Loneliness,
for so long have you been my oppressor,
that now, finally, you’ve turned into my friend.
Like a victim of Stockholm Syndrome,
I have fallen for you.
We walk hand in hand, daily,
you, listening to my rambling reason,
hovering stealthily close to my consciousness,
grasping at my heart with hunger.
It is a wonder no one’s been able to steal it
with you barking them down at the gate.
Most days, I resent your presence;
other days, I long for it,
because you are all I know,
and you want me
with a desperation
unlike any I’ve ever known.
Loneliness,
you are the first beat of my heart every morning,
the last gaze at my empty bedside every night.
When will you free me?
When will I escape?
It’s the same dance,
always the same dance.
These narcissistic,
co-dependent
chains that bind us.
They say I should call out to my savior,
and that I need only look in the mirror
to find her.
But, truth be told,
she scares me.
She wants too much.
She is kind and caring on the face of it,
but, in reality, her heart is cloaked
in something far darker than you, my love –
Desire.
She would have me leave you
to follow her own quest
for fulfillment,
enlightenment,
submission,
love.
We all know of love’s fickle nature, don’t we,
compared to your constancy and commitment.
Love destroyed me once;
who’s to say it won’t do so again?
But what if…?
What if this love was from her,
my mirror image,
and what if I loved her back?
Wouldn’t we then have the strength
to achieve everything our hearts desired –
dark or light,
wrong or right?
Wouldn’t swimming through muddy waters with her
be more thrilling than this quiet,
cloying existence?
Sometimes I see glimpses
of her beauty,
her care,
but mosty,
her greed,
her endless need.
Look at me,
am I not content in my loneliness?
Perhaps we aren’t as different as I thought,
she and I.
Perhaps if we joined forces,
we could create our own blended brand
of magic.
We need not hoard it selfishly,
for, in essence, magic is unconditional
love and freedom,
both of which can’t be contained for long.
Oh to dance with such loveliness,
not loneliness, my dear.
To let love lead the way
spinning us ‘round in circles
as if life were a ball.
But for this vision to hold true,
I must finally let go of you.
And though the loss might slay me
at first,
it is in the re-discovery
of my reflection,
and my ultimate reunion
with her,
that loss will turn into freedom,
and my wings will be the wonder
I witness
as I make my way forward
in awe.
Tag Archives: personal development
Villain
I never wanted to be a villain in anyone else’s story.
Spent a lifetime people-pleasing to avoid it.
Till I couldn’t.
Till I realized that,
the only thing I had any control over
was myself.
We’re taught as children to stand up to bullies,
right?
But apparently,
the rules change when you grow up,
especially if you’re a woman
standing up to a man.
I became the villain
in one hero’s eyes,
and in the tall tales that spread
among his many minions.
Even though I was the storyteller,
he was the one with the audience.
At first, it hurt to feel
so misunderstood.
Hadn’t I spent a lifetime
proving myself?
For a while, I tried
to uphold my nobility,
my moral high ground,
my grace and class,
but orating to the deaf
is exhausting.
So I crawled into my cave,
raw and wounded,
and all I could do
was wait.
To heal,
recover,
redefine,
update my script,
outdated for some time.
That’s when it hit me –
if I’m going to be the villain,
why not be the villain?
Why not dazzle the world
with my darkness,
my secret stories,
my guarded shadows,
reveal who I really am?
Even if that revelation
will surprise me, too.
I’m not some conniving queen,
who can prick you into loveless sleep,
or svelte sea nymph
who can spin your song into silence.
But I can still unleash an uproar
as my voice rings out in defiance.
Everyone knows bad girls have all the fun.
It’s downright freeing to no longer care,
a relief to shed this skin I’m in,
a delight to offload the excess.
Who needs hero worship,
when all the power lies
in the pain.
Goodbye to caring
about what other people think.
Farewell to the fakers,
the parasites,
the critics.
Welcome to the truth-tellers,
the awakened souls,
the writing rebels.
