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Still a Star August 10, 2015

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You know, I think it’s normal to feel insignificant. I mean, we are, aren’t we? What’s one star in a galaxy? (Still a star.) But who would notice if you stopped shining? If you burned out? That’s why we must go out in a blaze! We have one brief moment to shoot brilliantly across the sky and light up the night. Someone may take the chance to wish on you. If you can make one wish come true, then all your years of burning unnoticed as just another star in the sea of sky would be worth it. If you light up the night for just one person, you have made a difference. Keep shining. Keep shining. Keep shining. Your light will make a difference.

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I Knew What You Wished For July 22, 2015

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I remember that night.

A shooting star streaked across the sky. I told you to make a wish.

I told you to make a wish, but I didn’t make a wish of my own. Partly because I didn’t believe in wishes anymore, partly because I wanted yours to come true. I watched you wish. You couldn’t close your eyes because you were driving. “Did you make a wish?” You said that it wouldn’t come true if you told me. I knew what you wished for anyway.

I asked you a couple of times as time went on, but you never would tell me. You told me once that you would tell me when it came true. I knew what you wished for, I just wanted to hear you say it.

You kept your word, though.

The other night, you asked me if I remembered. I do. You told me that your wish came true. Our wedding day. I just smiled at you. I knew what you wished for. I just wanted to hear you say it.

You’re not the romantic type. If anyone else had told me that, I’d say they were full of it. But I knew what you wished for.

Shooting stars don’t often grant wishes. . . But, I still think I’m the lucky one.

Never let it fade away...

Catch a Falling Star, and put it in your pocket; Never let it fade away…

Saturday Morning Apocalypse October 25, 2014

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Saturday morning – the sun not yet up. I am the lone passenger on the bus.

The exchange is empty. Grey sky and a discarded facemask on the sidewalk (one of those white ones like painters wear). . . I should’ve taken a picture. There are no cars, but I press the walk button anyway and wait for the signal.

The mall is deserted and yet the theme song from Dirty Dancing is playing “.. The time of my life….” I cross the empty food court to the ladies’ room. Darkness. I flick the switch and the light stutters before completely turning on. I touch up my makeup around the eyes so I don’t look so much like a zombie.

A maintenance worker pulls their cart down the hall outside the door. Time to go to work. . .

A Ghost Story May 7, 2013

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The sun is shining beautifully today, but I woke up with a shadow. 

Last night I dreamt about someone who is no longer in my life. Even though this person has not been there for many years now, I still feel a sense of loss when I remember the space that this person used to fill. 

It was not the person that died, but our friendship – and it haunts me like a hungry ghost. 

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I write you letters addressed from the past, but you never read them. Maybe I am the ghost. I try to reach you from across this expanse made of all the time that has gone by in your absence, but my words are swept away by the breath of things unsaid. 

Watching reruns of memories that started out in colour, but somehow have changed to black and white, I watch your eyes lose their brightness. You became increasingly hidden away from me. I recall the pain of you fading from view, slowly pulling that piece of light from my chest. 

I sit at our tombstone, looking through photos of you. It’s been years. I don’t know who you are anymore, but I know who you were. I don’t know where she went, but I love her still. All the things we said we’d do, all the places we said we’d go – I lay it down.

Is it better to leave this Ghost at the grave?

You will never read this, and even if you did, would you know it was for you?

How a Wish Can Break Your Heart May 2, 2013

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I sit here looking at one simple phrase, “one wish.” These words were asked to an assortment of people in a particular video. Most of the responses were typical. peace, money, love. . .I realize I must have a whole lot of something stuffed down inside when I instantly burst into a flood of tears. There I sat, crying my heart out, feeling incredibly sad and I don’t know why. None of the responses from the video were particularly tear-jerking, so why the waterworks? I felt simultaneously congested and empty, expanded and compressed.

I am presently reminded of a previous scene beneath this tattered sky (When Wishes Taste Like Poison). Is this strange mixture of hope and hopelessness a result of the bitter aftertaste of poisoned wishes?

We wish on dead dandelions, spent stars and broken bones. How could they possibly come true?

One wish. . .

I would wish that wishes came true.

 

Like Icarus December 14, 2012

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Like Icarus

All I ever wanted was a piece of the sky.

But it’s hard, so hard

to get the taste of dirt out of your mouth.

Every time you think you’re flying,

you end up with a bruise and a greater understanding of gravity.

I was not meant to fly –

only,

to

f

a

l

l

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I Am the Desert June 17, 2012

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Restless.

That is the word I would use to describe myself over these past few weeks. I’m searching for something. . . and I don’t know what. Nothing satisfies me.

I am the desert.

My thirst is unquenchable.

