Words

 
                                  Wanting to write but disliking the nuisance of words.

    In reality, I've always envied authors and public speakers in the way they communicate their words, a natural flow that resembles a river.  The power of words is irrefutable, they are capable of sparking something in you, and if used wisely, could be the ultimate motivator.

    I am personally not a master of words and they aren't exactly my best friends. Words are bound by society`s imagination. They are backed up by meaning bound to this earth, this life. They aren't capable of transcending past that, cant comprehend the meaning behind the mask, our true universe, our true nature. Regardless of that, words can try to decipher our inner workings and thoughts. For years I have desperately tried to explain my views and beliefs through words but can never get it quiet right... not even close. 

     Yet I still continue to write, everyday trying to find the right group of words that can somewhat explain the tornado of thoughts that lay in my head.

My curiosity for poetry began in high school. I was in between writing and drawing. Drawing took the lead of my interest (now, I rarely draw), but every so often i would continue to write poems. So here I`ll share one from 2009 (15 year old me) :

11.12.09

I feel as I were drawing in a maze of no hope,

Drawing away with a pencil with no led.

Drowning....taken away

Bubbles of air slipping away

I try to grasp them, my dreams released.

But its impossible to catch empty air.

And illusions become my water.

I am cold, buried in a snow full of doubt.

Oxygen is slowly running out.

A butterfly bursting up in flames,

Lasting thoughts, final memories.

The worthless feeling of being unwanted.

denied, rejected. Jealousy is acted.

My pencil traces the dull, white canvas.

Tainted fingers mimic my melted heart.

Blood boils down & rushes to the head.

& my whole body gently rips apart.

Toxins are released as a desperate call,

Air is now ceased from my control

Panic is etched into my palms

Drawings are confused with my skin.

Reality becomes distorted, I can't breathe!

My hand releases the pencil, no motion.

Surroundings are covered in led.

Bubbles of air has popped to the surface

& body sinks deeper in the ocean.

Hello, 6 years later

Hello,

Umm, yeah so I had totally forgotten I tried to start a blog, but here I  am, better late than never huh?

Isn't it funny that its much easier to spill your thoughts through a virtual screen, for a world to see, than just talking with someone? Talk? People still do that? 

I read my firt entry after 6 years and GOD, i fucking love it. I actually have many diary entries from that year and before then,  as i have always loved to write, and words have never been really my go to 'thing'. Poems, mini stories, even a book... yet no one has ever seen them, just these pair of eyes.

Anyways, I don't know how to blog, nor do I care how to do it, I`m just going to write. Hopefully posting here will motivate me more to write and feel less intoxicated with my bottled-up thoughts. This is my humble way of connecting with humanity, through the sounds of a keyboard and the slurping of instant coffee. 

"Slurping instant coffee" So fucking cringe. LOL

Anyways 24- year old Lisa, lets do a little throwback and check out what i wrote when I was 15.

I witnessed a miracle when her eyes penetrated the sole existence of my being , I became a believer . I have never felt more vulnerable and alive as her eyes trapped me into her God . Oh have mercy on this pity form that curiosity has brought you .