It’s good
to finally
be home.
There will always be those who know:
even villains
have their own side
to a story.
Even villains
were once heroes
who got hurt.
This Life is Made Up
This life is made up
of symphonies
and capacities –
symphonies of sensation,
tickled, dribbled,
splashed and savored
across the theater
of your mind;
capacities,
all equal
yet unequal,
some able to skim only the surface,
others diving right in,
swimming expertly through meaning,
interpreting a few slices of sound.
This life is made up
of matter,
made up
of atoms and molecules,
made up
of electrons and protons,
made
in a vacuum.
What else would you call an illusion?
Conjuring everything from nothing.
The only Reality
is the magnificent Magician,
Who,
with one word,
one breath,
brought forth
the most blissful symphonies,
the most diverse capacities.
Do you want to see another trick?
If you so choose,
if you believe,
you can dismantle this dream you inhabit,
reconstruct it into something new.
You can turn pain into pleasure,
water into wine.
You can create an illusion
more to your liking
because this Magician
never hides His secrets.
He reveals them in plain sight.
You create words to grasp them,
despite knowing,
they are ungraspable.
You try, yet fail,
try, and fail again,
to find Him.
If you aren’t careful,
your frustration at figuring out
just how in the world
He performed
His vanishing act,
might blind you to the beauty
of what’s visible.
You understand only as much as He allows.
Let Him use you as His paintbrush,
but also His paint,
so He may know Himself better,
despite knowing
He is unknowable.
You see, you aren’t just the art,
you’re also the artist.
the song and the singer,
the thought and the thinker,
the way and the witness.
Oh, what magic you can make!
What magic He sparks within you,
and through you,
and around you.
Like these words dancing on the page before you,
conjured from your feelings and fingers.
These letters making love to the listeners’ ears,
exuding energy,
departing meaning,
unlocking entryways.
His gift
to you,
from you,
and for you.
What magic, indeed!
You see, you aren’t just the audience,
you’re also the illusion.
Born to Soar
We were born to soar.
But from the moment we arrive,
we are anchored by barbels,
held back with chains,
at first,
for our own good,
until we’re old enough to know
right from wrong,
safe from unsafe.
But by the time we’re set free
to roam the big, bad world,
those chains have grown comfortable.
We trust their weight,
feel at home with them,
protected.
The wings we once had
have atrophied from neglect;
it’s not like we could have actually
flown.
This is not the way.
This is us drowning in fear.
These chains are more cruel
than comfortable,
more burden
than blessing.
We walk through fire
to melt them off,
melting ourselves in the process.
Slowly,
oh so slowly,
we emerge,
charred,
broken,
exhausted,
with no structure,
no plan.
But also,
nothing holding us down.
In time,
our wings return to us,
our hope restores us.
We take baby steps forward
and fly.
We fumble at first,
no idea what to do
or where to go.
The draw of the clouds,
the nudge of the breeze,
the cheers of our loved ones
raise us right up.
We flutter,
flap,
then falter,
recover,
reassess,
then rise,
finally airborne,
feeling alive.
If we keep ourselves
light and attentive,
the wind whispers to us
our destination,
helps us flow there with ease
and alignment,
pumping ourselves up
where we must,
letting our Guide do the rest.
But beware of the chains,
ever present in our memories.
Don’t be fooled by their shine
or lured by their lies.
You must remember
and remember,
and keep remembering
who you really are.
Find others who will serve
as reflections,
as reminders,
that, indeed,
you were born
to soar.
You were given wings,
not as adornment
or to feed your pride,
but for a very particular purpose.
Perhaps
to unveil the truth
for others,
to show them the wings
they never knew
they always had.
Mixed Messages
You say You gave us ample warning.
You say You made it clear.
You say we’ll find our way back to You,
even if it takes a hundred thousand years.
And so it is.
And so You did.
