, and throughout this ride, the downs get deeper while the ups remain at the same, safe level of content.

During my downs, you could say that I become suicidal, but I do not wish to kill myself in the physical sense that others find oh so attractive, where there is such finality and your suffering is over. 

No, I long to be that kind of dead where you are still living, but not alive. The kind of dead where my days are spent in my dark bedroom hidden among my abyss of blankets, no longer existing in the "real" world. 

The things that once brought me joy will be pushed to the back of my mind like a shoebox full of pictures gets pushed to the back of a closet, just old times that are long gone. 

The downs in this roller coaster become gradually more soul-sucking, and the days spent alone in my own sorrow seem to last the duration of an eternity, 

but then there are the ups.

Although the "ups" don't last long or climb very high, they are still packed with the typical feelings of a roller coaster ride - The nervousness as you make the ascent from the deep low you've just been thrust out of, or as I like to refer to it: the first few days or weeks when I feel like I DON'T have to seclude myself in the vast emptiness of my cold bedroom and think the only place I will find warmth is in my blankets.

Then there's the part where you begin to feel like "this might be fun" as you keep climbing higher and higher toward the shining blue sky. To me, this section of the climb involves finding the shoebox in my closet and dusting off the pictures of me doing the things I love. I return to my favorite places and sing my favorite songs, and dance in my kitchen while I make myself breakfast on a Sunday morning. Because I can. 

And then there's the final stage of the climb, where, looking up, you see nothing but blue sky and suddenly you're not anticipating what will come next, but rather just taking in the peaceful serenity of your surroundings. I continue to bask in the glow of my happiness and become engulfed in activities that make me truly happy, and I no longer worry about the future, because I'm perfectly amazed and delighted in my right now.

It's amazing and I feel as though I'm the happiest I've ever been, and that I will never go down again - but then again, on a roller coaster, there's always that pang of excited adrenaline when you reach the peak... Before you begin your fall.

Purple

The color purple has always entranced me,
as though the thought of it would send
one thousand little visions through my head
of particular things that amuse me.

Thoughts of rain and wind and long summer nights,
and those of winter and snow and everything white
are not those that run through my head when I think of the color purple.

When I envision purple, the first thing I see
is a portrait of you and me
underneath that big oak tree.

When I think of the color purple I think of the dress I wore on our first date,
and how, when you dropped me off at home
you gave me that wink.

Or the day that we were wed,
and you said that you'd love me 'til you were dead.

Purple was always my favorite color,
and you loved that about me.
You'd give me jewelry and presents
of that particular hue,
and the more I imagine this shade,
the more I think of you.

You always loved how I wore lavender perfume,
and how under that oak tree, there was never any gloom.

Now
Sitting under that same oak tree,
I let my thoughts and my feelings run free.

The color purple floods my memories in shapes of you
and sometimes, thinking about it,
I become blue.
But I refuse to let that blue feeling sink in,
because I would rather feel the same way I felt with you.
So I'll feel the way that brings me back
to the day that I found my sweet Jack,
and the countless days and nights we've spent together,

and how our love lasted for his forever.

And so, on this cold day in April,
I'll feel purple.

Daily Journal Prompt: January 7, 2017

Prompt: Write a poem that refers to Romeo and Juliet

Untitled

He was her Romeo,

Soft brown eyes, warm smile,

And a heart of gold.

And she was his Juliet,

Bright eyes, long brown hair,

And a smile that could light up any room.

But their love was forbidden,

against the rules of society.

For she was in a higher social class,

and he just a man of the city.

But every night, they found each other

Whether it be in a back booth at the local cafe,

or on a side street where nobody would know.

Hotels, taxis, and discretion

Are all they know as lovers.

They long to be together,

But the thought of punishment still covers

their love, in a cloak of shadows

from the curtains in the hotel room in the rain.

But, one evening, lit by the glow of a bedside candle,

They decided they could no longer be apart,

And vowed to stay together, they way that they were,

Because no feeling, not even fear, is stronger than those of the heart.

So rather than getting dressed, and departing when the clock struck ten,

They laid in harmony and comfort,

For nothing could be sweeter just then.

For he was her Romeo,

And she his Juliet,

And this love story, neither of them will forget.

Daily Journal Prompt: January 6, 2017

Prompt: Write a poem using the title “Lines of Conversation”.

Lines of Conversation

         “Oh, hello there Beautiful”

Was when her smile got a little brighter

        “Would you like to dance?”

Was a phrase which gave her the shivers

        “I love you”

Became words that she could not live without

        “Will you marry me?”

Made her cry

        And “I do”

Made them both grow closer in love

Within these lines of conversation, between he and I,

you’ll find the most memorable moments of our lives...

Because in these lines, there are years of feelings,

which amount to endless love.

Daily Journal Prompt: January 5, 2017

Prompt: Write a poem that focuses on sound.

The Sounds of Love

                                             ...

                                            She waits in silence for her lover.

                                            The time passes on the clock upon the wall,

                                            Tick

                                           Drip

                                           As a tear rolls down her face and plummets to the floor.

