The Hallway

I wandered down the hallway of my mind.

On the walls hang faces of the fazes come to pass. Beyond each door a life time, locked by days I've left behind. Upon the floor lies petals of the dying, fallen flowers; all showers of the pieces of my heart.

I notice far away a door I've never seen before. I ask myself, "What hides within those walls?"

My steps stir up the petals and they travel up my legs. I feel my heart strings calling them back home.

Behind me there are footsteps, they echo down my hall. I turn to look and see that there is no one there at all. Feelings of a shadow cause me pause.

I taste a lip I've never parted.

Hands unknown prickle on my neck. 

Chilled by a breath that warms my chest and a whisper tickles my spine. 

"Who has come to my hall?" I linger to wonder.

I turn to the door I have never seen before. I move with conviction to reach for the knob. 

Each movement makes me stronger. The secret promise of wanting drives the will to peer inside.

Within the door a blinding light explodes to capture me. Drawn within, I take that step.

My future is upon me and I am ready.

Lunch for Game Players

I awoke this morning, and like the premature mid-cunnilingus endings, deflated and irritated I carried on with the day. Not at all interested in treading backwards, finger in spine. I'd rather find coital bliss in a sea of creation.

I'm in a tank, shortening my breath and curling up. Maybe if I'm really, really quiet, that snake of epic size won't smell me. Maybe I will live to poop another day instead of becoming the poop of my predator. It could happen.

I'm a self-aware pawn, waiting for that grubby-chubby-smart-guy hand to close around my frozen plastic form and move me in to play. My greatest hope is to be the last pawn standing. The one who sails across the board, one square at a time, to become the queen. We-hoo.

I'm a kite on a string, enjoying the cool, fall breeze. In predictable loops, I dance and play until the one pulling my string tugs too hard and I plummet to the ground. Nose crunched, tangled up and bent, I lie there waiting to be collected.

I've got a metaphor for every occasion.
 An illustration to illuminate the illusion of illustrious interactions that idiots with idiosyncrasies idolize.
A game that plays the players' game.
I'm walking the walk while watching the talk.
Like speech bubbles that warp their way out of a mouth and pop like over blown balloons, scattering letters on the ground.
Premature lunch pawned for kite-strings....see... I tied it all together. Yay me.
On stage, the drum-roll just ended, cue the tinned laughter.
Sit up in bed.
Snake strikes for lunch.
Pawn on the side-line.
Kite left to wilt.
Metaphor over, curtain descends.
Laughter falls silent.
Game over, the end.





In My Mind

In My Mind by ElizaBeth Lambert | Make Your Own Book

I'm pretty thrilled to finally have completed this project. With a book finally published and ready to sell, I have to admit I give all the credit to all those who supported, helped and encouraged me. Also the original concept long gone...this entire vision is so outside of me. Thank you, thank you and much love

Tussled

All that glass I've been holding falls to the ground.
It's shattering crunch is deafening, and I'm wringing my cut hands.
If I were to step, my feet are unsteady.
I'm more than ready.
For this I bleed.
Be sure what was worth this all makes a sound.

I placed all this faith and checked it daily.
Magic sprouted from these seeds.
I ate from the apple of no more needs.
I'm more than ready.
For this I bleed.
Head so shaky, heart don't fail me.

Here on a bus, heading to nowhere.
I wish that I could, but I just don't care.
The ringing I hear is from no noise at all.
I straighten my chin and sit up so tall.
I'm not going to say what I learned from this.
I'm biting my lip and I'll take what I miss.

Legs tucked in tight.
I'm not going to fight.
Finger in fist.
Here's what's been missed.

Tangled up, tussled and tossed to the side.
Strangled and choked out with nowhere to hide.
By me all the time.
It was me all this time.
A sabotaged ship shaded strangely by need.
To take it, to break it, to harvest and feed.
Not proving myself.
Not proving to you.
There's nothing worth proving, can't prove what you knew.

All sideways by wind and by choice.
Heard by the strangers.
Not held to a standard.
I'm more than ready,
For this I bleed.
I've known for a while that I just found my voice.

How could I know those words would be last?
I drop this glass, I've been holding it too long.
What brought to the table is found in the past?
I'm not writing a poem, I'm singing this song.
But it's all inside my head,
If there was a tune, it's already long dead.

