AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH I just want to collapse in a puddle.


There’s this whole society that exists on the TV that is SO INSANE. There is so much presentation EVERYWHERE. Self-perpetuated society that is SO weird. We are so lost in this wrapping paper life. And I get it. I get why it’s fun to be an atheist. There’s a comfort in feeling higher than everyone else. As if you can see something others can’t. And there’s that same feeling that emanates from Christianity. Everyone wants to feel as if they understand something that no one else does. I want whatever faith I have to come simply from the poetry I want my own life to be.

I’m ready to be my new self. Whoever I am moving into being…I’m ready for it. 

Healing now. Healing.

But ugh. I feel like fucking Holden Caulfield. I’m still so depressed…and Christmas seems so contrived and heartbreaking. I miss my childhood. I miss before my family was broken. I’m so angry at all the men in my life who have continued to treat me like shit. Each and every one. Everyone I’ve ever loved. I’m mad at myself that I still care. 

But the beauty of belief…that permeates this season. Blind faith…but still.

I am connected to all parts of myself in all places and moments of fruition. All the things I touched…all the feelings of disconnect.

There is something deeply missing. Beyond things that can be healed. Just loss without anything that can fill those places. 

And there’s this desire to share…to reach out…to show off…because we are so disconnected from any REAL human connections. We are empty and reaching. Longing and loss. 

These pictures feel like little precious moments that have been waiting quietly to meet me again. I remember EVERY ounce of feeling within my body. People get frozen in time. And they speak so differently with time.

Being present carries everything. All of these subdued colors. I have everything WITHIN my presence. And moments are lost within a thousand spaces. Within you and me and the words that I want to describe it. 

And we really had these moments. They really existed. 

Do we all grow together as a collective unconscious? 

We are all trying SO hard to hold on to these patterns to make us numb. 

The things I saw. The things I touched. The things I claimed to be part of my human experience. The things that woke up my deviant soul. Memory is a fallen angel.

How can I say which part of my story really matters?

I love the child I was this year. And I love the sad woman I’ve grown into. 

And I don’t want to wade through old feelings and memories anymore. I want to discover again. I need Italy. Newness.

I could probably adjust to anything if given enough time.

STOP MEASURING YOUR LIFE based on these arbitrary things in your head that have been somehow implanted in your mind.

In my life I need to find someone who can LET THINGS GO. 

My love story is much more like Love Actually…with a multitude of wonderful love stories in my life…and I think that will be much more beautiful. They will all be mine and they will all be full. 

And this concept of romantic love…of hope…Christmas…they all flow from the same wordless river. Words like magic and faith and God and belief.

Love is always enough. It its many forms. In its infinite avenues. In the chopped bits, the cruel hands, the devastating eyes. In my mother’s grace and my father’s destruction. In all the people in my life who have ever shared this undefined wonder with me. 

And there is a time and a place for everything. A time for anaylsying and a time for letting go. A time for purging and a time for sorting. A time for healing and a time for moving on. And now that this is over…I can begin to recognize what was healthy and what was not…what strengths I might have in relationships and in dealing and in what ways I should learn to be stronger.  There are certain things I’m good at letting go and certain things I continue to obsess on.


Part of me
Has Died
And won’t return
And part of me
Wants to hide
The part that’s burned

Once, I
Knew how to talk to you
Once, once
But not anymore

Hear the sirens call me home
Part of me
Has vied
To watch it burn
And this heart of me
Has tried
But look what it’s become

Once, once
I knew how to look for you
Once, once
But that was before
Once, once
I would have laid down to died for you
Once, once
But not anymore.

Hear the sirens call me home


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