There are days like today where I feel like I'm falling part...I envision myself as an old handmade porcelain doll, peeling, cracking, and withering away. When does my day end? When does it begin? Do I ever accomplish enough? Could I have done more? Could I have done better?
I've often wonder how I've come so far and wonder when am I going to fall apart?
I feel tension and pressure rising. . I haven't done enough on my sculpture;
I've handed in my midterm a day late;
My children want to be near their friends and not me;
My boyfriend waits for me to freak out;
All I want to do is yell, holler and scream...freak the fuck out;
Or do I breath, yawn, have a drink and chill the fuck out?
I look in the mirror and I see every wrinkle, every freckle, every grey hair, every once of fat;
I put some make up in hopes of revealing beauty, but all I see is a frail little girl ready to fall, break and shatter into a thousand pieces. . .
of nothing.
I'm suppose to be the "woman of steel," the unbreakable, strong, independent woman, who can conquer anything.
What am I?
Who am I?
Will I stop thinking of myself as full of flaws?
Am I ever going to realize, that I am today?
I am not my past, my mistakes, my sadness, or gloom that puts my thoughts where they are now:
I think back to my to all of my different life times I have experienced, from the business women to the drug addict, to the anorexic, to the depressed lonely little girl, the wife, the victim, the sick frail girl waiting to die, to the fat slob, the mother, the student, the artist, the painter, the sculptress the writer. . .
What am I?
What am going to do with tomorrow?
Will I decide to embrace what's around me at the time or will I get up and create, fight and struggle through creating my hopes and dreams in spite of fear?
What do I fear (besides God)?
I fear not walking, not running, being in pain, not seeing, being in a hospital, not being capable of pursuing my dreams, not painting, not writing, not being able to think clearly, living life, feeling the wind on my face, the pavement beneath my feet, and the rain on my skin.
I am not perfect, I am full flaws, full of sadness, full of desire, stitched, glued, taped and put back together in all sorts of wrong. I don't know who I am, or what I'm going to be or what I will conquer tomorrow, but I will start now, here, where I write and remember how I feel.
Every emotion, every bit of pain, every once of sorrow. . .I grieve, but I breath, and I remember there's still now, there's still today.
I will smile and live!
And I will have a glass of wine . . .
A previous post of mine, Inspiration
I've often wonder how I've come so far and wonder when am I going to fall apart?
I feel tension and pressure rising. . I haven't done enough on my sculpture;
I've handed in my midterm a day late;
My children want to be near their friends and not me;
My boyfriend waits for me to freak out;
All I want to do is yell, holler and scream...freak the fuck out;
Or do I breath, yawn, have a drink and chill the fuck out?
I look in the mirror and I see every wrinkle, every freckle, every grey hair, every once of fat;
I put some make up in hopes of revealing beauty, but all I see is a frail little girl ready to fall, break and shatter into a thousand pieces. . .
of nothing.
I'm suppose to be the "woman of steel," the unbreakable, strong, independent woman, who can conquer anything.
What am I?
Who am I?
Will I stop thinking of myself as full of flaws?
Am I ever going to realize, that I am today?
I am not my past, my mistakes, my sadness, or gloom that puts my thoughts where they are now:
I think back to my to all of my different life times I have experienced, from the business women to the drug addict, to the anorexic, to the depressed lonely little girl, the wife, the victim, the sick frail girl waiting to die, to the fat slob, the mother, the student, the artist, the painter, the sculptress the writer. . .
What am I?
What am going to do with tomorrow?
Will I decide to embrace what's around me at the time or will I get up and create, fight and struggle through creating my hopes and dreams in spite of fear?
What do I fear (besides God)?
I fear not walking, not running, being in pain, not seeing, being in a hospital, not being capable of pursuing my dreams, not painting, not writing, not being able to think clearly, living life, feeling the wind on my face, the pavement beneath my feet, and the rain on my skin.
I am not perfect, I am full flaws, full of sadness, full of desire, stitched, glued, taped and put back together in all sorts of wrong. I don't know who I am, or what I'm going to be or what I will conquer tomorrow, but I will start now, here, where I write and remember how I feel.
Every emotion, every bit of pain, every once of sorrow. . .I grieve, but I breath, and I remember there's still now, there's still today.
I will smile and live!
And I will have a glass of wine . . .
A previous post of mine, Inspiration
