Dead Leaves Pull Harder

Trees have leaves; obviously. Though have you ever noticed that sometimes it’s just as hard, if not harder to pull a dead leaf off than a fresh one?
This is sort of how life works; newer things in your life are easier to separate yourself from, whereas something that’s been in your life for awhile is harder to detach from. I thought to myself that all these leaves, are attached to trees that give the leaves life; even still, leaves die. It reminded me, that not all things that appear to benefit you, truly do or will in the long haul. As far as people go, we sometimes cling to what we want or what we need; in the most harsh of cases we lose our morals, our minds, our hearts, or our life. Sometimes it’s not even our choice to be a leaf on a certain tree.

There is an upside though.. While leaves die, and crunch under your feet during the Fall, don’t they also come back in the Spring? You may lose your color and be a detached leaf on the ground, but there’s a new bloom just around the corner. Maybe you’re meant to be knocked down to be picked up.

Truth be told, you can crumble like a leaf many times attached to your tree of life. You just have to decide whether or not to bloom again.


Memory of a Moment

It is an odd feeling, to be the one who remembers the most.

I remember people I only spent a day with; they cling to my brain with a tight grip, refusing to let go. It’s a mortifying thing to remember all, yet also a gift when you use it correctly. Memory serves us in a way, that we choose the moments we wish to dwell on. I always find myself riddled with remembering people. I’ll never forget people I spent a few measly hours with. I don’t forget the tone someone used to talk to another, and it will haunt me till morning. I dwell on a memory of a person, because I feel some people should be remembered. Maybe I don’t know them, and perhaps I will never see them again; but I’d rather have a great moment captured in time with an acquaintance, then have never had the moment at all. It is also quiet fascinating how one moment from one person will stick in your head; that moment had such an impact, it never leaves you. I always remember being at a family friends birthday party, and one boy came up -who had been very reserved most of the night- and just introduced himself. We didn’t talk later that night, nor did we talk after it; though I remember his confidence, and the subtle intrigue he had to know who I was. I remember a neighbor who I only saw for three days, before they stopped coming to my house; they taught me how to whistle on a leaf of grass. I remember they were reserved, but filled with knowledge of little things. Neither of these people might even remember me, but both memories serve me very well.
The boy who introduced himself taught me that it is worth that one moment in time, to just have no fear; even if the only words spoken between two people is their name.
The neighbor taught me that not all knowledge should be shared; some mysteries shouldn’t be solved till the person gives you the clues.
People are fascinating, and the only way to preserve them is through memory, however tiny. Don’t be afraid to be the only one that remembers, be afraid of being the one who forgets.

Each tiny moment in time is significant, if you let it be.

Tinted Glasses Can Lead You Astray

Looking at people, at the world, you can’t help but wonder if you’re really seeing it for what it is. Everyone wears a set of glasses; a pair of spectacles that paint the town for what they wish it was. There are those who wear the famous “rose-tinted” lenses, who see love in the atmosphere and see tiny fairies doing good deeds through the kindness of others. There are those with crisp mint lenses, who wish to better the world; they see everything needs fixing -even things that don’t need it- and think everything needs improved upon. There are those in a violet haze, who see the subtle changes in tones, the difference in body language; these are the interpreters of the world. There are those with deep ocean blue, and they see everything for its deceit; they see into the depths of things, they look beyond the good and only acknowledge the bad. They are honest, but often misguided by their view.
The harsh reality we live in, is that no one truly lives in a clear view. We all see an obstruction of an obstruction, and we color it how we want to see it. Sometimes the haze changes color; it may take years, or it may take hours. Truthfully though, if everyone saw through clear glass, it would make us less of an individual. So what if I see through rusty orange spectacles? I can see pain in all its magnetism, I can see the goodness where there is some, and I can find beauty where there is none. Those glasses allow me to be me, and to possibly switch pairs with someone someday, so they may see my side of things.
It doesn’t matter that we all can’t see clearly.

What matters, is which color we choose to see the world with.

What You Put Out, Must Be You.. Yes?


It’s a harsh reality we live in where the only depth of a person we know is what they choose to dish out to the world; for an example, I post some sad things, some gloomy things, some have even put it as, “a bit serious for my age.” The truth is yes, at a fundamental level I do believe the things I put into the world, and sometimes I do drown in a puddle of bitter-sweetness called emotions; and if you want to consider me a one-dimensional person you may think I’m completely burdened by my life. The truth is that -as a dimensional human being like everyone else that rests on this planet- I’m not all doom and gloom; it’s human nature to rant about your day, and drawing and writing are both therapeutic ways for me to vent. I’m sorry that I find it difficult to write about how luminous the red flowers were in my garden today, and instead I wrote about how I burned my feet on asphalt; but pain has to come out somehow. On another personal note, I prefer to keep my happy memories to myself; those are cherished moments of my life, and I’d rather have them in my memory than be plastered all over the world; then that brings up, “Well, why would you only want your negativity broadcasted to the world?” Because it’s completely covered up through prose and poetic words. At least I can pretty up my wrongs with colors and words; you can’t cover up when the greatest moments of your life crumble beneath your very feet. Yes, this is a ramble, this is a rant; no pretty words or poetic prose.

It just needs to be said that the surface of everything is not where the greatest things lie or where the best is really revealed; the surface of the ocean can be indigo and flat, but it is the bright creatures underneath that tell the story.

Needing Myself

It’s funny how easy it can be for someone to tune out the world; to just breath in air that only gets filtered through their lungs.

I’ve always needed that.
To walk outside and feel a cleansing air, filled with the smells of freshly damp grass, blooming flowers; to hear the hum of bark around a tree, or the whistling song of leaves.

I’ve always needed that.
To feel the brisk short strokes of pencil across a paper, to hear the soft flick of paint against a canvas, to see the splash of water as I clean the bristles.

I’ve always needed that.
To get entranced in pages, reading a story that isn’t mine, realizing my life is a subtle story compared to these masquerading characters.

I’ve always needed that.
To have the minuscule moment in time where the only person in my world is me, and I feel the grand flush of red across my cheeks as my energy refills. To know that I’ve come back revitalized, filled with jovial aura once more.

I’ve always needed that.
To be my best self for the good of others, I must focus on being my best; by myself.

NaPoWriMo Fifteen: Mirrored

There are two mirrors on either side of me,
A game I’ve seen before.
One of hypnotizing splendor to my left,
One of disorganized chaos to my right.

Enticed by both, I must make a choice.
A captivating beauty on both sides.

The dark rumbling of thunder purs to my right,
A dark grey version of crimson grumbles.
A wispy breeze wafts to my left,
A lovely green hue cascades in the light.

There are two mirrors on either side of me,
Both paths I’ve walked down before.
My heart calls to roaring thunder,
My mind calls to the uplifting meadows.

NaPoWriMo Nine: A Tale of Buds

I told myself, there was something to be said about others words.
Every syllable of a mouth vibration, every key note sung,
Is an important flower blooming on the vine of a person.
I told myself to not just take the words from the brightest flowers,
but look at the ill-gotten flowers, for they speak the utmost truth.
I told myself that it’s okay to have wilted flowers,
The people that have them often carry the most colorful vines,
It just takes time for them to bloom their best.
I told myself that every flower is unique,
Every flower has it’s dots, and it’s thorns.
I told myself that thorns don’t make the vines evil,
And the dots don’t always make the flower peaceful.