I am a muse amused by you.

This is just to say,

I have stolen all of your lightbulbs.

I needed them to see the light

You already have.

I am so sorry.

It is so bright.

I was laying in bed this morning, wondering how I can cope with the throws of love and remembered that I once did with poetry. Jumping up, I found my book of self sewn poetry detailing the swells and aches of my little heart in high school.

So here are some treasures.

I've waited miles and searched ages for an inspiration like yourself.

My caffeinated beats, fleets and tease, meets and squeeze.

Nerves, rusty from rain, crusty with pain, unused and abused.

You are my anecdote in the awkward room.

My antidote in the virus boom.

Never take your hand away, never leave me this way.

SIDE NOTE: Even now I haven't searched ages in anything. Also, he did leave me that way.

My grumpy tummy tells funny tales. It wails and snails towards food and down trails. We've been down this road, slowed by hunger. Over and under clover and thunder.

Good grief, I was starving.

God Woman, let me be free. Joined hips bring snide quips.

You cause ire in my bile. Your fire's out of style.

A truly human thing to do

Unruly crewmen sing to blue

Soaking up the salty hue

Ignoring that little, faulty screw

that sunk the boat

and killed the crew.

Davy Jones wishes you

all a bitter

and deep adieu.

Birds will dance and men will fly and then we'll learn you can't touch the sky.

The crow will laugh and the dove will snort at our disappointment and dreams cut short.

But no matter how we beg and how we plead, birds won't give up the grounded life they lead.

We will be stuck between Earth and Space, our final dream we're left the chase.

Internal Revolution

I make mistakes and trickle out the doubt and clout.

I apologize a million times.

And one more time to lose the value of words and take away the meaning of my ill planned and ill manned mouth.

I'm sorry again.

I put my life first and think I'm a martyr.

I put myself on a pedestal and tell myself I'm worthless.

I contradict myself on a daily basis and feel neglected in the midst of your adoration.

(Notice how 'I' is the first word in most of these sentences...)

Come first.

Do your thing and lead your life and let me tag along.

Let me forget I matter and let me see that you are the amazing person with the bright future and stone hard drive that I fell in love with.

I want to follow you.

I'm sorry I've been plowing a path as if it's ours, as if you are merely my accompaniment and have forgotten that you have your own calling.

It'll be easy to stray when you're leading the way.

The sun revolves around the world, but not around me.

My world revolves around you though. Take me into your world and help me to forget I think I am what's important.

Learning something every day!

I'm watching my boyfriend do his homework with his music in his ears and his eyes on his paper. He's such a hard worker and driven to such great success.

Sometimes I wish he would drop it for a minute just to be with and hold me.

But that drive and focus that keeps him glued to his desk is what I fell in love with.

Women really are a bundle of contradictions...

Times like that, it's difficult to find all the small things he did for me that day that shows he does love me even while he's doing homework.

Like the fact that he went to the gym and rode the bike with me.

And while I cried and moaned about my worries and needs, he looked me straight in the eye and listened.

Somehow I need to find a way to relax.

To draw some sewn seeds in a previous post, I need to find a way to eradicate those notions of insecurity and nervousness. How can I do that? Can he help me with that?

Is this something that spawns from an internal storm or something in me reacting to an external force?

Thank goodness I'm taking Psychology... maybe my questions will really be answered.

:*(

The intimate relationship the beauty industry tries to establish with me is freaking me out.

Not only does it bash you into feeling like a creature of the night in need of a warm bath and love, but it also promises to make you whole.

"I just want to love myself."

"We can do that."

That's a lie.

All they want is for you to try and fill those dark holes in your life with collagen and cover them up with powders and scrub them out with Microclear beads.

Lately I've been battling for self acceptance and contentment in this area.

I'm not getting help.

No matter how much I spend, I don't love myself more.

I'm not happy with how I look and those that search me out and promise to help don't have my interests at heart, they have my wallet in mind.

"How much are you willing to pay for self acceptance?"

Apparently way too much.

The time of our lives?

