“I’ve Learned People Are Made Of Layers And Sometimes You Have To Wait Until The Next One Is Revealed.”

I feel proud of my damages. Odd? You betcha. How can one speak with a positive tone about one's own destruction? But it's possible. I'm proud of my climb, my metamorphosis, and my halting ways.

It feels like I'm tone-deaf to all the unsupportive hindrances that I've encountered in this amorphous transition. My mouth hangs open when I find myself speechless regarding the notions of speaking argumentatively. Have I...learned? Oh certainly. And what arguments have I had? The ones with myself.

Every active stimulus that finds it's way into my realm is causing my senses to awaken, bloom, and burst with activity. I love it. Lackluster. No enthusiasm. Why? As a way to become more aware of my damages and feel proud.

I am tired. Every part of me is tired. I am so thankful daily for the brightest blessings. But I have had enough thinking.

It is a space that I have created so that I can express myself and feel the way I want to. How to quiet my thoughts.. how to turn off this waterfall? All I want to do is not think anymore.

It is not that I am sad. I am not in the cloud of overindulged over-exasperated mixed emotions. It is simply that I am tired. I simply want peace and quiet. I want to smile and not over think it.

As strange as it may sound, transferring poems from one place to another is like moving a nearly complete home to an overly cluttered lot. Then again, my poetry is overly cluttered, and clunky, hackneyed and stilted have been called.

Somewhere, somehow, something... All the questions, hurt, overthinking, and pain— it'll all end. Because... Tomorrow's a new day. And that's what keeps me going.

- Mahmoud Darwish from 'Memory for Forgetfulness: August, Beirut c. 1982 (tr. Ibrahim Muhawi)

𝑊ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙𝑠 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑏𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑑𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑟𝑠. 𝐼 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑎 𝑣𝑎𝑚𝑝𝑖𝑟𝑒.

-𝐴𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑎 𝐽𝑜𝑙𝑖𝑒

Quote by Vivian Greene

sticky notes

how to disappear completely and never be found again

𝐈𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧—

Lonely thoughts of yesterday— will come back to haunt you. Memories of the future, will creep in. Isolation, desolation —captivation. These shall be of things that you can be proud of. You may not be alone, but you are still alone.

And where does the soul reside? Where do you think it lives? What kind of environment do you think it thrives in? Would you say it thrives in solitude? Or perhaps when we're abandoned? That doesn’t sound like a very satisfying answer. But what about when we're completely isolated? We've become so lonely. We've become so disconnected from ourselves. Do we need this much silence? We lose sight of the beauty around us— the beauty in us. And what happens when there isn't enough of ourselves around to remind us? When there aren't any voices left to tell us otherwise?

In solitude; alone, then you may feel like your loneliness is overwhelming. Or does it us the strength to face loneliness and still be happy? To exist is hard. You need energy, a soul—find it, in isolation.

These are the hours. The hours, the minutes, the seconds. And the mind? Brutal.