The Final Chapter: A Goodbye

For the first time in a really long time, I had a conversation with an individual that not only stimulated my mind, but also allowed me to be completely and utterly myself, no holds barred and no fear of being called strange, weird, or any of the other uncouth terms I regularly have thrown in my direction. Not only did I experience a moment of refreshment, but I also experienced enlightenment, and for the first time in what feels like centuries, everything fell into perspective.

It is not only that this person's words evoked something inexplicable inside me, but somehow they were able to lure my mind's worries out of the dark and show me that there is a globe of pure happiness surrounding me. Obviously, I cannot single-handedly credit an individual for the epiphanies of my being. Paper Town, a novel by John Green, also evoked something in me that I cannot explain. I find it questionable that this conversation and my concluding of the novel occurred on the same day. It does, however, make sense that the universe would communicate with me in such a blunt manner as I am always blind to the messages and signals it subtly attempts to send to me, but something this blatant could not be ignored.

Someone told me about how they guard their work. They keep their 'Mecca of Brilliance' to themselves and I quote, "Showing people will take away from the work being mine and only mine.. It takes away some of the originality. It takes away the purity of the imperfect crooked writing and cut out magazine pictures slowly but surely footing their own path and telling their own story. Even I don't know what it all means yet." - And, in that moment I felt as though every question I have ever asked about myself had been answered. I share so much of myself on a daily basis, giving myself away, piece by piece. Letting everyone and everything else in, when I don't even know what exactly I am yet, or where everything within me is headed. My thoughts, my feelings, my ideas. I jot them down on these public forums; be it my blog, my twitter page, I share my 'mecca' and so I give myself away.
However, maybe this has been the mistake all these years. Yes, I do enjoy sharing and I do enjoy knowing that somewhere, someone is reading what I write and can empathize, and in those moments, I am not alone. My misery is accompanied. However, perhaps sorting myself out needed to start with sorting MYSELF out instead of using my misery to help others. My misery, which had no answers, which I somehow expected to help others.
Not only that, the more I share, the more people are able to take whats mine and make it theirs; thereafter it's never entirely mine again. I have shared a little bit of my mind everyday, and eventually my mind will no longer be mine. It'll be inhabited by the tenants of the world who will, sadly, not give me any credit for my brilliance!

Thus, as of now, the only medium in which I will wholly express myself and allow my inner most thoughts to roam freely and my poetic choice of words to string together to make metaphors and analogies that may someday be analyzed in a Literature class' study of 21st Century literature, is my journal. My brown, leather skinned Journal, which is as human and alive as I am.

Do not be mistaken and assume that my journey as a blogger was not lucrative. Blogging has elevated me to a place beyond anything I could have imagined the day I set up this account. But as is with all things, one leads to another and on this journey, I am certain this blogspot was a necessary stop in bringing me here, and now that this new destination is reached, in time with all the other amazing things that are about to happen in my life, I feel I can conclude and pay homage to everything that this blog was to me and has taught, as well as all the places it has taken me.

Do not yet chuck me out as a fading ghost, because I will forever remain amongst these pages; writing and reading and laughing and stumbling over words and ideas, and pouring my heart out and crying on my keyboard, and you will still share those moments with me. This is not a goodbye to blogging; not at all. I will forever post and write and remind you that I am alive and making strides. The only difference now, is that I will not share all of me. I will not share the words of poems that pour out through my hands, and I will not share the tales of my pet peahen and peacock who are forever falling into and out of love. But these are not the only adventures in my life; and as exciting as the start of a new year, the reaching of midyear brings many more thrilling adventures and tales that can be told.

....and so, this is a final chapter. A goodbye to my poetry and a goodbye to my heart. But as one door closes, another opens. Who knows what I will venture into writing next. I don't even know. But not knowing is the exciting part of it all, isn't it!?

Well, cold feet are for the faint hearted. I am ready to jump into this vast expanse of water eyes closed, stark naked. So, let's go!

Sincerely,
Just me, a girl,
Arlana PS.

Always; Arlana PS

Jumping through the hoops of time, day after day, we let minutes pass us by. Minutes during which we are morphing, cell by cell, into someone we weren't, a mere split second ago. Then one day, you sit down and look at it in the broader sense, 6 months later or 5 years later, and lament over the changes.

Two years ago, I would never have imagined myself to be the girl, or rather woman, I am today. Two years ago I was a frail, insecure 16 year old who was so afraid to be anything either than the sullen bitch who put up a strong front to ward off all traces of negativity. Although insecure and scared, I would never allow myself to show weakness and my tears were reserved for the privacy of my bedroom and my feather-filled pillow. Two years ago, I would never have imagined that I would have lost one of the greatest friendships of my life or gained a handful of inspiring friends and sisters and brothers.

Over the past two years, many nights had been spent crying. The amount of sleeping pills that needed to be consumed in order to put me out of my misery if only for awhile is shockingly uncountable and thinking about it now, at the end of it all, completely not worth it. Yes, emotions often run wild during these hormone filled teenage years of lives, and each and every one of us does something stupid to get rid of the pain, but sitting in this position, luckily still alive, I realise how much could potentially have been thrown away, and all for what? A little heart ache, a little insecurity and alot of self loathing.

