depths

You will never know the depths someone
contains within themselves if you only
splash around in the shallow end.

lessons in blue ink

I've been sitting here for the last two hours
with a pen in my hand
and a blank page in front of me
but somehow tonight,
the words won't come out,
won't arrange themselves
neatly into sentences and metaphors
like they usually do.

The relief of being able to open up my chest
and let it all out won't greet me and I find myself
suffocating in feelings I can't put into words.

I feel like I've woken up on
the wrong side, in the wrong body.
A body whose hands don't know the
way to hold a pen like a lover
and whose mind doesn't look like
the inside of an open notebook,
whose blood isn't spelled 'ink'.

And suddenly I don't know what to do
with myself because now I have nowhere
to escape to, no one to turn to.
No one who understands me the way words do,
no one who offers me shelter the way writing does.

And tonight, all I can think about is
what a tragedy it is when a writer runs out of words.

give me time

Somehow, somewhere, I started listening to the voices,
they got inside my head, bouncing around inside my skull,
screaming loud about things that made me want to
turn and run.

But I quietened them,
told them to sit down
and be patient.

A masterpiece isn't crafted in a day.

So won't you give me time to be a mess?

unseen

This is for the ones who feel unintelligent
because of their inability to understand
what happens when you change the
variables in the equation for a parabola.

The ones who have spent too many years
feeling like they're breaking their heads over
a math problem the rest of class did in
a matter of two minutes.

The ones who feel misunderstood,
feel like they've mastered the art
of being a wallflower.

Because you see, I might not
get stoichiometry,
but do you get
how to write a piece of poetry
that will make your father cry?

I believe in many types of intelligence.

And if there is one thing I know, it's that
you cannot narrow down the word 'smart'
until it means 'to be good at math and science',
because the girl over there,
with shooting stars behind her eyes,
with an entire universe hiding in her mind,
she'll spend her days believing she is dumb
until someone explains to her that there are
many ways to be smart.

So tell her
that there's nothing wrong
with a head full of words instead of
a head full of numbers,
tell her the world needs more people that
thinks the way she does,
that there are empty places that only she can fill.

Tell her that this life needs more
deep feelers,
more dreamers,
more storytellers,
more people who are willing to
write about what hurts.

Tell her that it's okay if her words
sound better in her head
and written down on paper
than out loud.

That you don't need biceps to be strong,
that you don't need an 'A' printed next to a math test
to prove your intelligence.

That you don't need another person's praise
to validate your talents or ideas,
to validate your voice.

Tell the girl with metaphors running through her veins

that you don't need to have your name

spoken over a microphone to prove you're heard,

that you don't need a bright spotlight and a stage

to prove you're seen.

Go on.

Tell her.

I am still learning

I know that it is easy to praise You
when all is well,
and You know that I am often silent
when my heart is hurting
and I wonder if the sun
will rise again.

But I am still learning
that You are the only light
in the dark,
that You are the lifeline
that brings me out the other end,
alive,
in one piece.

I am still learning how to extend my hand
when I am drowning,
still learning that You can still any storm.

And I am still seeing how Your grace is enough,
how completely it covers me while I am still learning.

paradox explanations

I am not yours.

I do not have to explain myself to you,
shouldn't feel like my body owes yours anything.

I do not have to let you in.
You earn your way in with me, see.

I am not a game for you to play,
not your Queen on a chess board, boy.

You may think you know,
you may think you see,
but you really don't,
you have absolutely no idea.

I am not simple.
And I am not sorry.

Because it took me years to learn
that you do not have to hide
your deep waters
for a boy who can't swim.

what I'd give to see you heal

After all this time of living, I know you're still finding your feet
and that the adjustment didn't happen overnight and that it eats you up.

I know.

And I know that now you're scared to open up and let them in 'cause

they keep on leaving,

leaving scars all over your chest,

nobody seems to stay.

I know.

And I know that today you've cried a thousand tears

and you fear that these wounds will never heal.

I know.

You're bleeding and I can't find the band aids,

can't find the right words to soothe your hurting insides.

I know.

And I'm sorry I can't fix it all for you,

you have no idea how much I wish I could,

no idea what I'd give to see you be okay.

But we both know you will make it through this in one piece,

and I'm here,

always,

to remind you when you forget.

when life goes fast on you

Life's been going all fast on me lately, and I don't know when it will be slowing down again.
And the mere thought of continuing at this pace sends me into a panic.

I'm scared because I know life doesn't wait for you to live it.

A day begins and a day ends, and what you do in between is your problem.

And in the end, it's up to you to make your own day.

You cannot afford to pass over small joys,

or else you'll spend all your todays waiting for tomorrow,

and that's how a life is wasted.

Remember to remember that there is

blind beauty in the ordinary and you'll

miss it all if you forget

to

slow

down.

So now child,

go ahead,

give yourself permission to breathe.

You need the oxygen.

the things we don't say

They never told you how, sometimes,
the very words that need to be spoken
can be found lodged in throats
and lost between heart and mouth.

That "sorry" may drain you
of the courage you thought you had
and that "I love you" might be
harder to pronounce than
the simplest of words.

