Sand

How many times can a heart break before it forgets how to put itself back together. If not once, but thousands of times I let you in to dance to my mind's desire and assume your way perfectly into this relational resume. You, then, being perfect and complete, find your hands on another temptress' bosom. Far away from our cheerful gazes and soft midnight embraces, you stumble into the darkness of her forlorn touch. You cast your eyes away from the one who is as a rock, grounded by the currents never ending tide. Now shaven pieces lay glistening on the sandy cove. What once was a part of solid promise, washes on the shore, waiting to be picked up and cleaned for perhaps a new chance at being adorned once again. A shallow blue wave swallows the dirt beneath my plight, two hundred more come to devour me in the night. Embedded in this earth of shallow soil, further and further I sink in it. I am no longer recognizable, the toss and sway of the oceans tumble, chips away at my being in this exposed state, left to fumble. Barrels of salt water flee from this desolate place. Wanting to savour the unbeknownst feeling of a true love's taste. Now I wish for eternal slumber and perhaps to wake up to a new horizon. Shh little darling, don't be afraid. One day the flood gates will burst, one day there will be no more pain.

Some food for thought in these hard times.

In turn of recent events and realizations, I've come to the conclusion that you can't buy happiness or love. You may think if you only had that ONE special thing, the everlasting gobstopper of youth or the infinite supply of coolness and style then you'd be set for life. For women, it's attaining that supreme level of attractiveness and sparking desire in the opposite sex, to gain security, understanding, and most of all, love. For men, it's being recognized for your strength, talent and sometimes, bank account. In a world that feeds off of instant gratification and gadgets that fill every need, it's easy to lose ourself and our patience.

We want things done now, our way, on our schedule or it's not going to happen at all. We would almost rather be alone than finding someone who makes us laugh but can't coordinate with your schedule or perfect ideals. I've realized, that when it comes down to it, there is never enough raw exception of another individual for who they were born to be, rather a constant tweaking and critiquing of their faults. Were we meant to go through life trying to fill that void with materials and perfection, or were we simply meant to live and let live? It seems the latter is getting harder and harder to do, but not if you look hard enough for the person behind the exterior.

Just a Thought...

Imagine for one minute, you open your eyes for the first time to the brightness of the florescent hospital lights. You take your first breath and cry your first tears. You have just been cut off from your main food source for the last nine months. You think, man, it was so warm and safe in there; now I'm in this cold, sterile place where people are fussing over me and putting me in weird contraptions. That's where I immediately thought to myself, "Why am I here?"

Still, to this day, I ask myself this absolute question. Why are there planets, galaxies, stars, atoms, and Rosie O'Donnell? Why do I have to go to school for x-amount of years, complete said degree to receive this rare green paper to buy the things that distract me from the ever impending question of who I really am and where I come from. I think someone should at least devote their entire existence to finding out how their existence and all other life came to be. That should be a career in itself and whoever finds the answer will become the first president of the entire universe. I know, you're probably thinking I sound like a certifiable nut cracker, but you have to admit you thought the same thing at one point in your existence.

Respect the Coffee

Today was what you'd consider a "bad day." The morning started out all right, I woke up, got dressed, yada yada yada. It's when I went to work the day gradually began to get worse and worse. There was quite a bit of people in the store, of course that's not unusual for Starbucks. I sign on for my shift and immediately get to work, no time for small talk or hello's. One by one, I take the money, I give them their coffee. I take the cards, I get them their pastries, etc, it's like this the whole day. Sometimes there's downtime, and that's used for cleaning and restocking. During these rare times, I don't know about you but I like getting to know my coworkers (you know, the people you end up spending a third of your day with). I strike up a casual conversation starting with questions like, "What did you do for Halloween?" and "Have you tried the new Gingerbread latte?" These answers are short and sweet, just like my favorite Starbucks beverage and they usually require very little effort on both parties. I've asked these questions long enough when I'm trying to be amiable and open with someone to let them know that I'm an okay person and that I like it when people actually talk to me. This is not the case all the time.

I've been there for a little over four months and have worked with pretty much the same group of people, some of them I feel more comfortable with and others I have to walk on eggshell's when I'm around them. One particular individual who shall remain nameless I had initially thought was a nice guy, friendly, genuine, and somewhat shy. I thought maybe he was shy around everyone but apparently it's just me he chooses not to engage with. So much to the point that I continually make the effort to talk to him, be friendly and retain a positive work environment. Otherwise, I'd feel like I were at a painstakingly boring gathering with no one but my in-laws to talk to. He answers me when I talk to him, but that's only when I need to know whether the drink is a grande or venti and when I ask him how he's doing. He seems to be more open with the new coworkers whom have only been there a month; he laughs and jokes with them. He even asks them politely to do something, but with me it's not asking, it's ordering. "Noelle, wanna get me some grande hot lids?" "Go get me some more chai, will ya?" It's almost as if I'm a golden retriever and he's the owner holding a biscuit. Now this guy appears to be a nice guy, glasses, a bit overweight and assumedly, pretty easy to go up and talk to but he acts completely distant and indifferent to me.

