art, introspection, philosophy, Poetry, spirituality, Uncategorized, Watercolor

“The Process” Live Prose

How am I supposed to feel? Where should I be at this age? What can bring me fulfillment? Achievement gives me fulfillment. Respect. . . and being a part of a community. I find making other people happy fulfilling. I like being appreciated. I like feeling valuable to others. I want to be special. I like to express my “special” ness. How? How can I let people know what’s going on in here?

I have been given inspiration by others. Musicians make me feel things. My heart beats when I feel it. My senses light up a little and I get high. I feel a tiny piece of how alive they must feel when they hear their own voice and expression cutting out into the world. I want to make my cut. I want to cut open my own hard shell and let myself out. I feel so dormant and faded.

What would I ever do if I lost that part of myself? If I have ever dreaded something, I dread forgetting how to feel.

I feel angry.
I feel tingling on my skin.
I want to punch something.
But I also want to lay down and dream.
I want people to see who I am
. . . but that doesn’t make sense because I’m so private.

I want to create meaning.

Creativity and expression give me something to live for. Why do I feel so drugged about sharing myself though. Do I have anything to give? What difference can I make? I want to make an impact somehow.

. . . but even as I’m saying this I feel tired. I feel like I can’t. I feel damp.

How do I put myself in inspiration’s way? How do I make good on life’s promise? Is the question the destination? Is this process the art?

I believe in the process.

I’ve always loved the phrase, “Where do I go from here?” How do I translate what it means to exist as me into a hearable, manifestable expression? Is anyone listening to hear? Or do I just need to do it, so I can hear my own voice?

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art, death, introspection, philosophy, Poetry, spirituality, Uncategorized

What Runs Deep

I just let my feelings pour out like a vase emptying out and crashing into the drain.
I just walk into a room and my head feels like the haze of a cheering crowd.
I just lie on my bed and the tingling on my skin makes my hairs prick up.
I just get tired when I am sitting and when you’re talking to me.
I just suck in my breath, and I don’t know how to let it go.
Then it just grows in me, and breaks out in tears.