Yet still, we lie here in confusion,
so many choices weighing us down,
each one leading to countless others
like tree roots burrowed deep into the ground.
For each choice we make,
we beg for guidance,
but often all we get
are mixed messages.
Perhaps every choice is the wrong one
if not made solely to seek Your pleasure.
Or perhaps our choices
are actually chances,
portals to the Divine,
like the waves of the ocean
flowing gently, to and fro,
clinging doggedly to the promise
one day they’ll meet the vast horizon.
Do we choose education for our benefit or Yours?
Do we choose to work for our profit or Yours?
Do we marry, have children, treat others well,
for our legacy or Yours?
Only You know the landscape of our hearts.
Will choosing You mean everything becomes easier,
our choices less difficult,
our decisions less painful?
Maybe or maybe not.
It’s hard reading Your mixed messages
with this damned veil upon my heart.
I beg of you
to lift the veil,
to clarify my path,
and coax me along it,
because this limited mind,
this constricted heart,
this darkened soul
is blind.
I am nothing without Your light.
You say You gave us ample warning.
You say You made it clear.
You say we will find our way back to You,
even if it takes a hundred thousand years.
And so it is.
And so You did.
And I will hold You to that promise.
I am Woman
In honor of International Women’s Day, I’m re-posting a prose poem I wrote a few years ago. As always, your thoughts and comments are welcomed below.
I am woman.
Hear me roar.
That’s how the saying goes, right?
And yet, you’ve never heard me roar,
never so much as a peep or complaint.
My mother taught me,
“Don’t expect too much from the world,
The world will only disappoint you.
Don’t expect too much from the world.
Then you’ll never be disappointed and no one can hurt you.”
Such wise words, I always thought.
Look at me now, I’m so happy.
No expectations, no disappointments.
Except,
hello,
I’m human.
The hurt would come and,
like a good little girl,
I would swallow it up.
Over time, it slowly built up,
like a heaving, suffocating burden,
so that now,
at 35,
I’m all filled up.
And the hurt the disappointments the heartaches,
they’re boiling over and pouring forth
like lava.
Still I tried not to show it.
I tried to push it, stuff it, lock it
all right back inside.
I hurt myself ‘cause I didn’t want to hurt you, world.
Didn’t want to hurt you, ‘cause I was scared you wouldn’t care.
And perhaps you don’t.
Or perhaps,
I’ve had it wrong all this time.
My mother was wrong,
as was her mother before her,
and her mother’s mother before her.
They taught us that,
as women,
as girls,
we have little worth in this world,
so better not to expect, to rock the boat, to stay in line.
Be a good girl,
be a good wife,
be a good mother.
Ain’t nothin’ better than a self-sacrificing mother who puts her needs at the very end of everyone else’s.
Needs?
What needs?
I’m a saint.
I’m an angel.
Except,
hello,
I’m human.
I hurt, I cry, I get angry,
when you don’t laud my achievements as much as my brother’s,
when you think my desires aren’t as important as my partner’s,
when friends and colleagues don’t show me the courtesy of calling back,
because their time is so much more valuable than mine,
when I am branded either a prude or a prostitute,
while, conveniently, “boys will be boys”,
when you don’t think to offer your help in the kitchen,
and instead, ask me,
“What can you offer?”
like I’m the waitress at your favorite diner.
What can I offer?
What can I offer?
Dude, what can you offer me?
When my profession asks me to work just as hard as anyone else,
take stress just as much as anyone else,
see my kids just as little as anyone else,
then pays me a salary lower than everyone else,
they’re telling me
I’m worth
less.
“You are not worth it.”
The world has said this to me in so many ways.
And I absorbed it, believed it,
inculcated it into my life,
wove it into my being,
and proudly spread the message to my sisters.
“You are not worth it.”
My worth lies in what I can offer,
in the pristine condition of my private parts,
in the voluptuousness of my body,
but only if it’s in all the right places, otherwise,
in the waif-like silhouette of my figure.
I am not worth it.
