A Line that Isn’t Mine

Where is the light of day?

Is it not supposed to light the way?

I shift and shudder in the dark,

The fear slowly creeping into my heart.

The silence is agony; beating on the doors of death.

I curl and stop to slow my terrified breath.

Where is God’s majestic Angels to save the day?

Aren’t they to keep the darkness a bay?

The unfeeling cold covers my body with its blanket.

I scream in my mind, whatever you want just take it.

I sob and flinch to the floor.

I hope this end will not hold gore.

My life turned to such a tragedy in so short a time.

Will it ever end with a line that is mine?


To Love is to be Human

Love is undetermined and somewhat wrong, from the constant obstacles that burden our souls. We follow our emotions that destroy us all and create the depressions that swallow us whole. We break apart and lose ourselves completely. Never do we try to hold on to whet makes us happy for the fear of imminent sadness. Humans are sorrowful. Pitiful beings that we are; show no sign of giving up what makes us human. However, is that a bad thing? We love and laugh. We cry and say goodbye. We lose our innocence and hold onto our pride. Emotions make us human. We imagine new lives and wondrous adventures, but most of us never strive to make it more. To make those lives a reality.

Love is determined and somewhat right. We find it in the beginning of our lives. We are held and marveled at. We are raised with kindness. We are raised to look for our dreams and to always hold hope. We are complex and simple. We are giddy in our happiness and agonized by our sadness. This is what makes us human. This is what makes our lives matter. In reality, we say goodbye quickly with very short lives. The memories we make with others and even ourselves matter most. It is only in that legacy will we carry on.

A New Tomorrow

Fingers clenched the bars as she stood on the edge. It was high enough to die. Far enough to just lose herself to the water below. There was a bitter cold that nipped through the winds. She closed her eyes tightly to stop the imagination. No more thoughts of her life. No flashes of what is. Just nature’s silence. All she could hear was the water slightly crashing against the rocks. The wind’s whistle as it ruffled her hair every which way. Hands trembling as she softened her grip.

No matter how easy it was to let go; she felt rooted on the small edge. Why let go? A question she could answer quickly. Why not? That was harder. Too few reasons. The ultimate question is however; are those reasons good enough to walk away?

Eyes opened to down into the calm water. Her reflection was far and too blurry to make out. The darkened sky made the water gray. It mirrored the world around it. Thinking back, was she mirroring everything bad in her own life? What about the good times? What about everything that made life beautiful? Was she supposed to forget about it all? Was she so focused on the bad?

Everything was going downhill in her life; or so it seemed. She was going to die one day. Why not make it now? So, why is it so hard to let go? She was scared of falling. She wasn’t scared to die. She just didn’t want to. No, today was another scare. Just another battle that she had won.

Grappling the pole, she pulled herself over and hugged her jacket. Slightly smiling at the view behind her; the girl walked away from the bridge. There was a new day waiting for her tomorrow.

Depression is debilitating. It’s consuming down to your very core. You can’t ever truly escape it, but you can fight it for another day; for a new tomorrow. It feels like you’re suffocating; just like when you cry and your throat closes. When you desperately try to keep in tears because you just want it to all stop. Don’t ever stop fighting it. There is always a light at the end of the darkest tunnel; you just have to wade through the bad to find the good.

Depression is like the sea, unpredictable. It seems calm before the storm. Sometimes all you can do is go with the flow instead of fighting through the waves. Don’t ever give up; don’t ever give in. You feel like sinking; to let it all drown you.

Fight for a new tomorrow. We all have them to look forward too.

What the Fuck is Fuckable

We all deem ourselves what we want to be perceived as. Beauty is on the inside and the outside. It just depends on whether we hold ourselves up with pride and confidence but not with arrogance. No matter how pretty we look we also wnat to say that we are gorgeous on the inside as well. That makes us truly special and “fuckable”. We women are insecure and fragile but that is only one layer. We are strong, witty, courageous, and so much more. Being “fuckable” isn’t everything. Being the best “YOU” however is.

Heather Matarazzo

Seriously? What the fuck is fuckable?? I don’t know if I can answer that question for you, but I can share my own experience.

When I was 19 or so, I was standing in a Starbucks in West Hollywood with a director, talking about the upcoming film we were about to shoot. It had been a long road, but we had finally made it. Waiting for our coffee, I could see that he seemed a bit uneasy. I asked him if everything was ok. He said yes. I didn’t believe him, so I asked him again. He looked at me and said “Heather, I’m sorry, we have to give your role to another actor. The producers don’t want you.” I didn’t understand. I had been attached to this project for two years, and now two weeks before filming, I’m being let go. I asked him why. He looked me dead…

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Inky Breadcrumbs and the Forgotten Magic of Writing by Hand

Most times I write my research and beginnings for fiction by hand. It feels more realistic and meaningful then.

EJB Writing Studio

Photo by Erin J. Bernard Photo by Erin J. Bernard

Hey, writer! When was the last time you took a good look at your own hands? I mean, a really, really good long look?

Sure, they’re fluttering in and out of the periphery of vision over the course of any average day, assisting in the picking up and setting down of life’s dull and delightful objects. But, most often, their task feels secondary – to hold up for inspection the things you’ve deemed far more fascinating: smartphones, babies, books, burritos.

There’s little incentive to notice them. And this strikes me as odd. So do it now. Have a good, long gander. What do you see? Look carefully: your hands are miraculous, surprising, ordinary, and, for my money, entirely underappreciated.

You’re in good retroactive company. I’m first writing this by hand, in fact, down here in Mexico, though by the time it reaches its final destination…

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Sestina: Tin Can Call

this translation

The summer I turned sixteen, I learned
the burning that happens when contact
is made: flesh and mouths, a new kind of touch.
Kids really, trying to smash ourselves together,
atoms mingling, heeding the old call
looking for The Other who would hear—

The low buzzing we made, like bees, hear
not just our desires but everything we’d learned
about desire—that birth is a call
to the universe; from conception we have contact.
We only survive when we are together.
We learn from being touched what it is to touch.

Hands, eyes, lips, hearts, touch
and understand. Without speaking, we hear:
all that our ancestors have learned
to cultivate society, not just sex as contact
but contact that issues forth the greater call.

String stretched taut, tin can call:
We twin sisters sleep at night, while parents forget to touch.
The line is in place, but loss of contact,

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This is a very true and precise point on why we need to be the better people.

Opinions Opinions Opnions

With the rising activity of the terrorist group ISIS, there has been one huge misconception that needs to end immediately. Many people, particularly Americans, like to think that people of the Islamic faith, or Muslims if you prefer, are all members of ISIS or at least supporters. This is completely unfounded and honestly, fucking ridiculous.

Islam is a religion of peace. Yes, most ISIS members are Muslims, but that is solely because ISIS formed in an Islamic based area. So therefore most of ANY possible members are going to be Islamic, NO other reason. Saying that all Muslims think ISIS is something they agree with, is like saying that the KKK is something all Christians like.

On a similar note, people call Muslims violent? They are historically one of the more peaceful regions. Let me remind you about the wonderous Crusades. Christians raged years and years of war and violence…

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