I’m a body. I wrote this essay once about nameless bodies. People they either mean everything or they are just a part of a whole. It’s perspective.

I have let three men touch me. They have marked my body with their hands. All I wanted was for them to make my body mean something. I wanted them to see all of me, to love me, but instead I have been used, abused, and the cycle recycles.

I’m naïve. I believe too much in goodness. I throw my dice and hold my breath. I often realize that there is nothing. That I am just a body to touch. So I utter words, I speak until whoever it is, shuts me up with a kiss. It always means nothing yet everything.

I don’t want the world to break me. But it already has. My worth lies in my dress size not in the words inside my head. I feel worthless and empty. I seek no love. That’s the thing. These men find me at my most vulnerable time. At the time that I long to be loved and they take. I give them anything for a glimpse at being worthy.

But I am only left like a beggar, a beggar that refuses to accept anything. I beg for them to come back and eventually I just accept that they only wanted to feel a body. It’s not my body that’s relevant. I am just a number. My brain means nothing.

You are worth so much. I have to remind myself of these words each day. But they echo and echo reaching nothing. I am vacant, the treasure inside of me has been stolen. I’m giving up. I don’t want it. not love. it never comes anyway.

Lately I only fall for destruction. Make me worse. Take me, fuck me, throw me away. I’m not playing this game anymore. I’m shutting up.


“You cannot live when you are untouchable. Life is vulnerability.”

I met you about a month ago. At first it was just a fun game. Somehow something you said captured my attention. It was the fact that you knew to ask me to go to a poetry reading or a jazz club. People generally don’t ask to go to those places.

This must be written because the words are itching to leave my soul. I met you, it was such an effort getting to you. I remember choosing the outfit, being so excited at the prospect of meeting you.

You once told me that it seemed like I tried to make myself seem smarter than you. But I always felt like every word I said was there to somehow grasp the attention I knew I would eventually lose.

Its sad, this is sad, because I actually felt something for you. It doesn’t matter what your intentions were at this point. I started noticing little things. Like how you never texted me after six except I don’t know you. There are so many possibilities as to why and I am no judge to choose the correct one.

After we had sex, you grew cold. no more baby. messages would linger until you finally replied. I lost the shine of being the new toy. You used to make me feel so beautiful. You owe me nothing. I shouldn’t have expected anything and I wasn’t. I just thought you actually liked being around me, like I liked being around you. There were so many moments where I just thought that you actually cared, that you weren’t just some guy. But right now you are just some guy. And yet you were also the first guy that broke down my walls so easily, exposing me, making me want to feel something.

To be honest this only teaches me some lesson. What lesson? I don’t know yet. I don’t think I loved you A. But I think I could have. Not because of anything you had but because I truly liked the person that you were. I have said bye now because life has taught me to pick up my loses before the wager takes all my earnings.

When we were on the waterway and you looked at me and told me to tell you how I felt about you, I wanted to tell you that you release my soul, that you make me feel like the world doesn’t exist, that I suddenly feel like I did before love hurt me. But I didn’t because I knew then that you would hurt me. You probably don’t care about the content within this message, but I’ll show you anyway because words are meant to expose and liberate. You must think I’m crazy. Well bye.

The Mirage of Happiness

” A single metaphor can give birth to love.”

-Milan Kundera

Once upon a time my eyes read a quote, ” love is like the sea. It’s a  moving thing, but still and all, it takes the shape from the shore it meets, and its different with every shore”(Their Eyes were Watching God, Zora Neale Hurston. That was the metaphor I sought. A love that felt complimentary. But the quote never quite says that two pieces ever match, only that our personalities in some way change shape to accommodate a new lover. That is the problem with love, sometimes we lose ourselves and find only an illusion of contentment.

I have for many years collected quotes, they fascinate me. The world is so vast and complex, but in one single quote, an answer to some question can be found. Why is love a metaphor? Why does it change shape? Love is a metaphor because in many ways its an illusion. It is never quite what it seems. It is only after love fades that we begin to see the abuse, the entrapment, or whatever negatives that specific love held. Love makes people change, sometimes you can only remember who you were before you loved.

Love can break apart a person. Love also uplifts. But in some way love will break an individual. Even a “happy ending” breaks a person. They change so that their love works. Aren’t people supposed to love you just the way you are? Love I suppose is sacrificial. You enter the affair with expectations only to encounter stop points.

Halt. An argument occurs, your once friendly personality is suddenly too much. Maybe not all love is negative. I am right now speaking about my most recent experience. And to an extent about the experiences that I have read about within novels. It’s not that love isn’t wonderful. But love does have a heavy cost.

Love eventually becomes a choice. Once the giddiness fades, and mistakes line the edges  of the relationship, two individuals must choose to remain together beyond the chaos.

