Hate

Hate seems like a strong concept. Too strong of one to be taken lightly. A profound concept that is not given to us unless it is really and truly deserved. Not a word to just be thrown around. It requires appropriate understanding and energy to keep and develope it. I don’t think there is a single person on this planet that I dislike enough to say I “hate” them. Even the people who have fucked me up and gave me mental disorders and ruined my life. These people, I want to kill them and cut their faces off in anger and then hang them on the wall like a trophy collection in a dark room that only I know about, but I don’t “hate” them. At least, I don’t think I do. They say when you’re in love, you just know. If I truly hated them, wouldn’t I just know it?

They say love and hate come from the same place in the heart, and are sometimes confused for each other. Am I waiting for that one special person to hate with all my being? Will it be hate at first sight? Will I still want to cut their face off? What does it take to hate someone at all? I’m pretty sure I’m not confusing love with hate when it comes to E. Evidently being given some PTSD isn’t enough for me to hate, but perhaps, if it were a LOT of PTSD I would feel differently. How will I know when its hate? True hate?

When will I meet my Soul Hate?

Hearts as Shelters

You use hearts as shelters 

You leave them burned and broken in your wake

Ice Giants

Heart
at the center
of blackness
burns yellow death
pressured
by freezing cold.
A bulb, flickering
faint
under thousands of tiny eyes
hopeful, far away
lights in the darkness.
An infinite crushing
coldness.

Heart
drags
shadowed corpses
splintered ice giants
at the far edges
of a bleak eclipse.
They hang
there forever
in deafening silence
life gone
far beneath the surface.

Heart
lets fall a crescent
light. warmth
over a glacial wasteland
it makes cracks
heat pours in.
Tremors, as cold
is shaken off
and new life
melting from
a burning core
erupts free
to take a breath.

Heart
burns yellow life
emerging
from cracks
after a deep sleep
to feel the air.
Dust
rubs free. Warmth
radiates
and grows
a new world
to be made
into a home.

 

Glass Traps

Rewrite of a poem I wrote in 2009

–

Oh, I am losing my mind
over this silliness
what exactly do I expect to find?
my heart cries. but I know a trap.

What did I expect to find?
a gem on the sidewalk
but I cut my hand on glass
why did it end up like that?

I only cut my hand on glass
I pine and urge
grab too quickly
I never learn to stop and ask.

Is it just another piece of glass?
my heart sets traps
I panic. I worry
an unnecessary stress.

I pine and urge. Too easily
my heart just keeps setting traps
when has it ever worked out?
all gems are made of glass.

People they panic. They worry
why do they act like that?
Is this a curse we all live with?
or is it just poor luck.

Why do they act like that?
with their heart on their sleeve
they compete, then complain
they just want to be entertained.

With hearts on our sleeves
we put ourselves into fire
and don’t know why we burn
when will we learn?

How did it get like this?
Stumbling down streets
like toddlers. we don’t learn
to watch our feet for traps.

If people stopped competing
complaining and setting traps
we’d find gems on the sidewalk
instead of getting cut by glass.

 

 

Passion is

Passion is
a feeling in my guts,
a warmth, a fear.
My heart pounds with it.
A determination,
the only kind
that wants me to fight
for others, for myself
to make things better
Makes me daring
Makes me care
Makes me want to scream!
Passion is
the only feeling
that truly matters.
A thorned blossom
growing,
beneath my pounding heart
and entangling everything
Giving me the push
I need
to take what I want
And fight for who I love.

What is passion for you?

Warm Hearts

Warm Hearts, A Beautiful Curse

I’ve always had trouble
with hearts.
All of them
are so beautiful.
I look
            too closely
at them. Get to close
to their warm vibrations.
Rhythmic vibes
a melodic hum.
            A siren’s call
in the warm salty water.

Blood
which runs so black
              yet feels so good
warm
in my chest and face.
But blood runs black
that turns
a once hot
             flushed face
urgent love
             passionate hands
into dark
              cold sockets, Dark pits
and greedy urges.

Once soft
           warm
           tingling
a whisper
just above my skin
spread such joy
Such excitement
nerves
Throughout my body
becomes twisted
             Poison
A dread through
the tunnels
of my spirit
A cold, clenching
             Fear
that tears violently
at my pulse
Shutting down
            all passion
            all heat
Left cold
Alone

Alone
with greedy hands
and urging eyes.
I’m not
             supposed to run
Trapped
with a beautiful curse
that drains me
and curls me
              a fetal ball
stored deep
in the dark corner
of the cage around my heart.

