Broken

Sometimes I feel like I'm broken. I feel like there is a piece of me missing.

Perhaps as I was cooling from the heat of being fired in the kiln, I was dropped, shattered, pieces flying everywhere, hurting others, some thrown away, some never to be found again.

Or maybe it was before that. Maybe I was never whole to begin with. Maybe in configuring me, the artist made a drastic error. Perhaps I was too tainted for his pure hands. My clay, being recycled, didn't mold out to his design. So he tried to fix it. Ripping pieces apart, molding for hours, and I still didn't come out right.

Maybe, he didn't like me. Maybe when he saw what he had created he threw it in anger. Leaving the pieces on the floor to disintegrate, listening to their daily crunch beneath his heavy work shoes.

Regardless of how I ended up this way, the fact is that I am not like all the other vases on the shelf.

I can paint myself blue or pink to match the gorgeous colors of the others, but the paint bubbles, quickly peeling away to reveal my putrid exterior. I can add designs and patterns, colors and embellishments, but none of them last; they always fall away, revealing the crimson stain of my true colors.

Sitting on the shelf, I am overwhelmed with emotion. I wounder why I am broken, and why I cannot be fix. I wonder why I am not like the others, no matter how hard I try.
I watch people come into the shop, envying the pretty vases and purchasing for them for their kitchen tables. I see the joy of the artist as he makes a sale, sharing his little beauties with the world.

But come closing, I am still where I was yesterday and will be tomorrow. The artist turns off the light, he too giving up on me and leaving me alone in the darkness.

Solitary in the night I begin to wobble. Carefully throwing my weight against itself, struggling to tip over. I am so tired of standing upright.

Finally, I feel it, liberation. I am hurtling off the top shelf. The ground rapidly approaching. Faster and faster I fall, until finally, with a crash, I smash into the cold hard floor, pieces scattering all around. I exhale the stress and tension with the liberation from my structure.

Broken into a million pieces, the putrid color finally, permanently, erased from existence, I lay there in the silent shop. Despite the ruined labor of the hardworking artist, I am at peace. The world is unchanged by my removal and I finally got the one thing I always wanted: to be taken of the shelf.

Disappointment

Hi Blog-o-sphere! Welcome to my new blogspot: www.hello-there-sunshine.blogspot.com!

So, I realized something just now. I was texting one of my good friends, when I noticed a rising sense of paranoia. I found myself questioning what he said, what his motives were, and if he was lying. I have been doing this with him for quite a while now and I'm really wondering why. This friend is one of my best, who I have known for almost three years, and he is the sweetest nicest guy and would never possibly try to hurt me...so why the suspicion?
It isn't just him though, this happens with all my friends or the people in my life for that matter. After a certain period of knowing them, I just kind of freak out. I question everything they do or say and begin to wonder if I can trust them. Then, after a while, I become convinced that they, like everyone else, are out to get me.
Now that I'm typing this I realize I sound like a total and complete nutjob, but it's true. For some reason, I eventually just stop trusting people and shut them out. The best I can figure, is that I'm trying to hurt them and escape the relationship before they hurt me.
I think the source, which I go back to time and again in blogs, and it really is the source of all evil (or at least my evil anyway), is my childhood. I learned early on that (in the words of one P.Sawyer) "People always leave." I had other kids use me, my parents abandon me all but physically (my dad physically abandoning me last year), and never had a geniune friend at an early age.
Stepping out of infixable the past and into present, the reprecussions are obvious. I am so easy to meet people; eager to befriend them and let them in. (It all goes back to that need to be loved and accepted that I so prevelently have.) But the problem is, that in doing so, I either alienate them, by moving too quickly, or worse, let them in only to have them shatter me a short while later.
So it seems, at times like the present, when I am most lost and vulnerable and in need of these people, in some sort of self-preservation I shut them out; knowing that I am too weak to handle their disapointment.

Swim

The heat of the day leaving a soft layer of sweat on my skin,
My feet feel along the stony ground,
My toes dangle over the edge as I prepare to leap.
For a second I am free,
Glorious, weightless, above the water.
And then I hit.
The rush of cool water contrasting with the warmth of the air on my skin.
I feel the rush,
The water growing colder as I plunge into the depth.
Finally, my feet feel the familiar floor,
And I pause momentarily,
Enjoying a separate existence in an underwater world,
Hesitant, I wish to remain here a bit longer,
But the world above calls to me.
I push off the bottom.
Floating upwards,
Faster and faster,
Until I feel the air on my scalp.
I break the void between the water and the air,
And gasp in my first breath,
Refreshed and renewed by the water.

Eight

The screen flashes,
“1 new message” it reads.
Glimpsing at the letters of your name fills my heart with pure delight.

We talk for hours,
Until there is nothing more to talk about;
So we create more,
Just so we can keep talking.

Your words are like music to my ears,
I may not see or hear them as often as I would like,
But they are always with me.

But the best part of our conversations,
The purest visual ecstasy that you bring me,
Are the last eight letters that you always type,
“I love you,” it reads, and I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.

Sensational

An explosion of sweet, salty air,
The aroma of blooming flowers is carried,
So delicately,
On the light breezes of soft warm winds.

Musky birds chirp.
Tangy children frolic about.
The almondy trees bend and sway,
Even they are infused with life.

Winds of a thousand colors,
Melt the technicolor world together like honey.
Jittering with life, and infused with a lemony tinge,
The Earth reveals the first day of spring.

Hayden (beginning of a new novel...?)

