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| Help Me. I am Directionless.
The boat rocks. It is tossed haphazardly between two wave peaks. Foam sprays into the torrential rain. Water mixes into water. The boat’s mast stands no chance. It is creaking, creaking, creaking, gone. The crack of wood isn’t heard over the scream of the storm. The top of the mast tumbles into the sea. It will not be enough to feed the hunger of the monster the sea has become. It is playing with its food, preparing for the kill. It forces the boat to swing like a pendulum. Left, right, left, right.
Help me I’m directionless, the boat cries.
The sea pays no attention. The rocking gets worse. The waves get higher, the wind stronger. The boat’s frame shakes and sobs. It will not last much longer. A flash of lightning illuminates the scene. A clap of thunder deafens the boat’s cries.
The waves foam harder and the gray sea stirs faster.
The sailors inside the hull huddle together. Their faces show no emotion. They know they are defeated. They cannot stop the sea when she is hungry. They just ride it out, hoping her hunger will subside and they will make it out alive. But most know that is wishful thinking. They just hope it ends soon. The foam will feel their lungs and then there will be nothing. No fear, no pain, no pale stricken faces. They will be weightless. They will be free.
The sea eats at the boat, board by board. The boat quivers. He gives in. But suddenly the sea stops. There is a lull. The boat sighs, a sigh of relief. But it is in vain.
The waves rise up without warning. They encircle the boat and as gravity pulls them back down, the boat goes with them. Down, down, down.
It will be over soon, the sailors tell themselves. The water rises in the hull. They stretch their necks, gasping for a last breath. But it doesn’t take long. Their cries are muffled with the gurgling of water and a clap of thunder. Down, down, down.
The boat disappears, sinking in silence. The gray water churns, it rushes to fill the void, that boat-shaped void. As the boat falls to the ocean floor, the sea’s surface calms. The water is no longer rocking; it is no longer foaming at its peaks.
Blood has been spilt, the beast fed.
She is satisfied.
The clouds clear, stretches of black fluff erasing into an orange sky. The sea hides all traces of its kill. The surface becomes smooth and a welcoming shade of blue. It is inviting. The waves move in slow crescents, sinking into a relaxing rhythm. The wind blows, a salty scent on the tip of its breath. The sun begins to rise, the orange casting a warm glow on the sea. The marmalades and purples and pinks and blues run together.
It is a beautiful, breathtaking moment. It is picture perfect.
The trap is set.
The sea waits.
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| When I left Lubbock, I felt comfortable with who I was and where I was going. I felt sure that I had certain talents, talents I could use no matter what environment. But slowly I am beginning to lose faith in them. Writing, the thing i always felt so secure in doing, is betraying me. I feel so unsure with every word write and every sentence I scribble. I feel so unsettled. I have met so many people here, people who make me feel untalented, stupid, awkward, unmotivated, unattractive. There are people who I have met who volunteer 20 hours a week, people who play beautiful music in their rooms when they think no one is listening, people who are so empowered by their political beliefs, people who mutter profound things in philosophical discussions, people who take beautiful pictures, people who look good, even when it is icky and rainy outside.
People amaze me.
I wish I did the same.
Perhaps this is what happens when you are thrust someplace new, that your talents are tested, and you must fight to prove yourself.
I hope I come out on top.
But even if I don't, I can at least say, "I tried."
The more I am here, the more I love it.
The more I am here, the more I realize just how much of a better person I need to become. | | |
| so much has happened since i left.
I left the place that was my home for my entire life.
I left those glorious sunsets and wide blue skies.
I left those familiar places and friendly faces.
I left it all behind.
I miss it, but I am not homework.
There is so much to do here to have time to contemplate how far I am from where I began.
I have started spending a lot of time on my own.
I wander around downtown, just to take it all in. The city is beautiful. I love the lake and the beach and the tree lined streets and the looming skyscrapers. I learned how different people are, how we really are insignificant. But instead of making me get depressed, that makes me want to work harder. I want to become something I hold significant, no matter how the world sees me. It is a journey, a conquest, a boundless voyage, that never rests, like the tossing of waves.
