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Depth Over Distance

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Author's note: Hillary T enjoys habitually marveling at the little things life carries. Here is here deep...  Show full author's note »
Author's note: Hillary T enjoys habitually marveling at the little things life carries. Here is here deep perspective in light stories and poems.  « Hide author's note
Chapters:   « Previous 1 2 3 4 5 6 ... 39 Next »

I Scream Silence.

Advil for breakfast. Sweating off sickness. Sleeping off sadness. Cigarettes for dinner. Back pain from sitting in the same undersized chair all night. Inspiration flew out my sky light 19 days ago and I am not willing to soar after it. Eating at the same old place everyday when you live by a street of endless restaurants. Ordering vanilla when the menu is 6 pages long. My heart is like this empty room. I scream silence. It's the silence I scream. Only containing my hollow body, and scattered potential products of brilliance. But for now they just sit. And I am scared that, sitting is all they will ever do. A [blank] year-old nobody, somebody, anybody. I am someone. Maybe I am no one. Perhaps I am nothing. I could tell you my height and hair color, all my favorite songs, and all the art and people who have accidentally changed my life. I could tell you what my priorities are, name you my faults and try to even them out with my perks and quirks. I could. I could tell you all of that, but that isn't an accurate profile of my silently strength-less life. I dug myself into places I never thought I would be. Some scary, some real, and some that I want to recklessly abandon. You are such a joke. But that’s alright; we've all been jokes before.
I am a joke.
I am learning to be myself again.
In need of someone to grab me by the scruff of my mind and pull me out of the dead sea which consumes my motivation to make anything happen anymore; In need of someone to drown water onto my skin and tell me to stop burying my tired face under my old sweater.
Indulging in the future is the only way to cooperate with the present.

I want to go where the seasons unfold and you never ask why, you only watch. I want to go where it’s not too shallow to bury your our shadows, where the moon swallows the sun and hangs it’s light like a puppet show of your life story in the sky. Where an evening could whisper its stories in my ear, and all of my mistakes are some sad poems you keep hidden in your back pocket with the ink stains still wet: able to smudge so we never have to re-live them ever again. Just let me crawl into your bed, we don’t have to talk about it in the morning. You’ll never touch me. We can just lay there. Just let me have you without the broken glass, and I’ll let you see me without folded hands. But once you see the sun it’s hard to notice the stars. You talk in fields and I whisper in orchards. It’s not what we say, it’s the way we’re never able to say it. The night yawned and we couldn’t bury it in the cracks to hold us together.

Please don’t let anyone else in, I hoped, please let this be mine, let me be completely yours. And it was and it is and we’ll never have it again but... we pull it from the dirt like we buried it in a time capsule so we could find it when we were old and with perfect historic hands that deserve it. But we don’t have to talk about it in the morning.

I want to meet the ones with the secrets of the universe, or I’d rather be alone.
Some mouths are like faucets that spout out magic with an aftertaste like dirt. Inflated egos that will leave us first full of wonder, then a palm full of soil without seed.

And our hands are always cupped, ready to drink any truth turned to dust ... as long as it will sparkle in our throats like a heartbeat that almost escaped. And anyone can paint over their faults all they want, but camouflaging flaw can’t build fact.

If you wipe the covers from your eyes, you start to see these murals everyone’s painted over themselves, a coat for crooked parts. And what happens when rain melts that makeup to the ground? When perfumed theories lose all their fragrance? What happens when your hair is all cut and vocabulary can no longer hide who you are? Will we forget how to feel compassion for a greater cause than popular demand? Whose war are we even fighting anymore? Keep your head up. Keep your hair long.

I want to be so much more than this.
Chapters:   « Previous 1 2 3 4 5 6 ... 39 Next »


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