Welcome to the corner of my internet…

I used to be able to keep secrets. I could keep the secrets that would rock the world 15 times around. I could spin a protective cocoon, around other people’s never revealed truths, with the silk of the strongest kind. 

There came a time where I kept so many other people’s secrets, that they filled me up, that I had to start letting mine go. 

Little by little, all those terrible things that no one knew about me would become less secret, I told so and so, so why not tell this and that. 

All those things I kept tight to my chest at 22 suddenly didn’t seem as meaningful at 27, when the foundation of my person suddenly had so much fucking weight. I’ve heard “I had no idea you were dealing with that” over and over again since I decided to start spilling my truths.

My hand had been dealt, here I was, a gambler with two choices. To crumble, or to unload. 

Isn’t that how it always goes? 

Two choices.

 You can go south, dipping down to the hellish thing that keeps you low. 

Or you keep yourself above, high and mighty. 

I’m a serial roller coaster rider in this amusement park we call life, twirls, dips, spins, highs, climbs, and stomach twisting falls .

 There is a clear sentiment I feel about everything, which is that I feel everything.

 I feel the sentiments of a stranger when they lose a pet, and I notice the LOST poster in a grocery store trip where all I bought was bread and eggs.  I feel the rage of a passerby in traffic, while mine, east bound finds me weaving and flirting through open lanes. 

I feel the hope of a new couple on a first date, and the failure of a public argument of two people exhausted by each other.

 I’ve also chosen to break up with someone on a private backstreet, and another in a public bar, and I feel each one, rocking me still.

I am super human in the length and strength in which I feel all emotions, heavily.

 Gambling for me is an exercise in extremes, and all I want to know is every rule so I know how to break them. 

I can’t help the way I want to help. So here I am, learning the rules, abiding by them for some, and nearly never for myself. 

Here for the Blood, Sweat and Tears

I promised you years ago that I was a mess. I made believers out of nonbelievers. That neck ache view to the pedestal is a bitch and a half, I can tell you… you used to listen, or at least watch my mouth move. Even looking south has my shoulders curved, the length of my spine seemingly knocked down an inch or two. Years later I’m now finally proud of the jump that seemed to leave me lame for a few. Broken pieces, but not noticeable. As they got left for me to move aside into a box or closet. Out of sight, into organized chaos. Meaningful, valuable at another time.

My mess is a breathing exercise. First the shame of not being able to catch on just right. Then losing yourself to the glory of it all. Depth in it. Corners you can keep leaning into. Space. Glorious, selfish fucking space.

When was the last time you breathed so deep the space between your rib cages could swallow territories? Thrash and coax them around on an inhale and throw them back out on an exhale, giant waves of something deeper. Living in the spaces between the essential… stomach, liver, lungs, heart…. for long seconds.

It only takes seconds short or long for scars, tattoos, tragedies and triumphs. I made promises on the deepest knowledge of my heart, soul, and mind. In the past. For people I used to think I could hold onto, leaving the biggest marks, tho seemingly left only on me. I was a little selfish then. The self consuming kind. Now I’m selfish for the push, for the power of momentum. The kind that keeps you alive.

But what is the present without that devious, jealous, all consuming past. The past is a wild fucking ride, cheer-sing your mentors, matching your heroes, forgetting your enemies, begging subconsciously that the glory lives on forever.

It is not enough to say that forever is an ending in and of itself. A mirrored image of you in a mirror. Depending on the angle it’s understandable and not. Forever.

I promised you. Did you listen?

I want. Constantly. No different from being human, I suppose.
But, as I am the one that once sat on the pedestal that’s since crumpled, that was on the vessel that rode the deep breaths and toured the world inside me, the one that has claw marks, and ragged claws, I know how deeply I want, it’s just making sure that depth doesn’t tempt one of two things.

One. A depth, a chasm, that people come and throw their least desirables and curses down. A place for detached hate, fears, and actions.

Or, a depth filled with something familiar but achingly reflective, then I have a narcissus, looking at their reflection in me, but never really seeing.

I have entertained both. I think I keep learning, but the consequences seem to leaver a bigger impact each time. And these days fear and consequence live in the same room. Worst case scenario.

I wonder if I could let things go a little easier if maybe I’d straighten out my spine a little. But, as I promised you. I’m a mess. I just don’t have to prove it by showing you.