                                          Then suddenly there’s a hand on the door,

                                          Click

                                          And in her ears, there’s the sound of a thousand fireworks,

                                          exuberant and joyous as she eyes her lover

                                          stepping his way across the old floor,

                                          Creak

                                          Then, as they fall into a tender embrace, she can hear his heart

                                          Beat

 

                                         And there, in that room, all that could be heard were

                                         the sounds of

                                         Love

Daily Journal Prompt: January 4, 2017

Prompt: Write a poem with a seasonal theme.

As the thick frost depletes across the water,

and the nip of the crisp air becomes less painful,

we see the buds of the once lost rose bushes peek out

from behind the safe havens of their secure rooted nests.

A bee’s buzz floats along the air

as he longs for the sweet treat he’s been waiting

long months for,

As in the woods animals of all kinds

begin to stretch their stiff limbs,

while embracing warmth.

The time has come

for Winter to drift into Spring,

as heavenly scents fill the air,

and the songs of birds are carried through the clouds.

Daily Journal Prompt: January 3, 2017

Prompt: Write a poem titled “When I Am Old”

When I Am Old

When I am old,

I will not become unable

When I am old,

I will not be changed

When I am old,

I will still do the things I used to

When I am old,

People won’t forget my name...

When I am old,

I will not be a stereotype

When I am old,

I will continue to pursue things which give my heart delight

When I am old,

I will never back down to a fight

When I am old,

I will still be bold

When I am old...

I will not be old.

Daily Journal Prompt: December 28, 2016

Prompt: When someone’s heart breaks, so does a piece of our world; this creates fissures, valleys, and even cracks in the pavement.

Tell the story behind the grand canyon.

There has been a myth circulating for generations now; some believe it, and some choose to call it rubbish and cast it to the back burner of their mind while the world emits proof of its truth. This myth states that whenever someone’s heart suffers a break, that the Earth also feels this pain. These heartbreaks create fissures, valleys, and even the cracks in the sidewalk that you are walking on right now.

You see that over there? The people call that the Grand Canyon. It’s quite a tourist attraction, but those who believe the myth know just how much hurt there had to have been to create such a large, although beautiful, natural disaster.

Me? Oh, well I’m the fairy that watches over the heartbreaks and sees what damage they do to the Earth. Every year, there are different consequences on the earth for every broken heart; some being small, such as the cracks in rocks that children see and admire when collecting pebbles from lakes and rivers, and some are large, such as earthquakes and the breaking of cliff edges.

Right, right... Back to the Grand Canyon. Every year I see many people crest the area to bask in the so-called “beauty” of the landscape. I, on the other hand, sigh as I think back to just how this landscape came to be... Nora was her name, and thousands of years ago she suffered what, at that time, could have been the world’s greatest hurt.  

POEM - **Currently Untitled**

            I don't think I could live
           Without your love for me,
 
           It's wonderful what you give,
           And just how lucky I am, you see.

           For not a day goes by that I don't
           Have something to thank you for,

           And among everything about you,
           Here are just some of the things that I adore:

                    I adore the way you look,
           From your head to your toes -
       
                   And that look in your eyes
           That takes away my darkest woes.
 
                   The way that your smile
           Brightens up your entire face,

                    Deep in my heart,
           I know nothing can take its place.

POEM - Love Sent Sara

Love sent Sara

through the darkness

until she came upon light;

Light so bright

that even the beloved sun could not outshine it,

and she could not look away.

Love sent Sara

to a land filled with coal

where she found

gold so divine.

Love sent Sara

through the lonely streets,

wandering aimless and alone...

Until she discovered 

a place so exquisite

that she wished to stay there forevermore.

Love sent Sara

to the depths of Hell, 

where she found 

an angel

who led her way back home again.

Love sent Sara

to the light so bright, 

to the gold so divine,

to the place so exquisite...

Love sent Sara to the angel.

And love sent Sara to you.

By the Time I Get to Phoenix

**NOTE/FOREWORD**

A man has a deep love for his gentle woman, but the vast open roads just keep calling his name.

This story is inspired by the song of the same name by Glen Campbell (Jimmy Webb). I have a great love for this song, and when I listened to it, this story was instantly formed as I was lost inside the lyrics of this loving, but heart breaking ballad.

By the Time I Get to Phoenix

The brisk 4:30 a.m air left my face as I walked through the large door of her apartment building. I slowly ascended the stairs and when I reached the top, stared indecisively at her apartment door, thinking of what I was about to do. I slowly slid the cold, folded paper out of my silk inner-jacket pocket and hung it on her door. I looked at it for a moment before turning on my heels and heading quietly back down the stairs, out the door and to my car. I thought in those moments of going back and ripping that paper from the door, but I knew I had to do this. I got in my car and I slowly pulled away.

By the time I got to Phoenix, the morning sun would have been just kissing her skin as she awoke. She’d have crawled out of bed, brewed herself a cup of her favorite coffee and then she’d have gone to check her mail downstairs. But today she’d open the door to see a folded paper hung from her door, that same folded paper I’d left there just hours before. She’ll read it and she’ll laugh because in that note I say I’m leaving, and she knows I’ve said that so many times before. She’ll just fold it back up and set it on the table, paying no mind to it as she continues on with her day.