I don’t need some profit-hungry make-up company to tell me I am, just so I’ll buy their products.
I need my parents to say it,
my siblings,
my friends,
my teachers,
my children.
But most of all,
I need to say it.
Now I wonder, why in the world did I grow up idolizing Cinderella,
who let everyone walk all over her, as she whined in her sing-song voice to her mice,
when instead, I should have respected her Stepmother?
At least she was honest about what she wanted,
and went after it with a passion,
rather than running away at the first signs that someone might see who she truly was,
and losing her ‘glass slipper’ in the process.
(I wear Aerosoles, bitch.)
Because that only happens in dreams, right?
In fairytales,
with the help of fairy godmothers we didn’t know we had,
who randomly decide to bequeath us with magic?
You can’t give me magic.
You can’t wave a wand and expect its sparks to transform me into something more precious than I am now
because,
although I may not always know it,
although you may not always see it,
I am the magic.
I’m the magic that makes this world go round.
You don’t even know how lucky you are to have me, world.
If you call me a bitch now,
I will take it as a compliment.
If you call me “too ambitious” for single-mindedly going after what I want,
I’ll think I’m doing something right.
And if you say,
“What else did you expect?
She’s a woman after all,”
Then I’ll make sure,
in fact, I guarantee,
you will hear me fucking roar.
We All Sink Sometimes
For all my rhetoric
about tearing down walls,
realizing you’re special,
feeling connected to the Universe,
there are moments
when I feel like I’m still the same
insecure,
under-confident,
massively depressed
teenager I used to be,
and for all the work I’ve done on myself,
there isn’t much to show for it.
You can never fully escape depression,
no matter how hard you try
to hide from it,
to handle it,
to heal from it.
You will always have moments of weakness,
and depression will be right there,
lying in wait,
like a deceiving
yet oddly familiar crutch.
At such moments,
the best thing you can do
is to know
with utmost certainty
that it will pass.
It’s okay to sleep it off,
to talk to someone,
eat comfort food,
watch a funny movie,
or even find a corner to cry in,
to let yourself feel
the weight,
the sinking,
the numbness
and pointlessness of life,
because those thoughts will come.
It’s okay to lean into it,
and feel like you’re utterly
at rock bottom.
Just don’t act on it.
Hang in there.
Wait it out.
A couple hours,
a couple days.
Because it will pass.
You’ll notice that all the effort you’ve put in –
learning how to better yourself,
how to transcend the pain,
and grow towards the light –
it hasn’t been for nothing.
Your strength and resolve will slowly return.
Your deep-seated desire
to unearth yourself from the mire
will become your lifeline,
so that whenever you feel like you’re drowning
in a cesspool of negative energy,
your lifeline will always be there to pull you out,
back to consciousness,
back to your waking self,
and to your mission of lighting up the world
with your very existence.
Some people believe
you can measure the worth of your existence
solely by what you’ve achieved in life.
The truth is,
your worth can’t be measured.
Your value is inherent.
It’s incomparable,
and it’s inked into the unfolding of your story,
which is itself entwined
into this infinite adventure called Life.
So before trying to conquer the world
by crossing off an endless list of to-dos
and achieving a myriad long-term goals,
remember to just BE.
Remember who you are
and who you aren’t.
Who you are is
unique,
irreplacable,
whole,
a universe unto yourself,
born on this Earth to learn
and love
and luxuriate
in the magic of this world.
Who you are not is
lazy,
dumb,
talentless,
ugly,
weak,
hateful,
a mistake.
There is no such thing as a mistake.
Every person,
every moment,
has a purpose.
Find yours.
And if you can’t find it,
create it.
And when you do,
revel in it.
Living with purpose is the ultimate antidote
to depression.
The more you learn to believe in yourself,
the greater the heights you’ll climb,
until one day
you’ll find yourself soaring above the clouds,
able to help pull others out of their despair,
and into this One
enigmatic
yet extraordinary
life we all share.
