The Monster

How did I become this? How did I turn into this being that I can no longer recognize as myself, but only as a monster. The teacher says something about treating others respectfully. I can feel the blood rushing through to my head as my hands begin to sweat. I am guilty. And she knows it. I turn to the girl who I call my best friend, the one who always took control. She looks straight ahead; a poker face that looks as if the teacher just told her what two plus two was.

How did I become this? How did I turn into this being that I can no longer recognize as myself, but only as a monster. And some people, once broken a certain way, can never be restored. Like the imaginations we had as kids, the hearts we had as teens, and the minds we lost as adults. Who would’ve known that the beings God put on this earth would become fragments of a species that had potential. A species that could’ve saved each other and survived. But I have failed and I have broken in that certain way. I am forever scarred by no one but myself. I chose all the wrong things and made all the wrong decisions. I found pleasure in pain and that is what pushed me over the edge; that is what ruined me the most.

How did I become this? How did I turn into this being that I can no longer recognize as myself, but only as a monster. I look around at the people around me and see only hatred and jealousy. I see those who are not satisfied with all that they have, while others are satisfied with a metal spoon and crumbs. How did we go from pure, innocent beings of a holy garden to this? We are practically minions of the Devil; forever condemned to hell. I find myself always wanting what I don't have and leaving everything I already have in the dust. I watch people look at me like a monster because I take my life for granted and talk bad about my privileges and belongings.

We don’t deserve that Garden of Eden.You don’t deserve that garden. I don’t deserve that garden. The world we live in is beautiful, precisely because we witness the good and the bad. We are all separate people with all separate thoughts. We are beautiful creature. Humans. I think we’ve ruined our image. I am a human making human mistakes that have inhumane consequences. And as me, that is all I can do.

Christmas Decorations

I look around me and the only decorations I can recognize as my own, are the snow globes and my dancing Santa. Our tree looks sad without the familiar colorful ornaments that never really fit. Our tree looks wimpy, unlike the nine foot beauty I remember so well. My dad says that they were cheap Costco ornaments. But I say that they were memories.

Every single one of those ornaments was a part of me, and a part of my heart. I replace the batteries in the newer snow globe, the one I begged my mom for. I push the button as a ghost motor begins its work and colors explode within. I turn the key and the soft music box song begins to play.

I recall the days when I used to spend hours staring at that snow globe. Wondering about the little penguin who was decorating the tree and the polar bear's scarf. I wondered about the family inside and how happy everyone looked.

As I stare today, I begin to think about those ornaments and how this was the one thing I could hold onto as my own. As my piece of heart. In my heart I was a princess, bound by nothing and queen of it all. I was one with the animals and I painted with the colors of the wind.

But within my wonderland, the snow settles for the last time and colors blink out. The music slows and for a few more minutes I wait, daring the globe to stop. The music crawls and I brace myself for the last note to tell me that this was really over. But the last note never comes. I wait a little longer before realizing that the last note will not come.

I stand and slowly walk up the stairs with my ornaments still in mind. Into my bathroom, and I look myself in the mirror. I'm not sure who's looking back.

She's not the little girl I remember. I take out a makeup wipe and begin to rub away at my painted face until I am just a girl again. Nothing special. But once again I look into the mirror and the girl that I thought I would see is still not there. This is someone different. I've never met her.

I change into my pajamas and return to the mirror. But still, she's not here. I realize that I am gone. My childhood is gone.

Everything I know is gone and has disappeared and is not coming back. Now I am stuck in a body of a girl I do not know. For 14 years my mom has tucked me in every night. Maybe I'm too old, maybe I don't need it, but it's there; a constant comfort.

Tonight, she calls me princess from downstairs and asks if I need to be tucked in, or if she can just go right to bed. I told her no, I told her she can go to bed.

Now I know, the little girl in the photographs is gone. And I don't know who has replaced her. The tears begin to fall, along with every hope, dream, idea, memory, love, hate, life, that came with Talia.

When those ornaments were tossed into the trash, so was I. Somewhere along the line, I found myself at the day when I

took off my crown.

-t

The Wooden Cross

While I was at camp, I received a wooden cross necklace. A few nights after I had gotten it, I wrote down what that cross meant to me. For most, it was the cross. A key element and symbol in Christianity. But for me... Well, keep reading.