She’d have been working as I reached Albuquerque. She would have paid no mind to the fact that she’d hadn’t heard from me all day. She’d work her morning hours then try to phone and give me a call at lunch. But she just heard that phone keep ringing off the wall. She’ll shrug it off and pretend that this doesn’t seem strange.

I entered Oklahoma around midnight and found a gas station to stop for a bite to eat. I looked around at the bags of candy and peanuts, then my eyes caught the sight of a café in the back. It was a small place, just a bar-like counter against the back wall in the corner of the lonely store. Just looking at it made me think of her. The way she looked in her uniform, the way she’d always bring me my plate without even taking my order, she just knew me that well. As I thought about her I thought about how she looked while she slept. She’d have been sleeping then I thought, in her silk sheets. She’d reach over and feel the empty space where my body would have been, and call my name out softly. She’d cry, thinking maybe I meant it this time, maybe I really did leave her. I’ve tried to tell her time and time again that I was leaving. As she looks back now, she never thought I would really go… I bought a small bag of peanuts and, with a tear running from my eye, walked back out to my car and was on my way again.

Daily Journal Prompt: December 26, 2016

Prompt: Write from the perspective of a forgotten or lost toy.

The feeling of the cold floor on my face has become part of me, as I've been here so long. I look around my short field of vision into the room before me and see nothing but stained hardwood floor and a radiator. It's been months since Tommy left me here, and he still hasn't returned. Doesn't he still want me? I was always his favorite toy. Tommy and Roger the Ranger, best of friends.

We were playing one day, and as I was on a mission to rescue an imaginary lass from the depths of under the armchair in Tommy's room, the front door of the house opened. You see, this is a normal happening as Mom gets home around 6:30 every night. However, this time was different. She called to him and he went running, promising to return and finish the mission. I heard his screeches of excitement and wondered what all the commotion was about.

I remember the day Tommy got me. It was Christmas day and he was 5. I had sat in Mom and Dad's closet for weeks, listening to Tommy play and get excited for the upcoming holiday. I was so happy and nervous to finally meet him. The moment he unwrapped me the look on his face said that we'd be friends forever.

Now as I sit here, thrown down in a rush and gathering dust, I wonder just what will become of me. I still hear Tommy go to bed and wake up, and I see him occasionally kneel down to pick up some dropped socks or pencils. But I still wonder just what it was that took my Tommy away from me.

I can hear someone coming up the stairs now... It's him! Maybe he's come to pick me back up, dust me off and finish saving that lass! I knew he couldn't let our long 5 years together end so easily! No, he's talking, on the phone, I think. I can hear him saying things to his friend. He walks in long enough to grab a sweater, and as he leaves the room I can hear him.

"Mom bought me an X-Box"

Eye Contact (Part One)

It had been a long day. I was tired and had just lived through one of the longest, most excruciating shifts down at the bar. I looked down at my liquor stained t-shirt and sticky jeans before exhaling a long sigh and beginning my lonely walk home.

Things weren't going good for me. I thought as I walked down streets of city lights, past happy couples and friends enjoying the nightlife, about how that was something I would never have. Companionship. I've never considered myself much of a people person; I don't speak much to anyone, although I believe that is because I'm hardly given the opportunity for conversation. I'm just Jason, that guy nobody wants to talk to. As I was growing up I had simply learned to accept that fact and move on, although it is hard sometimes.

I turned a corner onto another block in my journey and came face-to-face with an angry old man. The grey in his hair and the creases around his mouth told me that he had seen better days. I could tell from the slur in his voice and the smell of his breath that he was drunk. As he spit out his obscenities at me, standing so close as to be locked in a near-kiss, I could almost taste his cheap beer, cigarettes, and poor dental hygiene.

"Get out of the way, you bum!" his slurred words hit me like a splash of cold water after a night of drinking, "Damned stupid kids," he mumbled after I was a few steps away.

After the day I had just had, this was enough to send me over the edge. The overwhelming sea of loneliness began to tug at my heels until I simply let it pull me in. I walked the rest of the way down the block feeling painfully numb until I reached the last turn before my shitty apartment.

That's when I saw them.

POEM - The Magical Night

During this magical night, 

the moon's kisses are a soft caress

upon the still beauty of the Earth.

We walk,

Our hearts beating in a synchronized tone 

of curiosity and wonder.

The tree's whispers in the moonlight 

dance upon our ears as the dusk transforms 

slowly into darkness...

The ground is silent as your arms find mine, 

and the world around us begins to fade away

as my body calls out for your touch

and your hand wraps itself around mine.

It's warm.

We admire the artwork of the universe 

that is the splash of stars across the Milky Way,

which coat the endless sky like fresh dabs of paint

flicked from a mindful artist's brush.

Closing my eyes, bright fireworks of emotion 

cascade the insides of my eyelids,

and you kiss me, and it all erupts.