Why is this? Why do people in general, not just this coworker seem to act as if you're a nuisance in their life, a petulant insect just flying around their windshield, waiting to be squished by their wiper blades? The guy who throws you the money instead of politely handing it to you. The person who insists you remake their drink because they're "paranoid" that that one drop of milk in the pitcher is going to poison them? The woman who spouts off ten orders at once, barely giving you a moment to write it all down. Impatient, rude, juvenile, and completely unaware that the person behind the counter has real feelings and is, quite realistically, the same species as you, a human being.

I'm not asking for every single person to have a heart-to-heart with the barista, hostess, waiter, or any of those unfortunate souls who are stuck (yes stuck, because no one truly enjoys being in retail, unless you're well, different). I'm simply asking for common courtesy and the instillation of the good old motto of treating others as you'd like to be treated. We're all here in this crazy, confused and chaotic planet, we might as well make the best of it before we're gone. How will people remember you? A short, bitter cup of coffee, or someone with a sweet grande heart?

Absolute Harmony

Dark eyes captivated her soul, enrapturing with a deep mystery that left her in awe and wonder. She yearned to feel another's lips, and to be felt. The warmth that another could bring to her made it hard to focus. Thoughts revealing the anticipation and final attainment of a lover's embrace were rampant in her mind. Flashes of intimate moments kept her alive and hopeful for the comfort and release of all pent up desire. Borrowing glances, albeit short-lived, still for the time being gave her a satisfaction of being desired in what little way she was usually shown. Unfortunately for her, it was the quickest cure for her insatiable hunger.

For the years following her twenty-first birthday, starting from the precise day, she had begun to sew the roots of heartache. Stemming from child maturation into womanhood, it was difficult to derive affection from her home life with her schooling proving to be the most detrimental. Like a prisoner of her heart's wishes, a continuous wall was being built around the four chamber vessel supporting her. Attempts at destroying these barriers of neglect were made as often as possible. Drowning the guilt with whatever means possible seem to prove a temporary remedy, however the source came knocking at her door the very next day. So she thought anyways...

Joyous Existence

My body is eternally nylon, rubbed against jagged nails. My thoughts are those of consequential disaster awaiting the shattered pieces of the tilted glass. All it takes is one tip, one slight caress of all the right places and I'm spread into a sea of panic and desertion.

A sea of mirrors, reflected off me to behold the beauty of all that is around me to only use me as a passageway. The beautiful light is executed as it goes into an oblivion. An oblivion I can never reach. Isolated in this body that's been well abused in a number of devious ways, I am stuck like the ant who's become the affection of a delirious schoolboy holding a magnifying glass. As I walk, so too does the blinding light of the piercing rays that sting my person as I spin on this skewer of an existence.

Bright are the sparks and specks of their eyes that flicker off my person with every painful rotation of a new section. I now, can only feel the physical sentences running through my mind, thoughts that once were mere passerby-ers but are now the entire consumption of my soul and permanent guests in this temple.

Tick tick tock, I am now only a configuration of a person. My consciousness is only a dream, one that I will never wake up from. Who is this being in the reflection of cascading, radiant, and shiny objects? No one knows nor ever will. All one can truly do is make mere guesses as to unlock the mystery of our joyous existence.

The Girl who Cried on Wolf's Ears

Does it come from a place of ignorance or from rejection? A place of not feeling welcome, or a place of not connecting with the prominent male figure in your life? Do THEY know? Can they sense that you feel this way? You think, maybe if I was born with a penis then everything would be easier. I could play baseball with him or enjoy beer and watching Baywatch with him. I could at least relate to him and him to me. We could share similar laughs and pant size. He would actually hear my voice when I spoke. He would WANT to know how my day was and look forward to seeing me walk through the door. Greeting me with a smile and one of those half hugs that only men share, one arm around my neck and the other pseudo punching me in the stomach with good humor.
But if he had it to do over, he would have only had two kids, two boys who love their daddy and love getting horse-back rides on his broad back. Then came along the first girl in 50 years. Well it's about time the x chromosome had some competition, a shake of the family tree's limbs. Ah here's another apple, the apple of someone else's eye. Maybe she'll find favor in someone else's heart and hands. I'm sure someone will love her. But me? I don't have time, what with raising two strapping lads. They need their father time, she has her mother who can look after her.
Then the summer of '96 came to pass. During the summer of '96 he left our house to find work in Marin, that's when she beat me. She couldn't handle taking care of four kids, one of which was a hormonal teenager boy who threw chairs at the wall. So, one night after dinner after I had been out all day playing with the day care kids, I refused to eat my dinner so she sent me to my room. Half an hour later she storms in, raving with anger in her eyes. She had a leather belt in her hands and vengeance painted her red face. She grabbed me by the arm, pulled down my pants and wailed every single ounce of anger and terror onto my small behind. After that, I couldn't sit in the school chairs for a week without pain. I still have the scars, one on each cheek. Why did she do it? Why does my father choose to alienate himself from his daughter? I will never know but I will only have the constant reminder of what not caring can do to a girl.