Why Pain Matters
Most people run away from pain.
It’s uncomfortable and disturbing.
We think it takes us away
from being able to enjoy life.
And yet, on the flip side of pain,
there is always pleasure.
They are two opposing sides of the same coin
that we haven’t learned how to flip to our advantage.
Most people just choose to stuff the coin deep within their pockets,
rejecting both pain and pleasure,
in favor of a routine life,
where both these experiences are tempered,
and life seems manageable.
Except that life isn’t meant to be managed.
It’s meant to be fully lived.
Despite our best efforts, life doesn’t bend to our will.
Instead, we’re the ones getting puppeteered through life,
thrown from one tumult to another,
taking solace in the breaks between each crisis.
What if there is a way for us to align ourselves with the Universe?
To reduce our depression and anxiety,
our chronic loneliness,
always feeling on the fringes,
disconnected?
What if there is a way to be happy,
but it involves taking out that dreaded coin,
and dealing with the pain in our life head on,
learning how to sit with it,
process it,
and ultimately,
release it?
What if the force of releasing that pain
had the power to elevate us,
causing the coin to flip on its own?
Then we might feel the greatest pleasure of all –
connection.
To ourselves.
To each other.
To that spiritual being lying deep within us.
The thing is,
there is no such thing as pleasure
without pain.
If we didn’t have either of these experiences,
we’d be living a life of ennui.
Without the pain of our aching muscles,
getting a massage wouldn’t feel like such ecstasy.
Without the pain of going to school every day,
we wouldn’t have the pleasure of seeing our friends,
or in the long term,
the satisfaction that comes from achievement,
the joy that comes from using our education to better the world.
Without the travesty of war,
we would not truly cherish peace.
Many of us live with deep wounds,
from childhood,
from broken relationships,
from illness,
or the loss of loved ones.
We endure tremendous pain,
absorbing it into our psyche,
allowing it to diminish our spirit,
trying, unsuccessfully, to ignore it
until it goes away for good.
But pain is like a leech.
It won’t leave
unless we learn
how to heal.
The path to healing is personal.
It’s not a one-size-fits-all set of guidelines
for finding your bliss.
Yes, talking to a therapist might help,
or joining a support group.
Yes, medication might be hugely beneficial,
or reading about personal development,
opening up
to new ways of thinking.
Or maybe, for you,
none of this will work.
Perhaps you just need patience
and perseverance,
the sincere desire to evolve,
to transcend this human pain that is constantly weighing you down,
so you might find some semblance of peace –
and dare I say –
happiness.
The path to healing is personal.
You must figure it out on your own
but not necessarily alone.
In fact,
you’re never actually alone.
If you step out of your own way,
start ignoring your inner critic –
that pesky roommate who’s taken up residence in your mind –
let go of all your preconceived notions,
your antagonizing ideas about life,
your impressions of success and failure,
if you let go
and trust
your intuition,
that constant connection you have with the universe,
I promise you,
your heart will open up
to the truth.
Your path will be revealed.
Something beautiful will take shape
from the core of your being.
And if you can learn to trust it,
it will never steer you wrong.
If you are ready to face your trauma,
the challenge will be immense
but the reward exponential.
Because with healing,
comes the ability to help others.
And in the quest to help others,
you may just find your life’s purpose.
In helping others,
you’re creating a ripple effect
that will change the world.
And in helping others,
the person you’re actually helping the most,
is yourself.
Remembering How to Breathe
I see you.
I see you struggling with life.
The burden of your job,
the responsibility of your relationships,
thinking that everyone else is succeeding in life
but you.
I see the pain,
the loneliness,
and the sense of hopelessness
that life will never change for you,
that you’ll never get the chance to follow your dream,
or worse,
that you don’t even have a dream.
You think there’s no way out of your situation,
or if there is,
you’re too damn tired to take it.
Perhaps you don’t realize
there’s a power you have at your disposal,
a portal into another world.