I'm more than ready,
For this I bleed.
Tangled up, tussled and tossed to the side.
But that's alright now,
For this I bleed.

Choices

"Are you freaking kidding me with the hair?" I ask, staring idiotically at the mirror. 

"What? Isn't that what you wanted?" It sound more like "intdatchoowandid"

My mouth is forming a gaping "o" and my temples are throbbing like two cats in a sack.

"Yea...no!" I sputter.

"You no like?" She is smiling, so I have to assume there is some form of amusement with this question.

"No, I really no like." I feel somewhat guilty for mocking her, but can barely contain myself at this juncture.

"I do different for you?" Sounding like "eyesdewdifrenfoyew"

I rub my eyes. I am drawing in a deep breath, with which is to be the prelude to a long-winded English vocabulary lesson of the likes she will never forget, when I am suddenly struck with the words of my mother. Hair grows back.

"It'll grow back." I repeat out loud. Huge exhale. 

She gives me a hesitant smile, "you like? You okay?"

"Yea, it's fine." I'm convincing myself,  "it will grow back soon enough."

I shrug off the drape, locks of my hair cascade to the floor and I turn away with an internal cringe. Whatever.

As I pay with a sulky refusal to meet her eyes, I realize I'm being terribly selfish. It isn't her fault really. It's my own.

Had I not procrastinated to get my hair cut. Had I not been so insistant that I needed one no later then today. Had I not whipped in to a little shop with a shoddy "we take walkins" scribbled on cardboard in the window. Had I just not.... Well, then I wouldn't be in this pickle, wondering how many hats I can pull off for the next six to eight weeks of my life. 

Yet, here I am, bitter for paying and angry at a smiling, vibrant little girl. How rude. 

This is how it is. Choices we make become someone else's fault every day. I sit in a store where people complain about late fees. They bicker with me about a choice they made. They return items they damaged for refund, insisting they deserve their money back for something they clearly did. Me, in my indignant rage, see that as selfish. Yet am I any better? 

When I worked in restaurants and bars, I saw this day in day out. Ignorant, selfish people that created their own dramas in order to not pay or at the very least, excuse themself for not tipping. Yet am I any better?

I flip out a five dollar bill, meeting her eyes finally.

"For you," I say, "I'm sorry I was upset."

"You like hair? You okay?" She is clearly realizing that I have been livid. She takes the five gently and looks down at it.

"Yes, thank you." I smile as I say this.

It's true, even though it's not at all what I had hoped for when I asked for a trim.

"It's perfect. Have a good day."

"Oh thank you. You very pretty." She bows her head in my direction as I turn to leave. 

My choice. Call it my mistake, or lesson. Either way, it comes down to my choice. I choose to deep breathe and relax into the fact that good, bad or indifferent, I bring reality into my life. Results are not always as expected, but this is through no fault of others. I choose to see the actions of others as hurtful or a hindrance, when really only a few minutes of thought or understanding would cause me to see that I created this reality in one way or another. So often, people view my actions as hurtful or selfish, when that wasn't my intention at all, and I know this. So how can I in good conscience do that to others? 

Today I choose awareness. I choose peace and forgiveness. I say that today, and I mean it forever. 

I will likely slip up. Tempers flare. Tantrums on an exhausted day are inevitable. The program to see others as "doing to me" and I as "being wronged" is a hard one to shake. But baby steps forward. There are some truly hateful, selfish, sexist, ignorant people in this world (one day I will blog about true sexism at its' ugliest) For the most part, however, we are all just going about our daily business. With a little more acceptance and personal responsibility, I can change my world one person at a time. 

Perfect porcelain pig

There was this girl on a mission. Her one and only goal in life was to find the perfect porcelain pig. She hunted in all places that sold pretty things, night and day. 

One day, she stumbled across it. "Aha! I have found the perfect porcelain pig!" She shouted. 

For days she escorted her pig around, showing it off to friends and family. "My search wasn't in vain." She would tell them. "Look, see, I found my perfect porcelain pig!"

After a while, the pig began to sit on the shelf. At first, she would touch it and dust it everyday. But after a while, she looked at it less and less. 

One day, she noticed it was grey and fluffy, covered in dust.

"Oh my," she said, "I guess this was not my perfect porcelain pig after all."

