Pride is a seed that bears two vines- Life and Death.
So I’ve had an emotional weekend.
I’ve cried.
Been jump-on-my-bed-ecstatic.
I’ve poured the darkest secrets in my soul out.
Laughed until my eyes were about to pop out.
I don’t know what to feel.
Everyone’s told me.
But for once, I just got to stop trying to please everyone else.
And do something for me.
But I even feel that’s impossible. Or maybe I just don’t want to.
Everything that’s happened within the past year is taking such a toll on me.
I used to put so much effort and enthusiasm and pride in everything I did.
Now it takes effort to put enthusiasm and pride in what I do.
I used to write. A lot. Poems, essays, and long, long, long pages of everything I felt, why I felt it, how others reacted, why they did. I analyzed, synthesized and evaluated.
I haven’t done so in months.
I feel like I’ve lost a part of myself.
But then just the same, I feel like I’ve only shared pieces of me; not lost them.
Last night, and tonight, are the first time’s I’ve written since October.
And I think about last summer, and I cry. It was the best summer I’ve ever had; and the most miserable.
Last year I would sit on my bed- actually I didn’t even have a bed last summer, buts that irrelevant- and I would write.
Just write; all night.
Until four in the morning, when I would finally feel content enough to sleep.
And it made me so happy.
And it was all without effort. It was just me, no strings attached.
And I had such a connection with myself.
Like, for once, my mind body and soul was all in harmony.
They were all one domain, spinning simultaneously, all aligned.
I achieved that feeling last night. I don’t know why, but it made me so happy!
I can’t even explain it.
But once it leaves, I become all disoriented again.
And reality becomes reality once again.
I’ve cried.
Been jump-on-my-bed-ecstatic.
I’ve poured the darkest secrets in my soul out.
Laughed until my eyes were about to pop out.
I don’t know what to feel.
Everyone’s told me.
But for once, I just got to stop trying to please everyone else.
And do something for me.
But I even feel that’s impossible. Or maybe I just don’t want to.
Everything that’s happened within the past year is taking such a toll on me.
I used to put so much effort and enthusiasm and pride in everything I did.
Now it takes effort to put enthusiasm and pride in what I do.
I used to write. A lot. Poems, essays, and long, long, long pages of everything I felt, why I felt it, how others reacted, why they did. I analyzed, synthesized and evaluated.
I haven’t done so in months.
I feel like I’ve lost a part of myself.
But then just the same, I feel like I’ve only shared pieces of me; not lost them.
Last night, and tonight, are the first time’s I’ve written since October.
And I think about last summer, and I cry. It was the best summer I’ve ever had; and the most miserable.
Last year I would sit on my bed- actually I didn’t even have a bed last summer, buts that irrelevant- and I would write.
Just write; all night.
Until four in the morning, when I would finally feel content enough to sleep.
And it made me so happy.
And it was all without effort. It was just me, no strings attached.
And I had such a connection with myself.
Like, for once, my mind body and soul was all in harmony.
They were all one domain, spinning simultaneously, all aligned.
I achieved that feeling last night. I don’t know why, but it made me so happy!
I can’t even explain it.
But once it leaves, I become all disoriented again.
And reality becomes reality once again.