Rewinding clouds

Wouldn’t it be great to experience something so beautiful time and time again?

To live through that first feeling you had,

whether it be trying a new food for the first time,

seeing fresh colors of a sunset you’ve never experienced before,

or watching that favorite movie of yours as though you’ve never seen it.

There’s something special about our firsts,

something irreplaceable.

That strength of expression felt from that first time around is something you want to capture again.

But I also think it’s beautiful to let our memories be preserved and aged like fine wine.

There’s something beautiful about knowing how a story will end the second, third, fourth, or twenty-seventh time around.

Beauty comes in pieces, expansive or minute,

they’re lovely regardless.

Q&As with myself

Q: So where has your head been?

CSJ: I think I’m okay, but honestly I don’t know cause I feel like I’m never okay, but my head understands that and so this understanding is what makes me okay. Does that make sense?

Q: Been thinking about the world ending then?

CSJ: Yes. And no. I think the world has already stopped, and we’re always just too late to even notice it.

CSJ: Time is a construct, I guess. So I’ve been telling myself that “the world ending” is just some lie I made up that allows me to sulk indefinitely and not be a productive human being acting for change.

CSJ: But, then again, needing to be productive? That’s another lie capital America tells us to make us feel bad that we aren’t overworking ourselves.

Q: So… the world is ending then?

CSJ: Today, I say “yes”. I’m gonna hope tomorrow is a “no” though.

Midweek serendipity

The sheets smell like burnt popcorn— soothing, yet confusing, a real anomaly of days it has been.

I wish for Tuesdays to be my extra Sunday. Or Saturday. Or maybe just remain a Tuesday, like its ordinary self,

but declare itself to be free to do whatever it wants in the middle of the week.

Free— freeing as can be. That’s what I hope for, that’s what I strive for,

but I think I forget the possibility of it at times.

For every day I feel like giving up on myself, I ought to give two days worth of trying it again and seeing how I feel.

Seeing how maybe the reason I don’t like getting out of my sea of sheets on some days

must be because I make up some idea that lava is underneath my bed itching to rise between my toes when I finally stand up.

That’s not true. Nope. No it’s not— I mean, it’s not true all the time.

Just Tuesdays, really. Or at least lately—the past couple months that is.

I need my midweek serendipity.

Stop being complacent

Hearts are pliable

if you let them be.

So are minds,

even though you might think they’re too stubborn.

Reach in and let them change—

give them the opportunity to change.

Don’t just

welcome the obstacle and set it aside once you’re done dabbling with it.

Let it change your stubborn ways,

let it give you:

breaths of purpose,

coherent whispers of thought and

the strength to work through change.

You owe it to your heart and mind

that the world will teach them a lesson or two—

that they will redeem you.

Inhale, exhale. Repeat.

It hurts so much when I feel like I can’t do anything.

But it hurts more knowing that I’ve attached my self worth to my ability

to be productive and doing whatever I can.

It hurts more knowing that my self-confidence is tied to my accomplishments—

like an expectation that if not met,

meant I was worthless.

You are not worthless for what you can’t do.

It just means you are one person taking one day at a time.

Your life wasn’t meant to be filled with your lone accomplishments.

Because is it really an accomplishment if you lose yourself and your sanity through it all?

Weird

Odd. Quirks. Eclectic. Patchwork.

That’s me. Weird.

That’s what I am right now; that’s who I used to deny earlier;

but that’s who I’ll forever be.

I’m the type

who cheers on squirrels and other scampering animals when they attempt to cross the street on busy roads.

I’m the type

who used to re-read Twilight while hula-hooping, thinking it would at least lose me some calories while feeding an addiction.

I’m the type

who practices having conversations by myself so that I don’t look as air-headed as I appear.

Funny.

I must’ve given up almost every facade I used to hide behind.

I don’t know when I started accepting more of myself.

It must’ve been a process, chapter-by-chapter, a conundrum of facets I decided to polish and display rather than hide in dismay.

Liberating. Empowering. Accepting.

There’s a special power in being shameless about yourself.

You never have to worry about whether what you’re doing is right.

‘Perfection’ becomes cheap fantasy and ‘mistakes’ turn into prized mementos.

One day at a time, one mistake at a time.

Perfection is overrated anyway.

Saving daylight and greeting old friends

Morning movies are my favorite. Waking up to a story after running through your own dreams feels idyllic.

Daylight savings. An extra hour to think, to feel love for those you truly care about. They’re my favorite as well. It’s that extra plush blanket given by a friend I try to make amends with on a chilly gray day.

Time. She’s a wonder. She’s a bother. Someone you can’t live without, no matter how much you want to distance yourself. A forgotten friend who you get into arguments with, who causes you pain, who brings out the worst in you.

Yet you know the only way to beat her is through knowing that she only lives because you created her.

Let a time like this— an extra hour to brood about the day— remind you that she’s made up. A cage that you can break because you built it yourself.

On this chilly gray day, remind yourself that all the love you want to feel and give away is limitless. Just like it always has been. Just like it always will be.

An extra hour in the day is simply there to remember that we keep track of our lives through a silly thing like time— rather than love’s moments.

Breaking cotton ball skies

Sometimes you can’t help but imagine whether you’re actually prepared to handle something—

whether you actually have the emotional strife to get through it all.

You put on that tough demeanor, that dynamite-wall facade, unbreakable, fearless—

all of that to take your mind away from fear.

You face your own fears, but you also cower before them, sometimes never fully facing the underside of its iceberg facets.

That’s okay.

You’re trying.

Being hard on yourself all your life leaves you tough as grits,

but soften your heart a little every now and then.

Ease up.

You don’t always have to push too hard.

Sailing un-blackened seas

It’s comforting to know that I no longer get mad at myself over nonsensical things.

Often, I just squirm in my chair a little bit.

No longer do I give myself the hell I would raise: from my toes to my feet,

engulfing both legs and making my knees buckle.

How blizzard cold it was to expect so much out of myself at all times.

I was injecting black ink into the veins of my brain, thinking it was making me

Invincible. Undeniable. Strong.

But, instead I withered.

Crumpled myself into a ball of worry.

I could’ve been showering myself with water instead:

knowing acceptance, knowing kindness to one’s self, and knowing trust in the unknown.

Venturing into unfamiliar waters, filling my brain with life instead of darkness—

that’s worth striving for instead.

Slicing up life’s lemons

Call me when

the sun is done shining,

and when the flood waters

are welcomed back in.

Let me know if

streaks in my eyes

are no longer damned by the “happy.”

Wouldn’t you say

I should be free

to feel whatever I want to feel?

Piss off with the freelance happiness,

slice of life romances,

and serotonin-boosted moments.

Let me have my moment of melancholy,

for it teaches me the true value of embracing all of life’s moments.