Monday, May 16, 2011

Late Night Again.

My demons creep up at night, and it's a shame really where I am. Sometimes, I crave this feeling to be in the company of someone, but at the same time I find repulsive this childish need to feel someone's warmth next to mine.

I want to run till I puke dry. 

But I am too afraid. 

Sometimes, crying is not a bad thing if it helps you move forward. I don't know when was the last time I cried. I go mid-cry and completely stop. It's a bad thing to forget how to cry - it signals that many things are wrong. 

I always prided myself in being this kind of strong, independent young woman, but it comes to no use when you become cold, unmoved, stoic. You bash others, unknowingly. 

People think they know you, but they never do, especially when you don't know yourself too well. 

I ran hoping to see the light, now I run to catch the light. 

I am waking up at five am. II hope to start the day with a good long run and that I cry from exhaustion, maybe then some sort of feeling and motivation will come back. 

Friday, May 6, 2011

Little White Sandals.

My little white sandals used to walk down that line. Unsure.
Worn edges.
Creased from all the use.
They were my little white sandals.
They carried me off to places, wonderful places.
Schools filled with lovely survivors from the early century,
even those from yesterday.

I used to love those little white shoes.
I look down, and I still see those little white shoes.
Because, I am still that 9 year old little girl.
Treading the ground softly,
careful to not step on anyone.
Careful to make everyone unhurt,
oh but I have hurt.
I didn't mean to do so.

Also, what makes you think you know me.
My intentions?
Do I know my intentions?
I think.
All of us trying to find the one responsible.
None of us finding the possible.

My integrity. It only matters to me, so why should I hurt for everyone.

I should marry Malcom X of my book for an hour, then run the streets of New York with James McBride.

Breaking inside my throat.

Incoherent thoughts, words. Incoherent.

Deer Creek's tragic wail woke me up.
Please,  now don't shut me up.