Up too late and not a clue how to stop over thinking this life

Fifth straight night in a row I’ve stayed up past 3AM. I am yet again working on pieces for work.

I’ve missed this job. Missed the classroom, missed seeing the kids I coach and I missed working at a job that I not only love but a job I know I’m excel at.

Even though I back to doing what I love, for some odd reason that I cannot even begin to comprehend or really explain…I’m lonely.

Sitting here working on and reading scripts. I feel this empty pit in my stomach. It’s lonely to work late hours on your own. Lonely when their isn’t someone in my life that wants to know how my day went, how work is going and just to have someone that is missing me, thinking about me, maybe even dreaming about me.

Yes, I have friends who miss me when I’m away, but what I’m describing above is the loneness many of us feel daily, the desire for having someone special in our lives. For some reason tonight I am missing this, craving this and wishing that maybe there was someone out there who was thinking about me. Do I have a someone? No, not at all; this is why I wish.

Working alone tonight is…tough.

Early this evening I also had a difficult talk with a friend. A friend trying to help me move on from an issue I didn’t want to admit was still an problem. Recently I have become very heart broken from past dating experiences. Clearly from the past few men [boys I mean] that I have written about throughout my blog it’s no surprise I feel heart broken.

I am heart broken.

Reminds me about a section of a poem I wrote:

“Trying to Charleston backwards in heels out metaphorical doors,

left clothes behind, zapped by God in apocalypse.

Left behind Twitter Make Out page, first night we meet.

We all have first nights we undressed-

out full flapper dress and into the arms-

of our friends, the first night we drunk cried.

Losing our iconic dance partner.

Because he couldn’t dance and talk at the same time.

Couldn’t look in same direction as our waltz.”

From my poem: “Fred Astaire dancing backwards in Heels.”

“It hurts to let go. Sometimes it seems the harder you try to hold on to something or someone the more it wants to get away. You feel like some kind of criminal for having felt, for having wanted. For having wanted to be wanted. It confuses you, because you think that your feelings were wrong and it makes you feel so small because it’s so hard to keep it inside when you let it out and it doesn’t coma back. You’re left so alone that you can’t explain. Damn, there’s nothing like that, is there? I’ve been there and you have too. You’re nodding your head.”

― Henry Rollins

How do I stop blaming myself for something that was never my fault?

I think they call it letting go.

A taste of my poetry

This is just a taste of one of the many poems I’ve been working on. This is just the ending to a poem called, “Strawberry Awake.” 

Link: Ending to the poem “Strawberry Awake”

Let me just sit here, just spin here

With the universe hanging around my neck, trickling down spine and out my breath

Spring break this week! Woo! Taking it easy this spring break. Got a lot of cleaning already done and spent my whole weekend sleeping which lead to the most intense vivd dream I’ve ever had. It was so beautiful and breath taking! My mind is finally well rested again and its about time I become spiritually connected again. I’m connecting with the universe once again. I feel so good up and down my soul.

Also I turned my poetry into a local contest last week. So maybe I’ll end up winning something, that would be nice. On that note, I love where my poetry is going at the moment. I’m very excited where my work is going. Writing is becoming more and more a part of myself and I’m falling head over heels with it. I’ve made plans of looking into a MFA programs focusing on poetry. I’m very excited and hoping one day my work will make a difference.

Finally almost done with Eat, Pray, Love! I’m in love with this little book. I just picked it back up again after not reading it for about three months and might I add this was the book I needed for this last weekend and this up coming week. Planning on finishing it up by tonight and going to pick up a new book tonight. By I wanted to talk about a part of the book. Elizabeth Gilbert and a few people she meets in Italy talk about how everything seems to have a word. Like cities and such. They then proceed to talk about what they think their word is. I realized what my word is Resilience. Which is something I hope to get tattooed on my back soon, well Resilience Gene is what I want tattooed on my back and I cannot wait for this tattoo to happen!

I’m looking forward to the changes going on inside of myself and the feelings transforming throughout my body. My spirit is ready for the changes happening.

L’ho provato sulla mia pelle

(I have experienced that on my own skin)

Ekphrastic Poem-Waxed Covered Wings

This is another Ekphrastic poem I did. An Ekphrasis poem means any work about, influenced by, or containing allusions to any other type of art or literature. The subject or allusions can be about anything in the artistic and creative world: dance, drama, literature, music, painting, photography, sculpture.