Strange Muse

Feeling inspired to update here and to write some whimsical unedited free form crap about my feelings. I really need to remember to keep this going. May be crap, but helpful for mental soothing. Was also encouraged to post more online, even anonymously, even on dumb unread blog, ahah. Maybe its the lack of sleep. Inspiration truly is a fanatical mistress; knocking on the door when I am ill equipped to deal with her!

Maybe its because I stuck my head out from the cave, saw a glimpse of the sunshine, and remembered how pleasing it is. Cave still too cozy and safe to want to leave though.

I’ve been feeling like a rock for months. A boulder wedged into a cliff, stuck and about ready to fall and crack to pieces. Can’t leave the house, can’t talk to anyone, barely create. Just a crusty old unproductive rock. But I feel different today. I think a waterfall is coming to unwedge and push away in a blast of water. It’s terrifying. I’m not sure I’m ready for the dam to be broken! May also be false alarm.

How is it possible to fall in love with the black and white shapes of words? Just text? Not even a name or a face to it. This muse comes unexpectedly from an unexpected place, though a muse wouldn’t be as musical if it could be expected. In strange form too, not even physical. No name, no face, no body; just words. Like a ghost whispering through my head at night.

I think I am just under illusions created by my own stupid forlorn heart. Enchanted by a mind that isn’t like the others. I might as well be a puppy, latching onto and following after the first kind gesture after being kicked. Sad, desperate, little puppy. But any spark of life is good, right? So long as I don’t go running blindly after it?

The ghost whispers, desperately seeking help, but it doesn’t care to hear. Any sound pleases it, urges it on. This is bad. Definitely not a good sign. Helping the ghost feels good, too good, but after? It will only be bad when the ghost has moved on. Must remember to not become attached. But right now, basking in the music is nice.

It’s also very confusing. I don’t understand why I like it. Ghosts are cold, unfeeling to anything outside their own form. Yet…what is it, exactly? I am an overemotional, hopeless romantic, enchanted by what? What do cold, logical, unpassionate ghosts see in that? I don’t understand why the ghosts like me, or why I like them. Opposites attract? It has happened before. Drawn to whispers, only to be left behind with my own whispers disappearing in the dark. Can’t let it happen again.

I am happy to say that this rambling has been helpful. The egotisticalness of wanting to say my own words almost makes me cringe, but I suppose that’s the curse of a writer.

Found Tool Ink Portrait

The first assignment of Drawing Concepts: Found Tool Ink Painting

The first day of class, our Prof. told us to find 3 to 5 random ass objects that people wouldn’t mind getting “destroyed” or having ink all over them. I went home and dug around in the junk drawer at home and grabbed some used up batteries, bottle caps, a metal stick thing that I do not know its purpose, and a little Finn toy from Adventure Time. I also saw my handy-dandy bottle opener that is shaped like a wrench and thought “it would be awesome if this was covered in ink” so I took that too.

Found Art Tools!

Anyway, these are the two tools I ended up using the most: the wrench/bottle opener and the metal stick thing. I would have taken a picture of the bottle cap but it vanished soon after the painting was complete! Who took my beautiful ink splattered bottle cap?! I only used the Finn toy a tiny bit, and it also disappeared! There’s some kind of kleptomaniac in my class around here!

Found Tool Ink Painting

Anyway, we brought our random  junk to class and we figured out why they would get destroyed and covered in ink: we were using them as things to paint with, SURPRISE! We were to paint a portrait of the person sitting next to or across from us. We also had to use marking techniques appropriate for the object. Like my metal stick thing, I tried doing some dotting with it, but it was so annoying so instead I put little blurps of ink all over the page and rolled the stick thingy through it like a rolling pin. Resulting in some some neat effects! With the wrench, it was easy to slice some lines up and down the page. Finally, I “washed” the ink to lighten some areas and blend others. That is why he has demony ghost eyes.

My boyfriend is in this drawing class with me, so we painted each other for this assignment. When we finished, we had to pin them up on the walls for everyone to see. I got exclamations on the creepy eyes. My boyfriend said “You really captured how I feel when waking up every morning.” Someone else said “Wow, you nailed him!”

It was a HOOT.

Anyway, he also painted a picture of me of course:

Justin X Syd

I love how adorable he made me. I also love how he chose the same color scheme as I did, but rearranged it in an opposite way. Did he plan that? I sure didn’t coordinate it like that. We had a bunch of colors to choose from. For his tools he used the battery I brought, the bottom of a jar, and…something else that I really can’t remember. I think it was some kind of stylus or something.