She began searching again, determined that this time for sure, she would find her perfect porcelain pig.

At a flea market, she spotted a majestic white and blue porcelain pig. "Aha" she cried. "Finally, now this is my perfect porcelain pig!" Right away she bought it and took it around to family and friends. "See this one? Now THIS is my perfect porcelain pig!" She made sure to tell them all. 

After a while, the new perfect pig took it's spot beside the other, now tucked further to the back of the shelf. 

In time, the blue and white pig became dirty, and in a cleaning frenzy, she accidentally dropped and cracked the perfect porcelain pig. 

"Oh darn!" She cried. "This was not my perfect porcelain pig after all!" That very day she began the hunt for another perfect porcelain pig.

Over the years, she repeated this pattern.  Each pig would be perfect, though she showed it off to less and less people. Each pig would take it's place with the others. Each pig would become dusty, or dull, or cracked, or flawed.

One day, while moaning to her friend about the loss of yet another perfect porcelain pig, the friend looked at her and said.

"Have you ever noticed how each pig is perfect when you get it, yet in your care, it always somehow becomes not perfect any more?"

Shocked, she responded, quite hurt, "well if it WAS the perfect pig, it would STAY perfect. So clearly I have just not found the right one yet!"

The friend shook their head. "Of course it is, it always was. You neglected them and let them get dirty or fall off the shelf. You broke them, ignored them, and left them on their own."

Quite indignant, she stood and stomped her foot. "What kind of friend are you? If the perfect porcelain pig were truly perfect, it wouldn't matter what I did! Everybody knows that!" 

Because this was her very last friend, she softened a bit and said, "but it's okay that you dont know that. I know you are just trying to be helpful."

On with her search she continued. Eventually she no longer showed off her newest perfect pigs to anyone. She had to move to a bigger house because she had run out of shelf space. Still her perfect porcelain pigs piled up, no longer perfect at all.

On her death bed, she lay. Unable to search any longer, and quite lonely. A house full of shelves and shelves of not-so-perfect porcelain pigs. A life wasted searching for what was there all along.

I can Be Your Villain

I look down with a lump in my throat and a sinking, sick feeling in my gut. It doesn't really seem to matter how much I learn, how much I strive for peace, things still catch me sideways at times.
I tell myself to not take it personal, it probably has nothing to do with me. Rarely do they, and when I have been so foolish to assume in the past, it has brought me nothing but misery.
"It's not about me." I say out loud. This seems to soothe my vomit reflex for a minute.
As I tremble a bit, I tell myself it's the cold not my nerves, but I realize that my instincts are kicking in. Too many coincidences suggest that it is indeed about me, and the hurt of such a brutal attack with no purpose is taking root in my heart.
I want to ignore it. Need to ignore it. Yet I find my eyes scanning over the words once again, letting the entire gist of it register.
"Hah" I chuckle. Even though this is a forced and painful laugh, I do it any way. There is no way that this can be about me. So I remove the words from my line of vision and stare off at a tree. It's not about me. It's not about me. It can't possibly be about me.
And yet....
I scan through my memory logs. I am aware now that my knees are completely watery, so I sit down. It feels like a bruise is forming right between my eyes, and I rub my head.
"You are over thinking this." I tell myself. Myself is probably right. I do that way too much, and it seems that the more I try to NOT, the more I do.
"Even if it is about you...what difference does it make? Is it true? No...it's not who you are or what you're doing with your life, or even what your intentions have been. So even if it is...it matters not."
I tend to agree with these thoughts, however my gut has resumed churning and my head is throbbing.
"Stupid facebook" I mutter, "this is why I stayed away from it for so long."
I shift in my chair and lean my head back. Deep breath. It's only effecting you if you allow it to, the words of Iyanla Vanzant pop into my head. Nothing outside of you has the power to control you unless you let it. Right. Okay then. As if that helps at this moment! Grrrr.

I take a side-trip in my mind, back to the sail boat. I remember gripping the seat and holding on for dear life, absolutely convinced that the stupid boat was going to tip.
Yet it didn't. Not even close.
It took two people and tons of logic to convince me otherwise. After a half hour or so, I had settled in the comforting knowledge that no matter how tippy that sail boat was, it wasn't going down. By the end of the trip, I was enjoying myself.

