Shame

There’s so much shame surrounding this character. The feeling of constant judgement for even bearing a thought that might be misconstrued as betrayal or even worse, confidence. When she was a little girl, she wrote a paper and submitted it not even thinking that the teacher would see it and realize her writings would tug on her heartstrings and have her take the little girl under her wing. Remembering that story was a cry for help and the living conditions at the time were unsuitable for even a homeless man to sleep next to a dumpster and he’d be crowned the cleanest man in town. The smells, the filth and just like as if he lived in the dumpster and it piled and piled and piled and no trash man ever came, the trash was never paid, and it piled and piled. You see, being from a broken home where hearts know nothing past a minutes endurance of not having the energy and striving to keep a house afloat when you’re so young because the air is thick with the absence of humility and refusal to be defined by anything other than mistakes… That man chose to be homeless… that character made him a better man. The little girl cries herself to sleep every night and he sleeps with the creepy crawlies that the girl has befriended as faint cries of a small baby and the screams of an old man haunt her sleep. She buries herself in her books, tries to be a good girl at school and the homeless man watches over her and makes sure that pile doesn’t cave in. He laughs when the important ones throw their green paper at them finds the shade of a tree and stares at the stars… He had a piece of fruit today and a cup or water, read a book and listened to music, but the terror in the little girls eyes struck him. He knew about his pile and could see the world setting her up for the same pile, but nothing could be done… She has bites on her body and pancake stains on her oversized T-shirt… When she is an adult, she grows hatred for big oversized T-shirts… The baby’s not crying, but who ever cared to hear these stories??? She hands him a fruit she brought along with her on her way to school and has no idea how she’s getting home today… What’s a home anyways… That homeless man looks so happy in the shade of that tree… The air reeks of fish and feces by the dumpster… Why won’t anyone help him or even see how hard he is working to keep a boat afloat that has no patches? Is he a fisherman? Is he someone that used to matter? But to whom? The little girls teachers, how did anyone not notice how she struggled? Why didn’t anyone care? Instead they shoved her along and her smile shone like the most lovely sight you ever did see. Just like the homeless man, she was to figure out a world that didn’t want her. Making friends with caterpillars… Staying out of the way. Always in the way and always forgotten, but never lost.

A society of instant gratification has taken their lives from them… Their ability to live hindered by selfish gain and indifference. The day they curse themselves with the same, they will have truly lost their souls. Godspeed, some people still believe in miracles… The kind that hurt if only for to heal the wound that is as common as a great pestilence driven to devour all the filth and maybe flourish and bring life and abundance in abounds of happiness and fortitude. Godspeed.

The great evil in the lie foretold…

The sound of commerce and the rest of us are the filth. Sorely subdued and choosing empty space and time to get a chance of winning the best way to be free. Freedom being within and not without…

I know nothing.

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When…

When did life treat us to be so unkind?

Did it always happen to be this way and it isn’t until those billowy pillows of bitterness and loss settle in that we decide to throw out a grumpy face because it’s just better that way and hide behind masks of resting bitch face and snubbing?

Where there is so much to be done, why are we finding it necessary to get in our own way and to hinder our own growth? That emotional trauma is too much and can easily take over a life or even condemn one so that the fear of making a step, even if made in the wrong or right direction cripples us to ever taking a step at all.

I think we’ve missed the point.

What is life if not in motion? I see people born without limbs and people who have lost it all, that making a smile is probably more costly than an hour’s worth of minimum wage at work…

I do not seek to revolutionize a thing…

I do not seek to change any of my surroundings.

You see? This detachment from a human membrane is where the purest form of happiness lies.

We can strip it down, tear it apart, review schematics of how everything is supposed to work, but the essence is never changing. Just keep moving.

I had a point to make earlier, but now it evades me, I should have written it down. If there was ever a decision to be made, who told us we were have-nots rather than everything that we could ever want? I can’t bear to stare down at the ground anymore. I’ve lived most of my life hiding behind my hair and an extra tub of fat that came attached with a bucket of chicken and some sides…

I could “not be” but I’d rather be a part of the “to be” movement. I love a good story full of anticipation and surprise plot twists along the way. I am forever waiting as we all are… and who even knows what for at this point?

