I was reminded today that I will forever be a mess, in life, love & every other aspect of everything I reach for. I’ve come to terms with this today because this is who I am, a writer, a dreamer , an old soul who falls in love every god damn day with paper & ink. My heart always has something to say & yes I chose to walk away a thousand times trying to heal myself, but the only way I know how to do that is to write every last god damn word down & purge my soul until I feel a little lighter of the weight I carry.
I am not ashamed to say I shut down & quiet the world to listen to my own heartbeats, this is the only way I know how to breathe. When the rest of the world fades to black & I am one on one with my thoughts. Maybe its destructive to push everyone out, or possibly I am just reinforcing my heart for another go. Whatever the reason, I am fucking trying like hell. That has to count for something.
I’m just going to continue to lay my heartbeats down & hope someone along the way will stop to listen. I won’t apologize for being a mess, this is the way I love & live my every day. At least I know where everything is beneath all this rubble.
What my heart wouldn’t do
to love you back to life.
Strip you of your nightmares
& smother you in ever after.
All those aches of three a.m
offerings to twisted white sheets
& unearthly flesh consumed.
Beneath tin roofs & the sound
of heartbeats & writhing rain.
The way your pulse would feel
against my skin as no other has been.
To lick your wounds, tracing scars
with soft breaths & feral instincts.
Biting down on your collarbone
to calm the need to taste anything sweet.
Drenching my tongue among the salt
of you whimper, while you remember
what it feels like to scream out my name.
The truth is this, we are survivalist. We endure countless acts of struggle on a daily basis. Some are dealing with pain, loss, grief, fitting in, desires we cannot reach, life in general. We build these walls, safe houses within ourselves trying to protect what little pieces of fragility that still exist. We close doors, afraid to open up to what if’s because we can’t bare to fail again. Some of swing those doors wide open & jump face first into whatever is that is waiting, falling flat on our asses & skinning our knees, but we learn to get back up again, wiser & stronger or within these lies we tell ourselves. We live safely, within our own comfort zones, never to allow ourselves to fully breathe. Yet we wake up every damn day & live that same day over & over, calling it Life!
What the hell are we so afraid of? Falling? Well fuck we weren’t born with wings but damn do we rely on the sky when we need something or someone to listen. So what if we screw it up, if we fall flat on our face & skin our hearts on the way down, at least we can say we fucking lived. I rather make a million mistakes along the way, I love my battle scars & the journey .These accidental moments of living with my walls down, well damn they define me. I want to be remembered for all the crazy shit I did & all the people I touched while discovering myself. I want people to say, she never just lived among the everyday, she lived like it was her last day, every god damn day of her life. For it’s the only way I know how to be me, raw & uncensored.
Live every damn day like no one is watching, love with every breath in your lungs & my god, hold onto the things that make you happy, you only get one chance to live outside the walls of your comfort zone.
Hold on my love, a little longer than forever. I miss the days where our hearts met halfway between someday & oblivion. The way I felt safe beneath your sonnets & fragile against your words. In all the ways my heart slipped effortlessly into your chest & the only lullaby I needed was the echo of your voice. I ache for those hands that once gripped my flesh & pulled my soul beneath every way I wanted to feel, adored. I never want to know the absence of your pulse against my life, or feel the time slip through our fingers like my curls once held your fingertips. I can still feel your heart heavy in the air. Still opening my lungs, trying to breathe you in. Exhaling is the only way I know to let you go but it’s not as if my chest had a choice. If I did, you would still be here, writing next to me, the story of us & how we made it through it.
Every story comes full circle, mine begins and ends in the same place. Standing in front of Hawk falls with the rush of raging waters and my heart. These mountains have held my hand since I was four, and every time I need to breathe or search for home, this is where my soul guides me. Possibly it is the white laced mountains with fresh snow that gives my mind a feeling of pure, or the miles of trails my bare feet have traveled through the years. Something about the ice cold waters brushing against ankles while river rock holds your soles. Maybe it is the silence except for the forest heartbeat, and the feeling of breathing without people. I have always felt as though I didn’t quite belong anywhere, moving around so much I never felt the need to make friends. I knew my heart wouldn’t stay and my soul always follows. It is easier to keep walls up and the world out, but some days you miss the feel of sun or fingers touch. Those desires you tuck down beneath your skin deep and lie to your heart, telling yourself it is self preservation. You learn to feel with your eyes and take still frames to carry you. Winters are always long, when you belong to no one, so you keep journals and notebooks filled with dreams and poetry. Writing becomes your friend and paper will always hold you when the nights are long and hearts have refused to thaw.