Back to the present. Back to this overwhelming sense that not only am I being shut out, but also being thought of and portrayed as some kind of villain. Could be I'm just dead wrong. I actually don't really know. My instincts are generally reliable, but perhaps in this, they are just clouded with exhaustion, frustration and confusion.

I close my eyes and clear the voices and debates going on in my mind. "Shhhh, quiet time." I tell me. This makes me grin, genuinely. You should hear me sometimes, I crack myself up.
Only love, love, and more love. I got big love I'm sending out. Faith and love. Healing love, with a candy compassion coating. I forgive what I do not understand and breathe it out. Tossing it to the wind, sending it out on a barge...this big, big love. I accept what I cannot change, and in confusion, I accept that it is not mine to know right now. The walk-out door is always open, so no hate for those who use it. Only love to follow and faith that whatever comes next is as it should be.

My humanity is bare, I wear it like rags of riches balled up and covering the painful parts. My imperfections like raw diamonds on the flesh to draw blood. I can forgive others because I must forgive myself.
Yet, I am free of the need to drag others down with me. I bite my lip and refuse myself the glee of returning hurt for hurt. Did I deserve that? Yup, probably on some level or another, whether from now or from times gone by. Makes no difference. Those who see themselves as victims will always need a source of their misery...and I for that? Sure, why not.
My stomach has finally calmed down, and as I breathe past this one, I wonder what next. Nothing to do or say, nowhere to go.

Any one who thinks I am perfect, please take note. I battle my demons every single day, multiple times. Now and then they win for a spell, but I'm done with giving in. I get back up, suit up, and face off with them for victory. Some are kittens dressed as dragons, and others are dragons pretending to be friends. I never really know until time stands still. I forgive myself over and over, which is what makes it so easy for me to forgive others. It's like a muscle, and I flex it constantly. Those who want to make me a bad guy in their drama...it's okay. I don't much mind. Ya, it'll hurt for a minute or two, not gonna lie. In the end though, I win. You saved me the effort of having to do anything. You did all the work for me. One less dragon to slay.

Back on a boat that at one time, I assumed would be my horrific, drowning death. It wasn't. I was wrong, completely wrong.
I can live with being wrong. I can live with either being a villain or not.
I can even live with never finding out the truth.
I can live, because living is the only option I've got.
I would rather live laughing, loving, being, doing...then live in fear.

In passing thought

I don't have to know you, but I want to. All the things you say are like pieces of a puzzle. You drop one here, and the picture becomes more and more clear. 

You are a beautiful puzzle. 

The lines of sadness that surround you make you bittersweet. Your looks are like strings that weave in and out, creating a tapestry. With a smile that hides your misery, another string is drawn and woven. The look of recognition or twinkle on the edge of your eye.

You are a beautiful tapestry.

If you were a painting, I would stand back and try to understand your creation.

If you were a picture, it would be framed.

If you were a song, I would want to learn the words and sing you.

If you were a sculpture I'd rest my hand on you and close my eyes.

This is just in passing, I barely know your name.

I wonder for a second if you ever stopped to realize how transparent is your pain...

I would sit and listen, if only for a while. Just so I could understand just who you think you are. 

Then I would have to tell you how spectacular you really are.

Maybe you would smile, tell me I don't even know you. How true that would be, and yet....and yet.

Does a person need to know a work of art to just admire?

On with life we go, captured pictures of a time gone by. You won't even realize how tiny things matter to those you don't know. When all of the bad things in life tumble down, the miracle touch of a bumper car life brings you that close to seeing how amazing you are. Yet blinded by thoughts that are darkened with fear, it's gone and you never saw the miracle here.

My Chicken Dance

"You are a flat out crazy bitch"

I smile, "why thank you" I say. I mean it too. 

There is some kind of freedom that comes with letting your freak flag fly. I see that being "normal" or "average" and "fitting in" is really just a facade. No one living their authentic self will fit into the normal flow of society.

For example, my cousin is a girly-girl. Across the board. She screeches when things startle her. Giggles and can be flirtatious as a habit. She takes time to get ready to go out. Her feelings get hurt really easily and she will probably cry. She is her authentic self at all times, and embraces what I find amusing with a grin and a "you makin fun of me?". Hand on her hip, sparkling eyes and all, she gets that guy to put the car she's thinking of buying for her son up on the hoist, no charge! It's amazing to watch. 