It’s not alcohol or drugs,
sex or sleep.
It’s your inherent ability to breathe.
Every living being can breathe,
in fact, so automatically,
it’s easy to forget you’re doing it.
But to breathe is to have power.
We often hear people say,
“You should stop and smell the roses,”
but how many times do we heed that advice?
How often do we breathe so deeply
that the smell of lavender tickles our brain cells into a natural high?
How often do we step away from the daily grind,
close our eyes,
and breathe in,
2, 3, 4,
then hold it…
and breathe out,
2, 3, 4,
and hold it?
At the end of a busy day,
when my shoulders are burning from stress,
and my back muscles are clenched like unrepentant fists,
I sit still,
remain quiet,
and breathe.
I breathe in as if my life depends on it,
like I’ve forgotten what it feels like to have fresh air coursing through my lungs,
luxurious and exultant.
Then I breathe out,
so deeply,
as if the toxins I need to release from my body are emerging from a bottomless pit.
I breathe,
and breathe,
and breathe,
until each part of my body has untangled from its burdens,
until each part of my body feels loved and cared for,
until my skin feels ready to dissolve into the air,
allowing my inner being to expand
and encompass the world.
When I breathe
with attention
and intention
I can access another part of me,
the one that’s limitless,
and overflowing with love.
I choose to believe that there’s real magic in this world,
that portals do exist,
and energies can be manipulated.
I choose to believe
that if you spend more time being aware of your breath,
then suddenly everything will come into focus.
Your once burdensome job will seem like more of an adventure,
or a learning opportunity that has reached its expiration date.
Those relationships will feel more special,
tender and temporary,
nurturing,
or else, unworthy of your time.
You will start to see the pain and struggle in others’ eyes,
and realize, you’re not alone,
you never were.
We’re all going through the same process
of trying to remember
how to live and love,
of trying to remember
how to breathe.
All Stories Can Be Summed Up Into This One Line
We are one.
Whether it’s a Regency-era novel or reality TV, self-help books or Sufi poetry, indie movies or Insta highlights – every story we read/hear gives us a peak into someone else’s life.
The story might be set in a past or future landscape, and take place halfway across the world from you. It might be an encapsulation of one person’s emotions or her description of a moment in time. Whatever the story, each one shows us another perspective, another life into which we could have been born. But just because we weren’t, doesn’t mean we can’t try to understand what it’s like to be “other”.
Stories create empathy. They allow us to see ourselves in others. And if we can truly see our reflection in another person, or in several other people, or, indeed, the whole of mankind, we would realize that we’re all the same. We each have a human body with a soul or consciousness. We all go through the same cycles of life and experience the same laws of nature.
If you walked down the street today, and passed by someone who looked exactly like you, perhaps you’d be more likely to smile and say “Hi!” If your enemy suddenly transformed into your mirror image, you’d probably be more likely to resolve your conflicts and forgive him. What if you saw yourself on the news, being attacked or oppressed in some way; wouldn’t you be more likely to help yourself? To speak up, to tell your story, to call out injustice. To create an uproar.
We are one. And like some idiot who hammers nails into his feet and sets his hair on fire, we’re only hurting ourselves by not taking care of each other. It’s only natural for our world to be in pain right now. It’s a symptom of all the damage we’ve inflicted on each other. What’s unnatural is for us – all of us – to not be screaming out in anguish.
Dayton. El Paso. Chicago.
Kashmir. Palestine. Syria.
The Amazon Forest. Our polluted oceans. The toxic atmosphere.
There is no lack of stories to be told, people and places to be cared for. And the great thing is, there is no lack of love in this world, or positive energy with which to spread that love.
So next time you’re walking down the street, see if you can spot yourself – your thoughts, your emotions, your experiences – in the person that passes you by. Then take a moment to wonder what that person’s story might be. The tingle that you feel in your heart? It’s called Empathy, and it’s just another word for Love.
lovelorn 