In retrospect, each second I spent crying was perhaps necessary to get me here. Get me to this place where I can sit in the silence of my thoughts and tell myself, "It's alright." It's alright that you allowed yourself to love in vain and it's alright that you hated yourself because you didn't feel good enough. It's alright that merely seeing a face could break you down to a pulp and it's alright that every single minute of your day was spent contemplating why that moment was the right one for giving up. It's alright that you didn't fight for yourself and it's alright that you allowed yourself to be vulnerable. It's all alright because every one of those incidences brought you here and made you this. Yes, in the words of FUN, "I've got nothing left inside of my chest, but it's alright".

Some nights are likely to be spent crying and lamenting over the mistakes that I've made, the loves that I've lost and the minutes that I have wasted; but I am hopeful that as of this moment, the girl that was me two years ago has morphed into the butterfly of who I am now.. Young, courageous, beautiful and eccentric in all it's brilliance and now that this first chapter of metamorphosis has played out, I am ready to pursue the life that I am destined for. As of now I allow myself to move forward with no regrets, no take backs and no self loathing. All I can give myself is a clean slate and the world. My happiness and self worth is dependent on me, and only me and I am happy with myself and every decision I have made that has led me to this place.

Believe. Breath. Be.
Always,
Arlana PS

Message to a love

The nights are cold,
Even when you're lying there holding my hand.
Your breath, unwanting of me,
Is warm on my skin
But the cold of your cruel heart exudes louder,
More frequently,
You're desire to leave.
I'm sorry, first love,
For letting you walk away,
Could I wish,
I'd ask you to stay;
But what's a wish for a man I don't know.
Wishful thinking, I guess I must say.
Let me mention the strength of my heart.
A muscle with marshmellow consistency
That you baked sweet like a s'more
With what was once your humanity.
But the fire is out of your eyes,
And only a deadly stone cold remains.
So even when you're lying there holding my hand,
The nights are cold.

A want I can't attain

When I started blogging, I wanted to escape the world. It was a means by which I could set free every ounce of emotion that I kept caged up inside of myself. Writing on this blog was like entering an alternate universe, where many different versions of me could take a peep into my being and understand who exactly it is that we were; who exactly I was. It was a way for me to detach myself from the weight of everything that I had to keep on my shoulders. It was a way of setting myself free.

However, as I grow, it is less my emotions that I want to escape from. Escaping my emotions just hasn’t been enough, because my emotions are me. The person I need to get away from, is myself. I don’t know if any of you reading this have ever felt like you wanted to breath the essence of yourself out of your body, into a glass jar and exist solely of your energy. Exist solely of your soul.
It is difficult living in a body that you want to rid. Not because you’re not happy with it, or because you don’t feel adequate in it, but because this physical existence brings you more ache than you ought to suffering. It is disappointing that you have to live, day in and day out, in a manner that you’re not happy with. Seeing and feeling what you don’t want to feel, when instead you’d like to drift through the universe, wondering and exploring, interacting with other forces of energy and truly being alive.

I no longer want to feel, yet I know that it is not something I can just stop. No, feeling is something that very largely defines me, and although I would prefer to be emotionless, or better yet, a simple, drifting energy, it is not something I can attain.

I really just want to rid myself of this state of being. I really just want to exist freely.

Housewife

Yes sir,
I will kneel on my scarred knees
To tie knots on these shoe laces of yours.
The ones that do not match your tie,
but work wonders for your eyes.
Let them meet mine while I tie,
These shoe laces on my knees.

Yes sir,
Let me scrub the floor with bristled brushes on my knees,
To add shine to this marble floor of yours.
This floor that so coldly caresses my back side when you're on top of me,
but leaves scars on my baby bottom.
Let it leave scars on me,
This marble floor I scrub on my knees.

Yes sir,
Let me take care of you on my knees.
Unzip that fancy zipper that keeps your manhood away from me,
The one I sewed onto your new tailored pants.
Let me unzip the zipper sir,
On my knees as I belong.

How I feel about not finishing NaPoWrimo

I would have loved to have 30 more poems in my pocket by the end of April, but seemingly time was not on my side.

It is quite sad, however, that I was unable to finish NaPo. It's a huge splat in my face that I've either been wasting a lot of my time on things that I deem less important because the ranking of importance happens to go like this:
1. Sleep
2. School
3. Write
4. Eat
5. Have a life.....
So, my time allocation has been majorly off and my efficiency as a monopoly, is, well, null.

Either that, or I haven't had enough time on my hands which I'd rather not except to be a fact because even when time is limited, I need to write. It is my sanity. This pretty much explains the loss of my mind over the last couple of weeks. To make it all worse, the last time I wrote in my journals was at the end of March on my birthday. I barely wrote. It was less than 50 words.

I don't know what's happening to my life. Oh my golden shrine shrimp Goddess of life, help me?

Well, I still have finals for a couple of weeks. Until the end of those, my life does not belong to me. It belongs to my textbooks. -.-

She.

Prowess,
Power she possess.
Six is just a symbol,
She'll be selling it for less.

Cornerstone,
Never lays alone.
Pound her with a shovel,
She'll dig her grave on her own.