Trains

"Some conversation, no contemplation, hit the road." - Maroon 5

The way Adam Levine sings that song is something else. But I have the guitar laying in my room and I just want to pick at it. Life is all about forms of expression, forms of expression besides words speak so much more than words. That's why I'm always reading people.

I'm going to make a promise to myself that the guitar, the piano, the violin will all be conquered by me one day. Start drawing again. I can imagine myself getting lost for days in that shit the way I get lost in a story. Forms of expression like the way a dress fits on a female's body, the way her hair is tied or unleashed, the way she wears 4 inch stilettos and tells a man she's shy or quiet, but she's not, it's just a different form of expression.

Put an art form in front of me and somehow this girl transforms into something you don't know. I'm more hard. I'm less shy. I'm meaner. I'm saying something to you in a way that's not subtle. I'm the nicest girl in the world but
my dresses are not. When I run, I'm not. My room is pink. My shoes are four, five, six inches high. And when I want to say "fuck you" in a poem, I do it. Get me drunk enough and I'll read it, not like in poetry class, but how I mean it.

Everyone has multiple personalities for multiple occasions but
art is how you peel away the faker more politically correct ones until the ONE that defines you and the things you want to say comes out. That's where the freedom lies. That's what I'm struggling with. People around here don't laugh hard enough, don't get pissed off enough, hold their tongue when their opinion might offend someone, question themselves because of other people's shallow perception of them. People around here don't kiss in public. Their sentences are perfectly formed.

People are so focused on being alive that they don't do what the fuck they want. They don't live. That's my fear because I see part of that in me. I don't want to be influenced by that. Yes, life is a balance between telling everybody everything/ not retaining any piece of yourself for yourself and retaining all of your uniqueness and voice from the world. Yes, I'm growing. And the more I'm growing, I realize that life is not selfish and I do want to scream out fuck you when I want to say fuck you. I will go to New York and the rest of the world when I feel like it. Fuck who doesn't like it.

I'm figuring out the balance between not feeling for the fear of the pain it causes to disconnect and feeling that shit fully in my veins; because fuck it, you can't not feel so you might as well feel it anyway/ deal with the repercussions later.

That's New York, riding on the train stations, listening to the lingo, the uniqueness of language, the graffiti, the pain of some people feeling trapped and how those same people let that go with the beer and the music in the jazz clubs. Imagine their stories. Imagine what the world is missing by them not telling their stories or simply not listening. Girls with their bags that are just fly, going throughout the city with no fear, couples of all races, missed races, some people being rude, others not afraid to tell them that they're being rude. No matter what the trains will keep moving anyway, so why bite the tongue? If it's a mistake, it's a mistake and the next phase will come regardless. But inhibit yourself all the time and every ride is going to leave you behind.

It's not a new theory but my eyes are finally open to the fact that when one lets go of her inhibitions, she's free. On the bus ride back, that's all I thought. As long as you can deal with the consequence, then do what you want. Cheat if you want. Fuck if you want. Dance if you want.

So that's New York. Better than all the shops, better than all the buildings, it's like release, it's like not being babied by the world but gaining your spot in it, doing what you want with it. It took time at first but then it pressed a button in me. Not a subtle one either but my eyes are wide open. It's something else.

A rough poem from '08 but still needs lots of work.
---

Mountain

Free falling
the wall is up that high because she needs a climber.
Drunken honesty to make your climb steeper, her
lucid insecurities make you question
why bother…

dig deeper,
Though the surface washes and bares
Bare fingers, It wares away its own
scratched,own rigid nature,

Now you see
she was climbing yours

but falling
pretending to have
her guard up while her
blood and her sweat weather
the cold slithering down your
ice spine

She’s aiming up.
You’re not keeping up.

She’s praying the horizontal glances
catch a simultaneous
Staring up,
to the peaks of loose minds
when you’re both free falling.