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.
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.
We created this fever, a rush of bloodlust caught between the darker sides of our souls collision. A bleed of infamy pouring into sidewalk cracks, a absence of rain to wash our shamed skin or the pavements stained with our memory. Drinking from the darkest parts of our weeping bones, we find suffering together beautiful. Leaving love notes on each other’s chest, worn as scarlet letters, learning to love the shades of red against our colorless lives. Painting words on lips & staining dreams where we meet in shitty bars only to drink from one another’s lips. Drunk on thoughts & high within each other’s fractured eyes, we wipe the tears sweetly & call ourselves a mess. We hold hands & our fingers spark, the rubbing of winter bones hungry for a thaw after a summer spent without each other’s comfort. We take in every moment as if time were a gift from angry Gods, defying fate & calling our minutes a lifelong dream. We sit in silence, our dark hearts meet between eyes & stories we will tell in our next life, where we lived beyond paper skin & sin. We refuse the thoughts of heaven, for how could stars shape the sky & not hold us perfectly suspended in each other’s arms. We curse the night as the moon turns to kiss the sun good morning as we have whispered all the mornings before this night was set. We close our eyes, knowing we live within each other’s skin & morning will hold our empty sheets & heartbeats after we begged hell for one day spent,escaping the what if. So we hold each other for seconds more, as the day breaks & touches our face with the warmth of the sun but not each other’s hold. We open our eyes to the nightmares that we live wide awake & wait for that next good morning text… So we can breathe again.We live in our twisted world of obsession & addiction spilled into a insatiable mess.For I never believed in God until I heard my name leave his lips, as a prayer
Still chasing the cedar waters of the pines with ghost, holding hands with memories better left in the woods. Where my soul was once clean & untouched by the crumbling churches and stained glass choices, running from the life of a preachers voice. Sleeping on altars through services, wearing shame as a dress made of the dirtiest linen, lips blood soaked in mercy, never tasted.
Left with handprints on white skin from altar boys who couldn’t resist kissing behind wooden pews, their vile fingers tracing the hem of my skirt, staining my flesh in sin. Staring into the eyes of the devil & daring his intentions because that’s what preachers daughters do. Pressed against the fountain where souls were once washed clean in baptism, now tarnished by dirty hands and missing skirts. Washing my mouth out with the unclean water, promising never to do it again.
We all rebel from the day we are born, cursing our life and assuming we deserve to touch sky with delicate fingertips, yet I have never known nothing more intimate than lying to myself & drenching my salvation in shame, while the good Lord watched. Father always said, I was kissed by the devil, little did he know I was hell bent & marked by the flames. I still taste his bone & ash every time I drink from God’s fountain with empty eyes.
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I guess I lost you
In between sunset and sunrise
Somewhere before the divide
I woke to no heartbeat
Against the sheets
Or cold feet against my thighs
No lull of your breathing
Or pull from the sheets
The chill of the absence
Left my spine untouched
By warm hands
A pulse echoing against my skin
The wrap in the blanket
Covering two souls
The rise of your chest
The falling of my heart
Just touched by sun
The only love,
I can count on”
All Suns set eventually