I could sit here and tell you about all the sadness I’ve carried and the woes I’ve had to endure, but seeking validation on such worthless schemes is something I am aiming to rise above. I want to make plans and see them through. You see? I have been inspired. You have inspired me just because you exist and that to me makes you the most beautiful person in the world. A person who chases a dream and follows through is what I look up to. I look up to you. I smile. I laugh in my darkest times… I know it is just a passing moment that does not define me… and as much as anyone tries to blind me and push my head back down into the waters, I wait… I’ve learned to breathe underwater… I’ve learned to swim to shore when no one is looking and walk the shoreline and remember the sad times that have shaped me into who I am. I am grateful for it all.

I once had this friend that was so crazy and out of line at times… Where she is now? I have no idea, but I feel like the people I have cared for the most know it and they know me and who I am. I have not changed and when I see you in the streets, I will hug you and even forget that time existed between us. I miss you, tbh. More than you know. I think that might be a superpower… making people have lapses in time once they encounter you… it’s like they forget a decade has passed and next thing you know you’re drawn into this time warp where memories encapsulate you and parting is never a sad moment.

Saying goodbye used to feel like the death of me, but I have learned to let time have the goodbyes now. Time will let me know when it’s time to see you again and in the meantime, I can just focus on the tasks at hand. Cultivating relationships that are important to me and gearing up for new adventures while handling responsibilities accordingly and allowing others to realize the value of my presence in their lives instead of being taken for granted or even making a spectacle of myself because I am afraid of being forgotten. Separation anxiety? Like, whoa, what is that even?

Yeah, I used to be that person that would leave before I got left and that’s okay. You learn as you get older and much wiser if you are able to correct a situation by choosing new options. Limitless.

Messy but refined when need be…

But mostly messy because the most beautiful pieces and the most fun is to be had when it is jumbled and not making any sense…

What if we were all important, but we bought into the lie?

What a glorious mess is all I can say…

Where and when do we get started living again?