Waxed Covered Wings

by Sally Fields

Childhood comforts,

her,

eyes shutting out the light, grasping on tight, searching for crayon colored maps,

messages melting into colored wax.

Copper candle wings, light,

freckled fields, each spot leading down into her dreams,

freckles engulfing her shoulders, filling up her blood steam, the deep sun kissed sea on a pale canvas.

too much time spent under the willow tree, sun streaking through the leaves, kissing her shoulders tips.

Turquoise candle dripping dreams.

Red seas shifting past,

ground drooping into a pastel colored earth, hold on tight to the table my sweet dreamer.

Fire whispers sparks of light in her dreams.

Candles melt, sliding through table spaces, hold on tight.

Sweet dreamer melts into the floor boards, slipping into the heart beats of middle earth.

Candle sticks brushing against her freckled back,

floor boards above her head.

She’s slipping through.

Rainbow pencils slide past her finger tips, dreaming through the gravity of earth,

the heaven below the floor boards

“thats what they call it.”

Shes living her life as a light at the end of the tunnel.

Become the wings that fly.

Teddy bear guardians with their heart outside of their bodes all the time, hold on tight to her soft pearl hands.

She whispers to the fuzziest of the bunch, “Am I dying?”

button eyes adjust, glisten, he whispers,

“just on the outside.”

Her heart stops, tears fall off pale cheeks, she feels faint.

Teddy grabs a hold on her hand.

Everything is gonna be alright…do not lose heart.

Calling her home, they are calling her home,

feet touch pink marble staircases, little angles hands touch crystal railings,

wax dress, dripping, half filled promises faded past her face.

No pain, no more pain, waxed cover scars filled open ended wounds

Teddy bears whisper to her, “You’re going home.”

She sheds her body now, peels the colored layer wax.

Fire fades.

Peels off her finger tips.

Fire deems.

Peels off her long golden locks.

Fire whispers.

Peels off her heart.

fire dying,

peels off her tippy toes,

her soul floats right on through, illuminating candle sticks,

lighting the way,

soul cries softly, I’m home.

Ekphrastic Poem “Dreaming through your finger tips”

This is an Ekphrastic poem I did for my creative writing class. An Ekphrasis poem means any work about, influenced by, or containing allusions to any other type of art or literature. The subject or allusions can be about anything in the artistic and creative world: dance, drama, literature, music, painting, photography, sculpture.

Dreaming through your finger tips by Sally Fields 

The boy lays awake,

his inception like dream takes hold now, directing him towards his grandfathers piano,

he sits firm, the hard cold oak bench supports his dreaming now.

Finger tips brush heavy against the keys, painting sound with the mind and like a painting in the night, it happens all at once,

each stork paints an image, notes bouncing off the page and into a manuscript of,

sound, it fills the air around his ears now,

playing the melody of his life, circling through his soul and out through his breath.

But in his reality, in his non-dreaming world, silence fills the air.

 

He writes messages in the air, awake now,

silently telling us the music he hears in his dreams,

hands swaying through the air,  like his own conductor, signning “beautiful” “music” “I can hear” through the air.

His hands go unnoticed, only a quick glance from his family, a smile, a nod and then they sign to him, “Good job.”

 

So he retreats back into his dream world, dives back into the tides of sleeping dreams,

playing his piano with such fierce conviction,

bringing to life his goldfish. They move and sway through the water, transforming into a miraculous ballet company.

they Corps de ballet with such twisting ease through the air,

born to dance, ready at a moments notice.

They temps levé sauté back and forth through the fish tank, with sparks of tours chaînés déboulés throughout the water.

Dancing only for this little deaf boy,

he pounds harder on the keys, feeling the vibrations bouncing off his finger tips,

the fish lightly petit changement de pieds in the air, short and sweet they dance through his notes,

only the reflection on his hand illuminates the air now.

Water splashing his face, covering up tears of such joy

this young silenced boy sways with his fish, sways with his dream.

“Please let me awake to a world of sound, please let this dream become a reality,” He prays,

“for my gift will be the sweet Pirouette of my fingers tips dancing gracefully on the tops of each cream colored piano keys,”

He fall backwards into his dream and prays to emerge into a world of sound.

Le Pianoquarium by AquaSixio