No more Mask

Where are you?  I need you tonight.  Why I never count on you to be here when I need you?  Why do I feel like you only want to be around when it benefits you or you decide you want to be here?  You argue that I do not talk enough, maybe the answer is you do not listen to what I have to say.  When I do talk I feel like I am falling on deaf ears.  I have spent the majority of my life having to edit what I think, what I say, what I feel.  I have spent my life trying to please everyone.  I am finally starting to believe that my happiness has always been put on the back burner.  I want to be able to be happy and not have to constantly bend in order to keep those around me happy.  I feel like I give and give and still get used.  I am told that I am too down, too this or too that.  What can I say?  I am jsut me.  I have my own thoughts and feelings.  What do I need to do in order to show that my feelings cannot be changed?  I feel what I feel.  I refuse to put on a mask anymore.

Where am I?

I have so much to say, yet cannot seem to find the right words to get my thoughts out.  I have started and stopped many times now.  There are so many topics circling my mind that it seems unfair to pick just one.  I have so much that I have been holding in for fear of upsetting someone or another.  I think it might be time to stop letting what others feel is best for me dictate what I should do.  I cannot live by anyone else's standards but my own.  I need to find myself again.  I need my center back.  Just when I think that I am there, I find myself slipping back into the same old slump.  I am a strong and capable woman.  I can do anything I set my mind to...right?  Why then can I not get myself back to who I truly am?  I have been asked what I want to do numerous times.  What do I really want to do?  I want to have peace.  I want to be able to truly relax.  I want to get back to nature.  I want to rediscover my passions.  I want to find my muse.  I miss being able to sit out under the stars and enjoy the peaceful sounds of the lake lapping at the bank.  I want to feel the crisp air whistling past my face.  I want to feel alive instead of just drifting in this sea of life.  I want to find my flow.  More than that, I want to find me again.

A gift to myself

                I read a quote recently that said, “A real writer doesn’t want to write, a real writer has to write.” This quote rang true for me. I have taken a few months off of writing and my soul is now heavy with what all should have been put into words but had been ignored and placed high upon a shelf to be forgotten.  My heart is still heavy from all the changes in the past few years. I feel years older than I really am.  I have been drifting down life’s path letting its currents guide me.  I feel as if I have had no true impact on where I am.  I find myself listless.  The only true relief I feel is today, right now, as I sat on my deck with the keys clicking away below my fingers.  This feels like home.  It brings me such comfort to sit here and know that my faithful friend, one which I can never loose, is once again in front of me and ready to hear all of my confessions. 

            I am sitting here looking up at the night sky and the only break in the darkness is an outline from the moon shining against a break in the clouds.  It might be my imagination, but as I stare at it an outline of angel wings appears.  I can only take this as a sign that I have at least two people up there who are looking down at me with joy knowing I have picked up my pencil again. 

            Life is funny.  We wake. We eat. We work. We sleep. Then we start the cycle all over again the next day.  It becomes a monotonous, repetitive entity.  It is easy to see how some people are easily carried along without a thought.  Hell, I’m guilty of it myself these past few months.  Between work and raising a child, I find that normally at the end of the day I have no energy to sit down and tackle all the little nuances that day has brought through writing.  I remember this time last year I was writing at least two pieces a night.  I am making a statement right now that I am going out tomorrow and buying a journal and will write in it daily.  Be it a prose, poem, rant, or whatever.  I will not let this number of months go by again without putting my pen back on paper.  This will be my 29^th birthday present to myself, the gift of words, of comfort.

What is Left

What can you say when the words just will not come out? 

What is there to say when the inspiration is gone? 

How can you paint a picture with words when you cannot see the colors anymore? 

The stars still sparkle over head while the wind whips at my face. 

The crisp night air leaves a lingering trace. 

What once came so easily is now gone away. 

I lost my inspiration on that unforgettable day. 

I no longer know the words to speak, or the thoughts to replace.

I can no longer hear your voice telling me to get it straight. 

A life which was once full of child-like laughter, has now turned into utter disaster. 