Television,movies, music, yoga, games, cooking, eating, shopping, sports, reading, writing. . . although some of these things provide momentary distraction – that is all they provide. It all feels empty.I want something I need something more. . and I don’t know what it is! I can’t even sleep.  Granted, it’s not unusual for me to have trouble sleeping, in fact, it’s unusual for me not to have trouble sleeping. But, it’s become 10x worse. I’ve tried teas, warm baths, relaxation exercises, counting sheep and other things, herbal remedies, presecription medication. . . Nothing works. I am forced to be awake. Awake and restless. What is missing??!

By Venus Blessed May 18, 2012

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Valeria Lukyanova is a 21-year-old woman whom I stumbled across today. I immediately suffered a bout of self-hatred. It isn’t fair. Why do some girls get to look like this: Image

Image

. . . .while I have to look the way I do? What’s even less fair is the fact that I feel inadequate compared to not only this Valeria Lukyanova, but to all women in the media these days. My waist will never be that small. My legs will never be that long. With plastic surgery, I could change my face, I could even make my breasts larger – but I shouldn’t feel like I have to. Why has this become the ideal of beauty?

There are some celebrities, such as Britney Spears,  who have posted pictures of themselves without makeup/photoshop. (You can take a look at the article here: http://yeeeah.com/2010/04/14/britney-spears-without-photoshop-for-candies/). I am so glad that they have done that. It is hard enough to have confidence in yourself without being hounded by the media’s portrayal of how we should look, especially for people such as myself who have major self-esteem/inadequacy issues. Some of the people with these issues, really shouldn’t have them. I have a few friends who actually fit these ideas of perfection – models, dancers, actors – yet they suffer from the very same feelings of inadequacy as I do. Why???!!

It’s not only women that are dealing with this either. Oh yes, rest assured that media has an ideal for them as well (http://fashionindie.com/hombre-business-suit-or-birthday-suit/).

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Life is so much easier for the people who meet these ideals. Many people make a living by being beautiful, which I also think is unfair. People pay them to wear their clothes, to be in their pictures, to talk about them – even if you are not a celebrity, if you are good looking, it is easier to make friends, to get a job. . the world likes you better. True, I probably wouldn’t be writing this post if I were one of these “beautiful” people. I will be the first to say that I am jealous.  Maybe someday it will all change, but for now, I remain inadequate as ever.

Bleed Like a Candle, Burn Like a Star February 2, 2012

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My first day off in ten days.

I woke up early from a dream where everyone was running around playing some kind of game of tag. It was snowing, but I’m not sure if it was Winter. I found a small underground. . . shelter? But there were spiders crawling around near the window which was the only entrance/exit. I squished some that came down to the floor and left as quickly as I could once they had crawled away from the window. Lady Gaga and I were involved some sort of romantic relationship. I hugged Amy Lee (from the band “Evanescence”) goodbye, which subsequently appeared to spark some sort of jealousy in Lady Gaga. Suddenly, a letter appeared in my hand in which I told Amy Lee that Lady Gaga was jealous because she claimed that Amy Lee was in love with me, to which an immediate response appeared on the letter from Amy Lee saying “But I think I am.”

I became frustrated, crumpled up the letter and began running through a field resembling the short grass expanse between my late Grandmother’s house and my Aunt’s,  to my Mum’s house, or the dream’s version of my Mum’s house, anyway. There was tall grass and a small creek with a board across to serve as a bridge. I hopped over the small creek, scaring a large chipmunk which I had been calling softly to from the other side of the creek. Then I met a raccoon, which was really more like a big cat. . It was quite friendly and seemed to enjoy having it’s back scratched. My mother was amazed , and called out to my Dad (whom she is divorced from in reality) to come and witness the raccoon. Then I woke up.

So now I’m awake. I immediately begin housework. I make the bed, put on a load of laundry, and proceed to clean the bathroom. It is 11:58 am right now and my housework is complete. It is now time to crack open the books. . But I’m procrastinating. My brain doesn’t seem to want to focus on the cut and shape of diamonds, it’s too busy trying to turn a different grain of sand into a pearl.

I’d like to talk about this here, but there are a few reasons why I feel that I cannot  should not do that. I hate that.

*Insert lengthy and detailed subject matter here*

I guess in the end, I’m the only one who can decide what’s best for me. . . But I never was good at making decisions.

 

I Remember When You Stroked My Hair January 27, 2012

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I remember when you stroked my hair.
I think it was dark in the hallway, but I could be wrong. The memory floats like dust suspended in the Sun, but you’re the only ray of light that I remember. I’m not sure if I remember what you were wearing. Those details seem trivial – but they aren’t. I need to hold on to every bit of it that I can. I won’t get any new ones. I remember the really important things. Your hair. Your smile. Your eyes. Your voice. Your smirk – probably the most important thing to remember, and the hardest to forget.