This cross to me represents the good. The beautiful. The pure. The hope. The dreams. The wishes. The thoughts and words of what could be. Of what is. The true. The love. The happy. The joyful. The longing for all of this is woven within this cross. This cross gives me hope of strength, happiness, love, and life. It gives me hope for the truth and the knowledge. The friendships and the lovers. For a better future, present, and past...

Every single time I place that string around my neck, a thousand of those ideas shoot through my head, faster than I can comprehend. And every single time I take it off, I wonder what it is that makes this cross mean so much. I wonder if I accomplished. If I learned. If I succeeded. If I was happy with the future, present, and past I've been given. And once more I wear the necklace and remind myself of the goodbeautifulpurehopedreamswishesthoughts that I associate with that wooden cross, and I feel something indescribable.

Something unimaginable. 

Something more.


t

Beauty of Laughter

I don't think enough people realize the beauty of laughter, and I don't mean hushed giggles as oblivious victims stride down the hallway. I mean the obnoxious, whole heart cackles between friends. The ugly faces and occasional snorts, loud wheezes and shaking shoulders, watering eyes and strawberry faces. There's a connection, too, (when you're laughing like that, I mean) a connection between the individuals. By then they're together, no longer separate people. To me, I feel like you could meet someone for the very first time and once you have a moment like that... It's like you've known each other for a lifetime.

t

Humans Are Magnificent

Humans are magnificent. I cannot seem to fathom these beings in any meaningful way. Granted, there is science, religion, mythology, theoretical ideas that we (as humans) have used to better our understanding of not only ourselves, but our world. Although if you stop for a minute to look at said humans, we are more than that. We are more than brain waves and blood cells. We are more than servants of the Lord and beings created by Zeus. We are more than the unicellular plankton exploring our seas. But we are no more than the animal that slab of pork meat once was that our neighbors have placed on their expensive dinning room tables. 

We are nothing. 

We are more. 

All we are is human. 

Magnificent and unfathomable humans.

t

The Love In Godliness

A little while ago I went to a summer camp for the first time. While there I was inspired on more than one occasion and the next few posts will be small pieces that I had written. 

Today in chapel father Kapriel said that when we depart from camp, we need to take this godliness with us and to be like God, to hold onto this said godliness, is to love.That when we return home, we need not to be like others that do not respect Christian values. But maybe that's just it. Maybe our world and the people in it are faulting because of a lack of love. A love of the world, the people, the souls, the objects, natural occurrences, unnatural occurrences... Love is one of the most common things we do. So how come the world is failing is miserably at it? It's the hardest and the easiest, the simplest and the most complicated. The strongest and the weakest. The emotion that is based upon respect. You cannot love if you do not respect. And there's that term we keep hearing: respect.

It's short. It's simple. It's not my best work, but I still like it.

t

Insanicreativity

Where is the line between insanity and creativity?

This is obviously a question of many perspectives and answers, but I think it's one that not many people consider. Is insanity creativity? Is creativity insanity? Does creativity derive from insanity? Can creativity lead us to insanity? Can you have both? Does that make you different? Better or worse? 

Personally I believe that everyone has a creative fraction to them, even if it is found in the most unexpected of places. I also believe that everyone has the potential of insanity, and whether or not it is teased out is up to fate. I think that those people whose insanity has been exposed to the world have a larger capacity of diverse thoughts. When you are thinking differently, and maybe a little crazily, you see things in a different light than most. It's almost like you can unlock the world's secrets and do something with that information because you're crazy and you can see these things. And out of those people, I think everyone sort of has a variation of this insanicreativity (Yes, that is my new word. Don't judge me.) based solely on their past experiences and emotion. Tourtured souls are definitely going to be taking either an I'm-going-to-make-sure-nobody-else-has-to-go-through-what-I-did approach to things or a screw-it-everyone-has-to-suffer approach. Or if we're talking artistically, (any kind) this is where you're going to find those passionate, meaningful pieces. And in some cases, this vast amount of passion and thought leads people to insanity, or even more so than they already were. And then those who are truly mentally ill have a view that is impossible to duplicate. There's no limit to their minds and actions. No consequence.

Then again, I believe everyone is a little insane inside. Some people just let it consume them. Those are the people we call crazy.

I might have gotten off topic... That's alright though. 

What do you guys trhink about insanicreativity?

t