I once looked for quotes that would reassure me that love would not simply pass. Instead I found quotes that showed the heaviness of loving an individual. In many ways what I can conclude from what I learned, is that love often tangles. The only thing we can seek is a love that we find worthy enough to detangle.

Love isn’t the same as being in love. Love is messy and raw; it hurts, it threatens, it makes the powerful weak. But without it, life becomes bland.

“Perhaps all the questions we ask of love, to measure, test, probe, and save it, have the additional effect of cutting it short. Perhaps the reason we are unable to love is that we yearn to be loved, that is, we demand something (love) from our partner instead of delivering ourselves up to him demand-free and asking for nothing but his company” (Milan Kundera).

The Essence of Goodbye


Eventually there comes a time where saying goodbye is the only alternative. Before this time, you fought imaginary battles with yourself. You felt the pain of losing someone or of moving away to a new place. Every time you face a change, there is something to be left behind.

You will look in the mirror and take a mental snapshot of how you look now. In a few months you will only resemble the person you are leaving behind.

The hard part about saying goodbye to anyone or anything, is also saying goodbye to who you were and how you felt in that phase of your life. And the hardest things to leave behind are the memories that once fed your soul.

After starting college two years ago, every time I came home, I would see memories and longing in every corner of what had once been my world. This is the sixth time that I am writing about leaving.

Am I glad that the movie days ended? Am I glad that everyone dispersed and changed? In many ways I am glad that change occurred. It helps you keep the people who are worthy and the rest just in a way slide away.

Goodbye is liberating. Its function is to throw away what holds you down. You just look back and move on with your life.

Goodbye is also something that must be learned. At first goodbye seems painful. But as life progresses you come to expect some sort of termination.

We used to be fooled into happy endings that had little goodbyes. The only people who would go away were the bad ones. But there is no such thing as good and bad people. People hurt us and we also hurt them. The best part about twenty first century lit is that it changes the perspective of the human. Most readers will feel frustration. “What do you mean my favorite character will die” or “They didn’t end up together”. The point of writing is to encapsulate the truth.

The truth is that life doesn’t often end the way you hoped. The person who you proclaim your love to one moment, will become the villain in another moment. That’s life a series of unfortunate events. Except they aren’t actually unfortunate. We are all dealing with something. As people it is so easy to judge a person or to throw away someone who no longer serves us a purpose when they are in a bad state. But love is about accepting people.

Goodbye is a choice. Happiness is also a choice. So saying goodbye shouldn’t feel like loss but rather it should feel like a gain in another direction.

Closing one door, opens another. And that is goodbye. Goodbye just means that life continues. The only end is death. Goodbye can mean I will see you again. Or it can be final. It’s all about situation and perspective. It’s often difficult to define things. But that’s the beauty in living. Life will always surprise you.


Drawing the Soul

The soul is our metaphorical being; it bears no weight, no set identity. It just exists beyond the scope of visible light. What can be used to represent the soul? Does the soul age? Is the soul as volatile in emotion as the mind? Does the soul experience pain and sadness? If the soul bears no physicality, does it just hold the interests of an individual? Do we feed the soul every time we make a decision? I suppose some decisions actually strip the soul.

If the soul resembles our emotional state, does it shine when we are happy? What happens when we are sad. Is the soul just our subconscious mind? Does it register and know more than our conscious mind? I want to paint my soul in what I believe would be its ideal state.

I would paint light, white light but it would refract as if put inside a diamond. The colors would vibrate. Light is both a particle and a wave, consistently moving. If our soul is light then it does exist for everything that exists is made of atoms.

Maybe our soul is made of stitched up quotes. It has the wisdom of poets, of writers, of lyrics. Words line the edges; invisible stitches moving like whispers among the light.

I once read a quote, “I would paint flowers in even the saddest part of your soul”. I don’t think that’s the specific quote. But what if how we interact with others adds to the beauty or destruction of their soul. I want most to put smiles on the faces of others. I want to be the hurricane that comes and changes their lives. I suppose in a selfish way I hope to be unforgettable. I hope that my words line the stitching of their soul. And I hope to bring an energy that adds intensity to their light like the threshold formula of the photoelectric effect. I see life both through the beauty of art and science.

Science is the art of the universe. I suppose nothing works without math. We are a pattern. Is our soul a pattern.

There is no way to truly draw the soul. We can only hope to be beautiful on the inside. Because maybe inner beauty hints that we are actually feeding our spirit. This rant bears no reason. It almost makes no sense. But I suppose that I just want to explore the inner world of my synapses. And just leave beauty on the people that come into my life. Light, words, music, and hope is all I can give spiritually. I have been stripped so often that I long to fill.

I just need to share the inner monologue of my desires and my love for the simple.