Is this what love feels like?

I want to inhale you.
Feel your breath travel through me,
hot and wet in my mouth
burning my throat like whiskey.
Filling me up; all passion and desperation

I want to settle in your bones.
Wrap you around me like an old blanket,
soft and warm; your skin feels like home.
Your arms and legs tangled around me
so I forget where my own body still aches.

I want to fall inside your eyes;
they are wells of honey and fire that swallow me up.
Penetrating my deepest wounds.
Staring straight into the ugly dark spaces
I still have light. I still have softness.

Armor and Alchemy and Yellow

It's so hard to feel softness now. This armor is real, and hard, and so heavy sometimes. I can recognize and see the unhealthy beliefs. That romantic love is a myth. That I can reclaim power and control in my life by giving up what is intimate, and delicate, and raw in crude and sloppy ways. Much better to throw it out before someone tries to take it first. That I can disconnect from what is light and begging to feel inside of me. That the only way to feel alive is to degrade what is sacred and innocent inside of me before someone else can again. That none of the pain counts or touches me if I somehow make it all my fault.

If I throw myself at what is ugly and dirty and dark -- rub the mud on my face -- the world will know how dirty and broken I am.

But there is also hope. This tiny ember deep in my stomach that I am going to be ok. This won't last forever. I am a fucking alchemist and will turn this tarnished armor into gold. That I am not alone. That everyone is broken and ugly sometimes, but there is something clear and wanting inside of us. Begging to be released. Something the mud can never touch.

Yellow:
Never has it felt so harsh,
Distorting the night --
False.

Yellow:
Cigarette stained teeth,
Fading bruises --
Marked.

Yellow:
Hot shame burning my skin,
Sharp and rough --
Pain.

Yellow:
Where is my canary now?
Where is your song?
Betrayed.

Let's Sketch!

I forgot how therapeutic it can be to just sketch. I used to draw incessantly. Art class was my favorite in middle school and high school until I moved to a smaller school and couldn't take any more classes since they only had two available. At some point I convinced myself that I wasn't good enough to make art. Like I wasn't worthy of creating something just for the sake of creating and expressing beauty in my world.

In an attempt to get back to my roots and just release all of my pent up energy the last couple of months, I started sketching again. I don't care if they are better or worse than anyone else's art; the process has made me happy, and relaxed, and peaceful. So I wanted to share some because why the hell not?  
                                             

Endings, New Beginnings, and Fat Horses

The first part of this year has flown by in a sometimes terrible, but also wonderful way. I have grown so much. I have be stripped of everything I thought I knew, my plans, old support, new friends, old friends, and many old beliefs and ideas. By the beginning of March I was feeling completely lost and alone. I had know idea who I was, what I wanted, or how to move forward from where I was standing.

The only thing I could do was try and pick up one foot at a time. Even when I tripped, fell, or slid backwards; I made the decision over and over to get back up and take one step at a time. So with skinned knees and elbows, bruises and scars, I feel like I'm standing on a new summit. I am getting ready to head to Europe to work for 3 months. I am letting go of old, and somewhat new, relationships. I am practicing acceptance. I am trying to lean into the things and spaces that scare me. Relaxing and releasing rather than resisting.

In the past two months I also started drawing and writing again. Looking back at the beginning of this blog an original goal was to rediscover my creative outlets again. I am writing and creating for myself. Without expectation, and it feels amazing.

So, in an effort to do things that terrify me, here is something I wrote recently:

I won't be sorry.
You touched me and caught my body on fire.
With every breath, and sigh, and moan
I opened. Uncovering my shame and letting
light shine into the fissures in my skin.

I won't be sorry.
You pulled me through my fear into the dark,
wild and raw. Your lips poison and
honey. Dripping with what might have
been, but never will again.

I won't be sorry.
You took me to the edge of my small world,
never peeling your eyes away from mine.
Your words pulsing through my tired veins, alive.
Hungry, and wanting, and alone.

I won't be sorry.
You woke me from my slumber, then
quietly slithered away. Leaving me
breathless and panting. Your fruit full
of nectar: sour, and sweet, and true.

And a fat horse for fun:

Finding Healing in Hardwood Floors

A little over a month ago I went through something that was life-altering. I have been terrified to share my experience, while simultaneously feeling like I have to tell everyone I contact in an attempt to explain my state of mind and behavior. Like I have VICTIM tattooed on my forehead. Like every can see that I am a complete, hot fucking mess. 

 Someone I felt I could trust, that was my friend, took advantage of me. There is no way for me to explain the feelings that have come with this event. There is a very real sense of loss. That something has been taken from me that I will never get back. It is tangible, like a physical piece of my being has been stolen. 

