Rubix cube of emotions

I’m a loner, yet I am outgoing.

I’m a quiet thinker, yet I’m bold and persuasive.

I’m loud, and yet I’m thoughtful.

I’m tired, and yet I’m energized.

I’m a quandary of so many opposite things.

So when I’m feeling too many at once – stress, tired, anxious, excited, frustrated, whatever else – I don’t know whether to cry, laugh, or scream.

If I hold my emotions in, they eat at me.

I forget little things, but how I felt in a moment stays with me forever.

It eats at me like a parasite.

It drains me if it’s something I should have, could have said.

It drives me if I still could.

I’m independent to a fault.  No one thinks I need to be romanced, held, or coddled.

But every woman needs a little of that.

My strength is a virtue, until it’s not.

I’m an open book in many ways, too willing to share my story.

But when I need to tell something hard to someone I care about, then I freeze.

I’m not one to think highly of my beauty, I often question it at all.

But I rarely question my intelligence, it’s gotten me this far.

I’m the kind of person who would love to be a hermit, until I didn’t anymore.

I think it would just happen like an eclipse of the sun.

It might be years in the making or a rare one time occurrence.

I’m quite the complex body, and quite capable of coming undone.

But no one sees that side of me, most especially those I hold dear.

I find I need even more strength and courage for them.

So when do I get to be vulnerable? When do I get to shed a tear?

Maybe that’s why sometimes it just hits me – the weight of the world at once.

I find myself crying to a song not because it’s that sad or because it relates at that moment,

But because I needed to cry, to let it out, to be free.

When you are so many sides of a rubix cube, perhaps one never solved,

how do you ever find the side that the world should see, always?

I’m multifaceted.  I’m complex.

I’m exhausting and hard to digest.

I’m difficult and a wad of stress most days.

I don’t relax well, I don’t breath or smell the roses.

Not because I don’t want to – I even try, but because I don’t know how.

It might sound foolish or not possible at all,

but I tried yoga, meditation, I’ve tried many things.

Relaxed me is still not very relaxed at all.

And as I age, approaching the big 4-0, it becomes more imminent

that I find a way to unwind.

Life and all the bad things that can happen are looming as much as all the good.

but what if I am not capable of slowing down?

I am meticulous, I’m diligent, I’m calculated.

Am I capable of taking a breath, letting things go, waiting a while?

if only I knew…..

 

 

 

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Just thinking…..

He can be the most amazing creature –

seeing a part of me I don’t let everyone know.

He can be so loving, when he wraps his arms around me at night.

I lie there almost trying to stay awake, to enjoy the depth of it all.

Sometimes we bicker and fight, but that’s to be expected

and it often reminds me of the human nature of our relationship.

I try to put him first, it’s something I always do with that special someone.

And it’s hard when those moments arise where he cannot do the same

or where one of us gets angry or upset.

Oddly, I’m a poor communicator in relationships.

I communicate for a living and I blog and I write,

But when it comes to life and emotions I seal it all up tight.

I want to tell him when I’m happy and sad and angry.

I want to be open and honest and unafraid to do so.

But men don’t like to communicate, they don’t want to hear

or maybe they don’t think they need to.

I found myself writing him a letter the other day to explain something important,

something I desperately needed to say but couldn’t say with words in person.

I guess it’s better that I was able to say it at all,

But I’m a bold outgoing personality.

How is it that to the person that matters most, I can’t find the words sometimes?

Is it fear? Is it past experience biting me? Is it me or is it him? Or is it us?

How do I find the words, in the moment?

Sometimes he gets mad at something and I back down, not because I want to.

I pick my battles as they say, so I decide it’s not worth it.

Or am I being weak?

I think sometimes I don’t know what I want to say, or need to say, or even feel

Until I write them.

I’m a writer at heart.

 

It’s Like a Song

It’s like a song, it wains and waxes.

The melody starts subtle and pounds in full blast.

The words and harmonies on their own are meaningless.

For it is with the melody they take shape.

I hear the song in my sleep sometimes,

like an anthem for my life.

It carries me through the good, bad, and ugly.

I hum along in the car or shower or random passing moments.

The song escaping me from the grasp of a difficult moment or a painful day.

I hold tight to the tune; it’s my safe place.

For my head is a complex vessel,

And only I can ever fully understand.

The song is my way to speak the words,

For which alone have no power, no presence.

 

Coloring outside the lines

Why is it we have all these hopes dreams and aspirations for our lives, and we constantly plan for the future? We talk about settling down, having family’s, our career paths, but we don’t ever talk about just living life each day to the fullest. There’s that moment when you’re forced to come face-to-face with reality that life is short. You think it would wake you up. You think it would change you and maybe it does for a short while. Then it seems we forget again as easily as we were warned.

No one ever wishes to be sick or to get a difficult diagnosis. It’s not a pleasant thing. There’s very little positive in that, but it’s a wake up call. So what happens when we go back to sleep?

Do you ever just wish you could get in the car and drive, not come back, enjoy the freedom? You could feel the wind, the sun, the rain and let the car take you wherever it’s going to take you just like in the movies. I want to be spontaneous not because being spontaneous is a fabulous trait or something I want to work on, but because I feel trapped sometimes. Trapped in the life I’ve built. It’s not as if it’s a bad life, just so defined. I want to color outside the lines. I want to walk on a ledge. I want to feel before it’s too late. And sometimes I’m not sure I know how anymore.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder

My curls were soft and flowing. My makeup was natural yet flattering. My shoes made my legs look and feel long and toned. I was wearing a little red dress which accentuated all my strong points and I looked quite thin. I felt beautiful!!

That was about two weeks ago. It is the last time I remember feeling beautiful.

My one bit of wisdom

I was a mold-able child.  My  mother’s fears easily became mine.
It took time for me to see this, to correct this, and memories I can’t unwind.

I missed out on things; I walked away from things, from people solely out of fear.
Worry ruled my world; the path ahead was laid so clear.

Even in times of turmoil, ever I was the peacemaker in my family.
Ironic, since I see life as a battleground awaiting me.

Now it seems as if the daily challenges sometimes are too much to take.
Sometimes I simply wish I could find an escape.

It’s only recently that I have seen how deeply past decisions affected me.
Looking back I realize that my choices have cornered me.

I’m heading down a path unable to turn back, wishing I’d done better, lived more.
My life could be so complete, if only I’d not been afraid to live it to its fullest long before.

If I could impart one bit of wisdom on a young lonely soul,
Maybe help someone else feel just a little bit whole

I’d tell them to remember to never ever be afraid,
In my experience, one’s biggest fear, is the choices we wish we had made.

Growing Old

Behind this strong exterior lies a lonely little child.
I work harder and harder everyday it seems, in my job, in life in general.
And ultimately for what reward, what outcome?
I picture myself growing older.
I see myself with wrinkles, greying hair.
I can feel the aching in my bones already.
I hear the creaking of time as I walk.
I look in the mirror and I can see the future me so clearly.
But she’s looking back at me, sad and disappointed.
She’s desperately trying to tell me how to fill the holes in my heart,
the holes that really matter.
She speaks to me and her mouth moves, but no words can be heard.
I do not have the wisdom yet, the years yet, for the knowledge to be real.
But I know I can’t turn back time.  I know I can’t relive things later.
I desperately want the secrets, the answers, the magical cure.
For next to dying alone, my biggest fear is living alone
or that perhaps I die having hardly lived.