My father had first introduced me to this sacred place. Told me it was the only place in the world except for the sea, that his hands longed for. I never knew what he meant by that, until now. He taught me to fish off the cliffs, catching sunny’s and stripers. We laughed for hours while eating PB&J and talking about everything. He made me face my fear of heights at the age eight. He took my hand & we climbed to the top of the falls, a twenty foot incline where the mountain water met the dip into a blue pool..I refused to look down, my head would spin and fear stole my ability to stand. Yet he would stand right at the edge barefeet and lean into the air. I would lose my mind and try to make him stay where it was safe, but he just put out his hand for me to take it. I never would, and he would say, “Lexi, take my hand, or I will jump.” I would cry and beg but my father did not raise his children to fear anything. He taught me to fly that day, when he looked over his shoulder and lept into the clear blue sky. Stunned and in tears, I ran to that edge and did what I never thought I could. Faced a fear far greater than heights, the fear of losing my father. Staring over that edge and watching him floating peacefully on his back, a smile on his face and arms of safety. I dove from those cliffs, wings my father promised me and the weight of my fears gone, because he loved me enough to show me. These memories and a lifetime more engraved with our initials on these rocks and oak trees, in our bones and drenched on our skin. The way it should be.
Today I find myself here with purpose and not just a reason to run and breathe. My heart is heavy and my lungs want to exhale in this September wind. My eyes take in the first peaks of colored leaves as Autumn slowly approaches. Winds that blow my hair also dry the salty tears staining my face, yet I find the strength to climb further up the cliffs, hands and heart chilled to the bone. Feeling the rush of my pulse run through my neck, and the pull of the view below. Stopping to turn around and take in the sky, trying not to forget how wings felt every time I climbed this mountain to dive for the waters below. My father’s arms were not always there to catch me but every time my body hit the water it felt like arms holding me.
The cool hands of darkness lay hands upon the shoulders of the damned, demons come wrapped in beautiful blue eyed little boys with blonde hair & a heart full of rage. White walls hold the breaths we cannot force from our lungs, splattered in transparent tears only I can feel. Bitten lips red with warm blood slip like memories. The only relief comes in the dampness of basement walls keeping my vision from blurring against the set stage of this bitter life.
Laundry lay stacked in piles next to broken tables that once held the scent of sunlight kissed blankets, anticipating the arrival of a warm body after fate had another dance with darkness. Linen sheets now splattered with caught tears & cashmere sweaters to cover the plum shades of bruised skin and broken hearts. One small bag holding a crystal rock, a bent spoon from my grandmother’s silver stash left to me and a thousand reasons to kill my brother.
I urge my body not to give in to the rage, willing my lungs to exhale the truth and confront the fear of what tonight will hold. My hands shake & my stomach turns as a carousel of pain twisting my iron bones. These stained glass walls I built have been desecrated with a lifetime of holding prayers and hope between my teeth. Yet salvation or mercy never held my name between its lips and I refuse to fall on my knees and pray to a God who abandoned me.
Life is fragile, a brutal broken promise of hopes etched in heartbeats. Our purpose is to find a way to leave our mark, leaving this life in a better way then when we arrived within it. Somewhere along the way we find another pulse that sounds like home, this is what we know as love. We sink our nails deep into it & hang on to this feeling with dear life. We leave our marks on these souls, we watermark their bones & they in return wear our hearts on the flesh for a part of their forever. Yet forever only last as long as the fates allow, not all love is kissed with eternity, this is what we know as learning to let go. We tell her our hands to open & whisper to our hearts, it’s going to hurt like hell but we are strong enough to endure the process. We spill tears faster than heartbeats & it feels like a free fall from everything we have come to know. We close our eyes, lose ourselves in music, lyrics and pour what is left of us into everything else. This is what we call distraction. We keep our hands busy so eventually they forget what it felt like to hold a beating heart within our hands. Time escapes us & everything moves forward within this life, even though we feel like we are watching it while standing still. Lost in memories of what could been captured by still frames in our mind. Those black & white still photographs of a love that was never meant to be. This part is what we know as three a.m aches of acceptance & you know right there in that moment you have to allow all the emotions to flood in, if you ever want to wash away the pain that haunts you. You find yourself closing your eyes & ripping open the floodgates, you allow every inch of your lungs to be consumed, you take a deep breath & sink.
You wake the next day, pillow still damp from the heartbeats you lost the night before. You wash your face, pick your heart up off the floor & wing your eyeliner the same as before. You face the day with a half hearted smile & know you at least tasted love, even if for that brief moment, it still lives marked on your bones just as the watercolors of tomorrow will be once again left out in the rain.