I saw the movie "Children of Men" last night. Before I begin to talk about it and its ideas, I want to make a firm statement telling all of you to see it as well. It's a finely crafted, beautifully executed film that can move even that asshole Ironman.
Okay, onto the good stuff.
The premise is that the end of the human race is nigh. Women and men have become inexplicably infertile and a childs cry hasn't been heard in over 18 years.
It's pre-apocolyptic in a sense.
The entire world is falling apart in this despair and even the so-called "haven", England, is falling apart to terrorism and destruction.
However, there is hope. A simple rumor of a collection of sages working together for the extension of the human race. Of course, it's only believed in by those who see UFOs on the daily and smoke weed.
But it's hope nonetheless.
But I didn't come here to write a summary of the story.
I came to talk about something that has been on my mind since the movie ended.
Seeing those potential mothers in such despair and those fathers in dreaming in equal torment nearly broke my heart.
You begin to ask yourself, what's the point of doing anything if you have no one to share it with. To pass it onto.
To brag to and impress.
The youngest person alive was 18 and after that...
Nothing.
Can you imagine NOTHING being the only thing in your fellow mans future?
Some creatures solely live to procreate. They die shortly after. Salmon spend their whole lives preparing for that moment. They battle with unspeakable odds, go under gruesome (and kind of creepy) transformations, and fight the good fight. But it's all gone after the eggs have been laid. They die.
But THEY as a species do not!
They may die, but in half a blink of Gods eye their little babies are at it, just the same as their parents. They live on, carrying on the salmon way.
What if that stops?
We would have no future as a race. Nothing to dream about for our children.
Not even children to dream for.
If we have any rights as living creatures, it is to procreate just like the rest of the breathing Earth.
To lose that right is terrifying. To all-of-a-sudden lose hold of the most sacred and ancient right, it's to die instantly.
Maybe not yourself, maybe you live a horrendously long time.
But your race dies.
You future as mankind dies.
Although it may be attributed to wonderful acting, the hopelessness of those women who could no longer bear the noble title of Mother brought me to a multitude of unadulterated and unstoppable tears.
It was the absolute blackest truth of having no future.
And I tell you, my friends, I wept at the face of such a "future". I cried for every baby that didn't exist to cry. I cried for every woman that couldn't get to cry on their kids' first day of school. I cried for every man who didn't get to walk a daughter down the aisle.
What a black, black future that could be.
Let's cross our fingers.

I want to be a house wife/office queen.

I want the pretty skirts and the cashmere sweaters and the elegant but durable apron and I want to be used to wearing heels and pretty pink nails. I want to always have beautiful hair all done up and I want to be an excellent cook.
I want to have a garden with peonies, lavender, mint, roses, pumpkins, tomatoes, lilacs, and petunias.
I want to throw great parties.
I want to have something prepared for my husband when he gets home. I want my kids to prefer my food to eating out and I want their friends to love me and my cooking and my home.
At the same time,
I want to be a baracuda at the office.
I want to accomplish what people said couldn't be done and I want to do it in a pencil skirt.
I want to be able to do the math in my head and I want to intimidate my coworkers while also befriending them.
I want to drink wine at dinner meetings and have ruthless logic.
I want to have an office with walls of window on the top floor and I want room service with it.
I want to travel the world for work and fly first class.
I want to be so successful, that I can share my success with those less fortunate. I want to throw parties in support of breast cancer and MS.

Is that too much to ask?

I love What If's.

The idea of knowing that there are an infinite number of alternative routes you could have taken in your life blows my mind.
At any one point, you can make a decision and you could've made a million other decisions that would have taken your life in a completley different direction.
Just as it blows my mind, it also scares me shitless.
Which so many options to pick from, what if we make a mistake? What if we go down the wrong path?
How can you tell which decision is the absolute best?
You can't.
And you can't go back and redo it.
Life is so terrifying sometimes. All I want is to have a warm bed to come home to, a warm meal once in a while, and my boy to hold my hand.
But there are so many other things worth pursuing. I literately have an entire globe under my feet, how do I know where to start or what to hold on to?
I won't know until I've come to the end of that many forked road and looked back.
And all I can hope for is that I can accept myself when all is said and done.