The sun is less bright and longer is the night. 

Since the day you were ripped away from family and friend. 

No one even knew how close it was to the end. 

What is left for us to do but pick up the pieces of our broken hearts,

And start counting all the missing parts.

Intro to a larger piece still to come

There is an old house in Iraq. It sits amidst the rubble from a bombing. The house is not empty as one would think, instead it stands as shelter for a platoon of US marines caught in the middle of a fire fight.  Bullets are flying from every direction. They are hitting the old stone and ricocheting all around.  A young marine is in fear for his platoon.  He sees the dust flying and the building crumbling with each gun shot.  His heart is pounding, the gun shots are deafening in his ears. He can hear his soldiers being hit and see the blood from their lifeless bodies staining the broken walls.  His mind is racing trying to get a step ahead of the enemy. He tries to move but the sand gives way under his feet. It sticks to his body using sweat and blood as the glue. 

His body and soul have been worn and broken from his service to his country.  He thinks of his young wife and daughter back home and the daughter still in her mommy’s tummy.  The thought of them gives him strength, determination. He will not go quietly. He sees that he is the only soldier left, the others have all fought their last. He shakily rises to his feet. He checks his weapon and notes there is only a single round left. He takes a few deep breaths and says a quick prayer. He prays for his family, prays for his soul. He knows there is only one way to keep from becoming a prisoner. He was trained to always leave that one last round for himself if he is ever in such a situation. He takes a picture of his family from his breast pocket and says a silent goodbye.

He chances a glance out the window and all he can see is the lights from the Iraqi guard’s guns. He notices their black uniforms in between flashes.  He hears them calling for him to come out and drop his weapon. He knows that his gun will not leave his hand until his heart stops beating.  He steals his nerves and opens the door. He raises his gun to his head. He was determined they would not take him prisoner.  He heard an order being given to shoot the weapon out of his hands. He smiled inwardly to himself. He was a US Marine, he would never drop his weapon.  He started walking forward. He felt the shots. With each one he knew his time had come. He had held out long enough for his men. He had fought valiantly and showed them their respect had not been misplaced.  He started counting each time he was hit. One. Two. Three. Its going to take more than that. He thought. Four. Five. Six. He started getting weak, but held his grip firm.  He said his final goodbye as he felt himself growing weak. Seven. Eight. Nine…

A shot rang out in a small town in East Tennessee. It was the tenth within the last five minutes. That morning’s newspaper headline read:

“Marine killed by police had PTSD”

 

 

Dream Life Cast

Ok, I’m going to have some fun tonight. The prompt on my phone today is, “Your life is a movie, who is your dream cast”… Yeah, let’s have some fun. If I am guilty of type casting, oh well, get over it…hehehe. Here we go:

Me-

Teenage me: Jennifer Lawrence

Me now: Evangeline Lilly

My hubby-

Teenage hubby: Christopher Mintz-Plasse

Hubby now: Seth Rogan (yes, he’s changed that much)

My wonderful daughter-  Abigail Breslin (when she was younger)

My mother- Jane Fonda

My father- Harrison Ford

My brother- Jake Gyllenhal

My sisters (y’all can figure out who is who!!!)-

M: Cameran Diaz

J: Mila Kunis

R: Rachel McAdams

The fabulous Mrs. P- Sally Field

AGT Spill

Ok, I am going to write a little different tonight. I do not know if you watch America’s Got Talent or not, but there was this one band on there this week, American Hitmen. They are a group that got together during their deployment to Iraq. They normally sung rock songs, but last night they decided to cover The Beatles’ “With A Little Help From My Friends”. The judges had a problem with it since it was not rock like the band normally performed. They said that they also were not going to base their decision on the band’s military history, but what they failed to understand is that the band was making a statement with the song. They were trying to say that the reason they did ok after getting out of the service was the help they received from their friends. I personally thought the song was very fitting to the band’s story and to tell who they are. Ok, that is my spill for tonight. I will post a link to the performance below and let you all make your own judgments about it.

Watch the American Hitmen's performance from lastnight.