My days have leveled out more often than not, but the days and weeks following were the worst kind of roller-coasters. Some days I will be perfectly fine, and then I just am not. It's like the world is caving in on me and I am completely alone. All I can do is wait for the storm to pass, and hope that the people around me can be patient in my struggles. 

Shame and loneliness seem to color my world most of the time. I am ashamed for so many reasons. That I put myself in a vulnerable position. That I can't remember. That I am still struggling. That it is muddled and difficult to define and explain. That I can't just slap a label on it that others will accept and understand. That I can't just move forward. That I am afraid of so much now. That the anxiety and fear can come crashing down on me with no warning and all I can do is hope it passes faster than last time. 

My mom came to stay with me for the week after this happened. She was wonderful and knew how important it was for me to be engaged in something physical in order to process what happened and how I felt. So we started tearing apart my house.

The place I am staying at was built by family in the early 1900's. Only family has lived here, but as my great-cousins became older the house was neglected and difficult to maintain. At some point they installed carpet throughout the entire house except the laundry room and bathroom. The house felt small, dark, and depressing really.

So my mom and I went to Walmart, bought some tools we had no real idea how to use and went home with a half-baked plan. We took down all of the cabinets, removed the hardware, and scrubbed everything down. Then, we started ripping up the carpet in the kitchen. Underneath the carpet was industrial style tile, so we started tearing that up as well. What we uncovered was this gorgeous old-style plywood. 

Over the next week my mom painted the cabinets and hardware and I spent days scraping adhesive off of the wood. Everything was trial and error. Almost everything was more difficult than necessary, but it was an amazing process. I can't explain how satisfying it was to strip away years of neglect and abuse to uncover something that has become truly beautiful to me. There was literally years of dirt and grime built up on almost everything in the kitchen. It didn't matter though. After about a week and a half, I had this bright, beautiful kitchen, new skills, and a confidence that I can do new things by myself. That mistakes can be wonderful learning experiences and even end up better than your best laid plans. 

After finishing my kitchen, I immediately moved into the living room. Yesterday I finished staining the floors, I put together a table set, and I bought myself fresh flowers.

I'm not going to say that I am ok. I don't know that I will ever just be ok. This experience has changed me in very real ways. How I view the world and the people around me. But I get to choose how I respond. I get to choose whether I let someone else's callous and disrespectful actions define me for the rest of my life. 

I am choosing compassion. I am choosing to give myself the time I need, even when I feel like it is taking too long. I am choosing to lovingly peel away the neglect and abuse I've experienced in my life and trust that there is something beautiful and whole underneath. 

On Loneliness

The past two months have flipped every belief I had about myself, life, and other people upside down. Although I am facing multiple challenges right now, loneliness has been especially difficult. The problem is that I'm not talking about a surface level loneliness. This can't be fixed with friends, or family, or dates.

When I break everything down, this loneliness is in knowing that I abandoned myself. The past ten years of my life have been consumed with trying to become what I thought other's wanted. I have clung to other people's passions, dreams, and beliefs because I was too afraid to own anything as mine. It was easier to follow my ex into whatever project he was obsessed with that week. It was easier to subscribe to his religion. It was easier to focus on my failing marriage rather than face the fact that I had no idea who I was or what I wanted out of life. It was easier to find purpose in trying to control what I had no control over than accept responsibility for myself.

Now, I am alone and I have no idea who I am. I am alone when I am with or without others. I try to distract myself with new people, projects, books, exercise... but eventually I get quiet and can't avoid that I feel hollow. That nothing except time is going to fix this. That all I can do is keep waking up, even when it feels like a waste.

An Exercise in Trusting Myself

My life has been a crazy, wonderful mess lately. I am in the process of a divorce that has been heartbreaking, liberating, and strangely sweet and loving. After being accepted to my favorite University I made the decision to drop my classes the semester in exchange for the opportunity to go on a three month trip to Europe this summer. In the meantime I have become an apprentice at a new (legal) craft distillery. If someone had asked me six months ago what my life would look like right now, none of these things would have even been a blip on my radar.

Everything is different, and unknown, and beautiful. I am scared sometimes and very sad at others. Nothing has gone as planned, but who is to say my plan was even a good one? My plans were made in unhealthy places. My plans were made out of fear and a desperate need to control my world. Who says I need a plan at all. I have no idea where my life is going to lead, but maybe that's the point... Maybe the point is to get out of your own way. I don't want to block any experience, encounter, relationship, or opportunity because I am distracted by my own small, worried ideas.

My theme for 2015 is Trust Myself. This is a completely new and foreign idea for me, but I am determined to live this year trusting my Higher Self. Trusting that still, small voice inside that whispers my own, authentic truth. Trying to model my life after what I think other's want, expect, or demand of me has been a shit-show so far; it's time to try something different. It's time to trust that I have everything I need inside myself. No person, place, job, thing, or experience can fill me up. I am not broken.

I am scared, but willing.