When she's upset, things go crash bang boom, and she warns me, "I'm in a foul mood". I snicker a bit, because she's all flustered and bothered. It makes her face glow and her hair frames her face in such a pretty way. The kitchen light gives her a little halo, and I think to myself, so pretty when she's pissy. Within a second, she's laughing again and wrinkles her nose at me. Let your freak flag fly!

My sister comes to mind. She is a storm in a teacup. Loud, boisterous, full of life and energy. She can go from zero to one hundred in two seconds flat. You never have to wonder what is on her mind. She laughs hard, cries hard and lives all up in your face. There is no adventure she will not face and no rules she will not break to get what she wants when she wants it. Yet her softness and sensitivity is just there under the surface. Her need to be accepted and loved, and her fears of not being good enough are palpable. She is as real as they come, and doesn't even know it half the time.

Let your freak flag fly!

I know so many, real, magical, beautiful people. The ones who shine in their awesomeness without even knowing it. The ones who hide in their insecurities, and don't realize they are seen. The ones who sing when they think no one can hear them. The ones who do the kindest things when they think no one is looking. The ones who make an effort to get you laughing. 

I call this the chicken dance. Have you ever been at a party, and someone starts the chicken dance. Others think they look so goofy, but can't help themselves. Soon you have a room full of people flapping their arms and kicking their feet. Those who don't join in can't help but laugh...not AT those doing it, but with a pure joy of watching the spectacle. In those few minutes, everyone is connected in this crazy, silly show of unadulterated joy.

My chicken dance is not at all girly. I take two minutes to brush my hair and throw on somewhat matching clothes to hit the Hamptons. I don't think it much matters. I figure there is not much purpose to flirtation, and can't really pull it off with a straight face any way. I relate to people in a genuine, comical way. The more I embrace my freak flag, the more I realize I have a magic all my own. I don't mind being mistaken for a lesbian. I take cues from my sister and tell buddy at the bar if he's not careful I will rub my gay on him. While I'm holding up a table, watching others dance and grind on the floor, I find myself laughing. Not at, but from the pure joy of being there. When I finally decide to get on the floor, I find my own space and bust a move with pure abandon. 

Let your freak flag fly!

A Ship Named Persistence

Being raised in a society of instant gratification takes it's toll, whether you accept it or not. Somewhere along the line, I suddenly woke up realizing that even if I don't accept it, these beliefs are planted firmly in the guise of everyday life. 

I get frustrated waiting for an answer. I get irritated waiting in a line. I get confused by a delay in banking. I get testy over slow internet connections. All my electronics have "reset" buttons, and if they don't work the minute I want them to, I'm hitting that button! Travelling during rush hour is tedious. If you're in my way on the sidewalk, I'm going around you. 

Yet I would say I'm a patient person. In today's world, I probably am. However, reality check, instant gratification is so well ingrained that even the most patient of qualities come with limitations.

Over this last summer, I have been trying to sort out some personal dilemmas. At times, I thought I had the answers. Then something would come up and I would find myself back at square one, wondering why the answers were so elusive. There were moments of complete frustration. 

"Why can't I answer these questions? Why can't I make up my mind? What is the problem?" Figuratively stamping my foot, beating myself up for not having the right answers when I want them.

One of the greatest lessons I have learned in the past few months seem so simple, and yet it's been a hard-learned lesson for me. 

It's okay to be persistently patient. 

It's okay to not have all the answers right this minute. 

There is nothing wrong with not knowing, and nothing wrong with enjoying life as well. 

I am on a ship named persistence. I am sailing, sometimes tipped right over. I am being carried over the water, at times way off course, by a wind I cannot see but know is there. My ship is captained by others at times, but even in my greatest fear, I am always fine. I know that I will live to sail another day, and in that knowledge, I sit and take in the sun and sights. 

If anything, the biggest lesson I have learned it to be patient with myself. I don't need instant gratification as a belief any longer. I can let that go, and next time I'm waiting in line, I will close my eyes and see the water. Maybe there is a reason I am standing here waiting instead of out the door on my way home. Maybe I can set my phone aside, or turn off my computer instead of reaching for the reset button. There is too much life to live to lose even one second in impatience.