Showing posts with label stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stories. Show all posts

I woke up and the rain was falling. I woke up and I realized I had love. I woke up and I realized I do love. I woke up and embraced the creativity I have to ignite in order to write. In order to live. To breathe. I do something some may find odd or incredibly unrealistic or healing or rare. I breathe through writing. I create. I choose to express those "feelings" trapped in the festering bubbling, oddly dark places dwelling within. I find the voice that often hides itself away in the shadows for fear of judgment and I set her free. If I don't who will? If I don't admit I feel defeat or sadness or fear or anger or love or beauty or freedom or laughter or accomplishment or self-doubt or confidence or loss or grief or impatience or courage or sensuality or lust or low self-esteem or joy or motherhood or worry of the unknown, then I cannot face the day with honesty. I couldn't face myself. So I expose the raw grit of what's going on inside. And in doing so I breathe. I don't have to hide in the shadows or feel shame. I can be naked and utterly exposed and beautiful because I choose to open up the floodgates and not care about who judges me or who misunderstands. We live in a world that hides behind war, hides behind judgment, hides behind religion, hides behind inexperience, violence, mistruths; a world that if you were to actually open your eyes to really experience it would see that while it is fraught with horrid behavior, it swells in absolute beauty. One person who mistreats only means there are millions, billions, that may actually see you and your beauty. A ghetto fabricated with unnecessary violence or feelings of no-way-out mean somewhere, there is a world, a place that is simple and quiet and beautiful and they don't care where you come from. They simply have a smile. We overlook the finer things. The things we cannot see because we have not yet experienced them but it doesn't mean they are not out there alive and well, waiting for you to discover them. Somewhere there are not straying bullets and instead there are people gathering food and living off the land - not recklessly, but lovingly. 

I suppose I breathe through writing because in my world, I have seen those extraordinary places. Sometimes I don't have to go anywhere, I just have to look in someone's eyes. Don't be afraid to confront you. Because behind all of that uncertainty exists tremendous beauty because you had the courage and the audacity to admit you are not perfect and in control. You are you. 


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Sometimes it isn't always profound. Sometimes you just look in the mirror and think, "oh fuck" I have an entire screenplay to write. An adaptation of a novel known throughout Europe. In fact, it's been assigned to students in every nation. It's been done with carelessness and so here I am. I love the book. Have been rather attached. Why? Because we are a society that needs to be reminded that even when we're beautiful, you can't go on running on the fuse of "beauty" forever. At some point, that painting is going to depict your soul. Your sins. Your fears. And at some point when you think destroying it is the only way, you will realize it has already destroyed you (says the girl about to get "tatas" and a body recap - let's call it reclaiming).

The point? Buck up people. Buck up.

And as for you, Mr. Wilde: I will do it right. Heart, Fear, Malice, Ignorance, Intellect, Refinement, Beauty, Love, Passion, Drive. I love that you were imprisoned for this. It's as it should be because in truth - the world isn't always ready to face itself. Well done, sir. Well done.

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