I kind of just sat down with the need to write something new (normally I just work on pre-existing pieces) and this kind of came out of nowhere. For some odd reason I feel like sharing. So, hope you enjoy. Who knows, maybe it will be in one of my novels some day, haha.:

She sat in silence, staring straight ahead at a white wall. She wasn’t sure what had just hit her, or what her next move should be. She never been the kind of person who could easily think things through, but rather she would spend hours organizing the pieces together. Finding each lose end, every possible “what if” and weaving it in the intricate pattern of her response. Another wave of anxiousness overcame her.
“I, I,” she swallowed and exhaled softly, “I do believe you make an excellent point, Madame, but Benjamin is by no means looking for a hand-out, he is simply and honest man eager to utilize his connections to establish a reasonable position in this day and age.”
She inhaled, glancing out at the crowd. The showed no sign that her slip had phased them, and as such, she nodded at the right times and followed “Benjamin” off stage.
“Are you alright Hayden?” James, aka Benjamin, said to her as the door to the green room shut behind them. “It’s not like you to forget lines.”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she nodded, not sure as to who she was trying to convince. “It’s just been a busy week, I’m tired is all.”
He didn’t look convinced. “If you say so, but listen, if you ever need anything…”
“James, really, we’re no longer on stage, you can quit acting like my husband.” With that Roselyn bounded over.
“Hiddy-Hoe Ranger Joe,” she said with a luminous smile.
“Hey Roselyn, “ James smiled, shyly shifting his eyes to the floor.
She placed her hand under his chin and delicately began lifting his head with her small finger “Hey Jimmy-Jam, just a thought, my eyes are up here. You know, if you ever want to try looking into them sometime. I pay all this money for color contacts and it seems a shame for no one to notice. “
With that James blushed redder than before. “Sorry Roselyn.”
“For what? ...Boy, you got nothing to be sorry for. All though, I do believe you're to be on stage soon, and your line is my cue for entry. I was really looking forward to acting tonight so I certainly hope this isn’t an advanced apology for blowing it.”
He shook his head, clearly lost in her eyes, into which, he was now starring.
She swiftly grabbed his shoulders and steered him towards the door. “Well then go on and get out there before you've got to start apologizing all over again.”
Once the door had shut behind him Roselyn turned to Hayden. “Well now that the blushing beauty is gone, what’s up girl? You seem tense. “
“And here I thought I’d been hiding it so well,” I cringed.
“Oh no, smooth Jimmy didn’t try to put a move on you there did he.?” she asked with feigned shock.
“The boy may be gawky, but he isn’t stupid,” I smirked.
“Yeah, your right. Tommy would’ve killed him.”
This got us both laughing, Roselyn’s bouncy black locks softly fighting the dense hair spray and Hayden's sleek auburn bangs slowly obstructing her view.
“How is Tommy anyway?” She asked as we tried to catch our breath.
“I don’t know really.” Roselyn face became more serious. “He dropped me off at home about two weeks ago mumbling something in a drunken stupor about joining the Marines and I haven’t heard from him since.”
“’You’re kidding?!” she said, giggles slowly enveloping her being.
“Nope.” I said and we both began laughing.
Just then, Mr. Johnson, the director ducked his head back stage “Girls, I know there is nothing like the thrill of the theater, but will you please keep it down.”
At that we busted up, falling into a fit of muffled belly-aching laughter on the floor.
Finally, she glanced at me, “So you really haven’t heard from him?”
“No, why, have you?”
“No, I haven’t. Man, I just don’t get him. I mean, I understand why he doesn’t talk to Lori. Him and his mom are on opposite side of a rocky river, and let’s face it, neither of them are really cut out for an architectural lifestyle, and I mean he and I are really related by much more and a pint of blood, but going a-wall on you, that just doesn’t make sense. “
Hayden shrugged. Her boyfriend’s lone wolf habits were no surprise to her anymore. Maybe she’d settled or maybe she had some psychological disorder, but after two and a half years with Tommy she didn’t really see a point in ending it. He always came home eventually, and she was always here waiting for him. No point in messing with the nice pattern they had all worked out.
Roselyn shifted her eyes to Hayden with a more serious tone. “You know you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him, right? I mean, he’s my cousin and I love him for that, but no one would blame you if you didn’t want to put up with it any. You, my friend are a prize, and any boy at our school would be glad to have to you. I mean, take Jimbo, he may have been making eyes at me, but that’ just because you are so far off the market. If he knew you were available, well shoot, that sweet boy would jump through a ring of fire just to catch your eye. And there’s a hundred more where that came from.”
“Mrs. Baker, “ Mr. Johnson said, ducking his head back into the green room, “it’s almost your scene, where are you my darling?”
With that Roselyn slipped on her heels and began to stand. “Think about it” she said, looking down at Hayden as she stepped over her.
“I will,” Hayden complied; and as she laid on the cold concrete floor of the desolate green room she thought about it, she really did.

Bittersweet Prelude

The bittersweet silence
Invades my ears,
Like a crusading army
Dragging old differences back into the light.

Yet at the same time the noiselessness welcomes me.
I beckon it forth,
As it wraps me in blankets of comfort,
Receiving my contemplations with the warmth of an old friend.

The absence of sound is delicate,
Temporary yet infinite;
While this silent moment may be shattered with the slightest tremor,
The silence was and will be here long before and after us.

But in this silent moment,
Accepting the invasion of thoughts,
And the warmth of memories,
We are on the precipice,
Preparing to enter the symphony life.