I’ve missed myself for quite some time now…

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Erin’s Cielo

It’s as if time was my enemy. I was never one to go against the grain or to battle anything that looked remotely as a struggle would. I guess that’s why you can see me in the position I am in. Others might name it strange or be afraid of the term which coined awkwardness and loneliness as their mortal enemy, but the indifference of it all is in the simple fact that this is the way I was made. Logistically, one could say I am none the brighter than one who could be the sharpest crayon in the box, but while all these observations and declarations are made, there is a subtle truth relinquishing the obscurity that perceives this reality as to be my own. I have never had anything more but one purpose and that my dear, was to serve. If there were ever a time to recall when my servitude started, I would have eluded the very fact that anything I say at all can be portrayed as deluded or very one-sided. But still, I would like to give this a go. Even from as young as I can remember the aim to please forbade any rationale that may have been construed as an individual thought. I was created for the better good and yet as a hope abandoned, delivered more pain and seething hatred in my very existence. I am without cause. At anytime I thought I was to assuredly touch the sky, I would find myself crying on empty staircases and soon found my only revelry in the spines of books. Comprehension alluded me. If I were asked to reciprocate the meanings, I would panic at a loss for words so work never got completed and being commanded at all times was the nature of the game which I bore. I painstakingly await the moments when a simple welcome home would be a worthy theme. I fear that moment may never come. You see, as a person belonging to servitude, there is but one purpose and that is to please others. I am not a person and if not neither whole nor missing to have an emotional or intellectual conversation with anyone other than myself. I am also a mother. The striking fear of being alone in a world without anyone to care for and no sight to see how to care for myself, I became prey. I recall days on my knees praying with tears rolling from my eyes to God that he would hear me and he would understand… I would never know that life you take for granted. Was it a mistake to have taken matters in my own hands? possibly. Breaking the mold was a module albeit very new to me and exciting, but at the same time, moving me to places I had never thought I could go. I was doing things my way for once. From the time I realized at an early age, the bruises covering my body were not a normal feature of my creation, I came to the realization that the end is never what we may anticipate. My only hope now is for the present, I think we all get too obsessed over the future that we often times miss the road we are on. In every waking moment, I must strive to learn and become better so that my children will one day see that the situation we are driven from is always an opportunity. There is always an opportunity even if unseen. Even now, as I am separated from my children and heartbroken, I know now a love that can never be replaced. I hope one day that I can be someone they look up to not only because of my tall stature, but because I will have accomplished something that would benefit many. So maybe being in a place of servitude isn’t so bad if it got me to this place and will get me to where I am eventually going. Making good choices and steady observations of practices that have worked for others, being grateful for everything, the good and the bad and also being thankful for the experiences will take me far. I am sure. No more bickering about not having the ability to start fresh as a person who has never made a mistake before. I have made them all and now I seek to build. Life has happened to me enough already and now, even if the servitude is never ending… I will make a way. I guess you could say I could be quite the inspiration, but that is not the purpose. Motivation is futile without adequate means and action. So I continue servitude, but at a pace that will not hinder this newly profound mindset. I seek not to run a race without first enjoying the view. I am without a home. I am without the loving support of family… I have a few mentors and a pressing desire and will to create something from nothing. At times, I feel a plateau in my efforts, but the breakthrough always happens. There was once a time I lived my dream, you know. Not many people can say they have ever seized the opportunity and there isn’t a day that goes by I don’t think about that time. Maybe I am stuck in a bit of regret for not being as bold and as eager as I once was. Truth be told, I felt a laughingstock, but I was happy. Attach a label that precedes this dreamer to be felonious and I give you the perfect recipe to kill dreams. Luckily, I have this ambitious notion that there is always an opportunity for action. Be it singing in the streets and pretending I’m a headlining Coloratura Soprano at the Met or reaching out to the local downtrodden and reassuring them one of their own will make it, so can they. I wish to evoke inspiration as I have so blatantly before with no reservations towards their mockery. My artistry was never for the sole satisfaction of making a living. I did it for what I believe in. If I were to die, I would have accomplished already part of a bucket list some people have even dare to outline. I could not wait for a more perfect time to exploit my efforts as I am sure there are many others who seek to destroy me all in the same… Why wait? I am already in as lowly of a place as I have existed an entire lifetime… What’s one more ping to my already deficit and defect of character that alleviates me from conformation to this systematical reverie and asylum of unhappiness? Who says it is impossible to live more than one dream for a lifetime? Who lied to us and gave us the illusion that only one dream would be fit for the duration of a human’s life expectancy? Every single night we project visions and dreams that our subconscious verily leaves photo cognizance of places we’ve yet to visit or people we’ve yet to meet once in a lifetime or once again? Those subtle trails of the unknown seeming familiar and those lovely traces that drive us day in and day out. When will it be time to give up? I say to give up is to let down the best part of who we are. Each day I learn something new and the day I waste is a day I have rushed through stuck on autopilot, and at times forgetting those times when the happiest was allowed to leave my eyes. If only for a moment, I lived that dream, I am grateful. Not everyone has the capability or means to see that moment. My children by my side and not a person to hit, betray, or tell me I would never be anything… and my children seeing that I was doing all I could with everything that I had. I now have this new fear of hurting others. The realization that my actions can make someone hurt as I have feels like a curse. Being overly cautious so that no one would ever hurt as I have. Sometimes too afraid to move… Sometimes too quiet to say anything when I am being hurt because they realize the weakness I have and sometimes I know I am being taken advantage of trusting in a faith that has time and time again delivered me from some of the most terrifying situations. Like that one time… When I left everything I knew… and that other time… When I left everything I knew… and that time when… I left everything I knew… It seems to be repeating itself and it could be my cowardice knows no limits or I am simply still trying to this day to fit into puzzles where I am that odd out of place figure with more rounded edges and grooves that could never be fit into a sharp edge or corner… My box must have been discontinued a long time ago. Is there a place besides a landfill where these pieces can still have some use? being useful… being useless… Just being. Me. 😛 -Erin was here

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