A bit of truth about my attitude

A lot of my attitude is just me being a brat. I refuse to be miserable out of sheer stubbornness, wilfulness, teenage rebellion. I’m rebelling against sadness because life is telling me to be sad, and I don’t like being told what to do.  I am being very positive and happy, but sometimes those emotions are actually stemming from a place of anger. This is not that unexpected. The more bad things happen in life, the more determined I am not to become part of those bad things. Everything that has happened to me in the past few years has started a fire in me, but I will not let it scorch me into a creature of bitterness. Once you have a fire in your soul, you can choose how it burns. You can let it destroy, or you can use it to shed light. 

In the stormy night

In the stormy night,  a beating shrieking tree

Spitting leaves and wailing scratching branches

In the morning she will be still again.

In this same way your anger will not consume you

You too have deep roots that you cannot destroy

Sometimes it’s okay to

Scream with the wind

Real talk

The summer that I was nineteen my body decided to kill itself for no reason, and had to be talked out of the notion with massive amounts of poison and burning. That was the beginning of my cancer journey, and the end of the illusion that I had a dependable, solid bodily form with which to journey through this life. Our bodies, in fact, are so fragile that they can start killing themselves for no reason at all, just a mutation on a chromosome. We like to think we control the inevitable physical breakdown, but we can’t. It will happen in it’s own way and time, and the souls inside can’t do much about it. Chances are I won’t die from this cancer, but for a few months it was killing me, and I had no idea. This is terror, but it is also freedom, because I have realized that I am bigger than my body. I cannot be contained within it. Its faults are not my faults, and its demise will not be mine. I believe this. Sometimes, on stormy nights or perfectly still mornings, I believe this so fiercely it hurts, as if I am straining to become the ocean, and my fingers are entirely too small to hold the world.

We forget

We forget

It’s what we do

We're busy

We set ourselves about our daily business

And it seems that our business is mainly in forgetting

that we are miracles

that we are created and capable of creating

The gift of existence is so incomprehensible

and our curse is just as big

to forget that so easily.

If I have to hurt

If I have to hurt

I pick fire not frost

I refuse the bitter bruised numb decay

I’d rather burn away

The dead parts inside of me

If you fucking make me hurt

It better fucking count

no deadened creeping soggy pain

I will burn

I will blaze

I will be cleared away

for fresh and fertile ground

Set me on fire

I pick light and screaming

I pick running and heaving

I will not waste anything I get

Including your fucking pain

My eyes and ears are strong

My ears and eyes are strong

But I’m having problems with my tongue

Which, if you think about it,

Makes the other skills pointless

This world has no use for the voiceless