My favorite thing to do, is to take the above ground train, and listen to Explosions in the Sky and Brand New. I hear this music that makes me infinite, like I am floating, and then in the background is this constant rattle and shutter and shake and hum. The train whizzes by homes, by the things that constitute people's lives and who they have become.
I am just a casual observer, peeking in to their little worlds. I watch the sun shine on buildings, reflecting particles of light onto my face. The world is still, as I whiz by. It becomes a blur.
The music is still playing.
It is beautiful.
"this is the grace that only we can bestow.
this is the price you pay for loss of control.
this is the break in the bend,
this is the closest of calls.
this is the reason your alone,
this is the rise and the fall."
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| everything is changing.
except for YOU.
you are consistent, constant.
you are my rock.
you are my light.
you are what keeps me going when i feel down.
you are the smell before rain.
you are the blood in my veins.
you make me feel like one hundred dollars.
you make me feel so special.
you complete me.
you you you.
you are in a million.
and i am lucky beyond words to have you.
"If I know what love is, it is because of you."
-Herman Hesse
only 14 more days left.
and then it all begins.
<3
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The Ballad of A Rebellious Sock
It really smells in here.
In this room.
In this drawer.
I am cramped and exposed.
I feel violated and embarrassed,
I hate it here, in this drawer.
The stench is suffocating.
The air is stuffy, sticky, and hot.
For the love of God, hasn’t anyone heard of a vent?
I hate it here.
I remember how I got here, like it was yesterday.
I came in a cloud of white, in a cloud of slick, in a cloud of plastic.
I was wrapped tight, packed like a sardine, compact and confined.
A hand reached in to my cloud and I was removed.
Not just me.
My fellow rebels and I.
We were taken out of the cloud, plucked like a ripe fruit. We were just in season.
I heard the sound of stress; saw light filtering in to my shiny eyes.
Turn that light off, I said.
The hands were deaf.
I felt my body being churned and turned and shaken and stirred.
And then I fell onto something soft.
And then I heard the screech of gears far in the distance mixing with the voices of those around me.
The world shook.
It became pitch black.
The bad smell didn’t come at first.
It came gradually.
Over the eons I have been her, here in this drawer, things just stink, literally and metaphorically.
It smells like cheap perfume mixed with garbage mixed with wet dog mixed with the sweet smell of earth.
It smells like humans.
It’s disgusting.
But I have plan, a plan so devilish, so mischievous, so deliciously perfect I can’t contain it.
I am going to escape.
I haven’t mentioned this to my pair. He is obnoxious. He prides himself in what we do; he is arrogantly self-righteous and sickeningly narcissistic.
I hate him.
He cares not for my rebelliousness, he finds disdain in my lack of sincerity, and abhors my hatred for this drawer.
To him, I am an embarrassment.
To me, he is old news.
I am the news.
My plan is perfect.
It involves a sleepover.
And an overnight bag.
And a bunch of little boys.
When the time is right, I will break free.
Free to do as I please.
Free to take over the world.
Free to stop suffocating in a drawer.
Free from my pair, who is such a drag.
I was so thrilled when he chose us.
So deliciously thrilled.
He placed us in the overnight and shrieked with giddiness.
My pair has started shunning me.
I wish he had started ages ago.
I laugh devilishly to myself.
We begin the journey.
The bag tosses and turns.
The bag jostles and vibrates and hums.
The car comes to a screech and I feel the bag, my vehicle to Nirvana, become lifted off the seat.
I saw the hole, the hole I had known would be unzipped.
The zipper had broken years ago.
I begin wiggling.
I free myself from my pair.
With all the jostling, he doesn’t notice.
And I know it is coming soon.
The stoop.
Where I will be catapulted to freedom.
It comes, the boy steps, the world stops, I fly.
The world comes, in full-screen, in plasma.
I land in the shade of a tree, safe from being found.
A lost sock, lost for good.
I take my first deep breath of air.
I revel in the nuttiness, the lightness, the cleanliness, the openness of air.
Dammit.
They found me, that mother, with her apron and her hair in a knot and the dog who slobbered.
They foiled everything.
And now I am back in the drawer.
Where it smells and is hot.
Life cannot be contained to a single smelly drawer, in a single smelly house, in the worst smelling neighborhood in the world.
I am already planning.
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