They forgot to mention
that sometimes staying
quiet about things will
certainly seem like the
easy way out
and that
raw
and
real
questions
rarely get asked.

The room in your heart
where all the unspoken
words and worries and
hopes and dreams and
silent screams get buried
has been piling up for years.


And now you know
that there's a graveyard
for the words that died on your lips
and funerals for the moments
you were too scared to open your mouth.

dear wide eyed girl

Dear wide eyed girl,

I know that sometimes compassion can feel like a curse that tears your insides apart,

but you listen to me.

Don't ever stop feeling,

it's what keeps you warm in this cold world we live in.

Sometimes your heart will bleed and it will not stop until you feel like you need a blood transfusion.

And yet,

your eyes refuse to stop looking for the hurt and pain,

for the down and out,

for the battered and broken.

When you feel like you want to rip that beating mass of tissue right out of your chest,

you keep going. You remember that the world is better off solely because you exist in it.

Building walls bring you nowhere, it'll leave you lonely and isolated from those that will pour life back into your weary bones.

You just keep your head up and your heart will follow.

I promise you that this world is not always as cruel as it seems.

Dear wide eyed girl,

just open your eyes

and among the hurt and the ugly

you'll find an equal amount of

good and beauty.

wars

I know all about wars.

I know what it's like, laying face down on the ground and not being sure if you'll ever get back up again.

And I know what it feels like not being brave at all, not brave enough to face the landmine fields of reality, not brave enough to face another day, not brave enough to get out of bed.

I know how dangerous wounds are that won't stop bleeding. Out of holes facing inside I've lost litres and litres of blood.

Some days there are giants staring me down,
knocking on my door.

And I don't have an ounce of David in me.

Some days breathing in and out seems as difficult as trying to move mountains.

So, see, I know all about wars, even though I've never set foot on an actual battlefield.

I've waged wars all on my own,

in my mind,

head against heart,

heart against head.

But I'm winning a losing battle.

Some nights, sleep runs far away,

some days life leaves you
and somewhere in the middle of nowhere
you lose yourself.

Some days you discover that a few words can hurt more than bleeding knees or broken bones.

They say that time heals, but I want to know where all of that time went,

because I'm still hurting, after all this time.

But between one battle and the next, I've learned a lot.

Everyone is missing someone.

Everyone is sorry about something they said.

Everyone is sorry about something they didn't say.

Eventually, everyone discovers that the monsters haunting you at midnight look harmless in the morning light.

Everyone has scars, whether you can see them or not, whether they talk about it or not.

And above all, the most important thing that I dug up between ground where blood had spilled, was that everyone is fighting their own battle.

time and its ways

Time has been passing in a tangible way lately.
Like I could just reach out and touch this whirlwind of changing events and emotions, this changing young woman, as if it had suddenly turned into something real and solid and concrete.

It occurred to me as I was laying awake last night that these are the days I dreamed of as a little girl.
The years of growing up were something I looked forward to, something that 'one day' would bring.

Slowly, 'one day' turned into today.
And now today is turning into yesterday.
I don't know how I feel about that.

It feels like I was a young teenager yesterday, and now I turn seventeen in less than two weeks.
Next year, I'll legally, technically, be an adult.

I want to turn around and tell the twelve-year-old me that she shouldn't rush this growing up thing, that she should savour each age and not eagerly await the next without enjoying the current one. That the future is out there, closer than she knows.
That these milestones are around the corner and they pile up, they tell of months and years gone by.

I want to tell her to take the risks, to tear off the masks, to stop being someone she's not for the sake of a world that doesn't know what it's about anyway.

That each day is all you have in that moment, all you'll ever have. One day at a time. That's it.
You run the day or the day runs you, isn't that what they say?

As humans, we're ignorant to the fast pace that hours, days, years take to go by. We're afraid to acknowledge it, ashamed of how much we haven't accomplished, of how much we've wasted. The passing of time is a concept we don't look in the eyes, we're oblivious to it. Perhaps deliberately so.

We live with the delusion of "there's always tomorrow".

But there's not. Time doesn't wait for anyone, nor is tomorrow ever guaranteed.
Life is one long string of "now or never" and it's all or nothing.

These bruises and scars are nothing to be ashamed of, they prove you showed up for the fight.

Change is inevitable. It's scary, but it is something that is entwined with life, wrapped up and around time as it goes on.
Also, change is beautiful. Don't try to avoid it. Embrace the you that wakes up different every morning, embrace the way you grow, embrace the surprises life throws at you.

Change teaches us that every day is precious and rare, a gift.
Every year is an adventure.
The good, the bad, the beautiful and the ugly.

Life's full of it all.

when writing doesn't help

Sometimes these pent up feelings flow out easy onto paper
and the relief is instant
and feels like a mountain climbed.

but sometimes they're stuck and I can't explain what these emotions do to me,
only that they're heavy and suffocating and lifeless.

And it hurts, numbing the walls of my heart,

I can't feel a thing,

I don't know what to do with my hands,

breathing in and out becomes a war.

And really, honestly,

I don't want to talk about it.