The Labyrinth

I had wanted comfort for so long, I thought I found it

Most people think the beginning is fun but to me it is a labyrinth 

Scary, unfamiliar, and full of pitfalls to navigate 

I’m always too much or not enough, unlovable in any state

But I stood with arms outstretched 

And for a moment, you were there

Eyes befitting of a deep soul

Calm when I was scared, steady when I was unsure 

I wanted a gentle love

But love never wants to be gentle with me

You learn to navigate by touch in the dark

Maybe thats why it was so easy to feel when you pulled away 

Those eyes could see everything except the good in me

It is hard to let go, even harder to beg

We were supposed to bask in each other’s warmth, not burn each other down 

That door takes two people to open

Two people who had both been alone too long

Too much and not enough 

Half Love

The bread crumbs

The precious scraps

The meager subsistence

I have always had to make do with less

A lifetime of half love has left me hungry

The one who makes me laugh gives himself so easily to others

I am the healthy choice for a man who built his life on impulses

No wonder I must look so unappealing

The one who brought me consistency also brought me fear

He felt familiar, and that is what made him dangerous

Reminding me of all the demons I had already slain

I am no longer interested in trying to walk through closed doors or old graveyards.

Some days I am reminded of the endless love I have just under the surface

What a joy to be fully unleashed

I had to let go of “someday”, it was too much weight to carry

I’ve learned to refuse scraps

There is no amount of bread crumbs that will lead me where I want to be

The Rock and The Waves

Standing defiant against a tide I cannot change, I remember what it was like to be strong and mighty.

I remember what it was like to be whole.

Was I meant to stand firm? 

Was I meant to be crushed to sand all along? 

Am I supposed to be destroyed?  

Am I supposed to be broken and scattered? 

Maybe one day I’ll be whole again in a different way. 

The Burn

It always starts off slow. Eyes glassy from holding back tears, taking measured breaths in an attempt to slow my pounding heart. The burn that spreads across my chest. 

I never asked for the moon and the stars, just a hand to hold and someone who would choose me. But the wrong people can make the simplest things feel like the most mystical treasures from the farthest, most unreachable corners of the galaxy. I am your prodigal daughter screaming into your perfectly crafted void. 

You gave me this voice, why does it only echo?

How many times had you seen me cry myself to sleep? I always felt you there but completely silent. Neither condemning nor comforting. 

I thought I had done everything right but my existence feels like punishment. If I was made to love and be loved why do you see fit to have me be alone? Why was I made to be wasted? 

Everyone has this fairytale lens in which they see you. If I fold my hands respectfully, ask politely, and click my heels three times; I’ll be granted my heart’s desires simply because I believed. But even when I was younger I never wanted to see you as merely the granter of wishes. I wanted to trust that you knew what was best for me. 

But recent years have pulled out a fight in me that I would have thought unimaginable in my youth. I never once had the delusion that my life would be easy, but this prolonged and painful struggle has left me fragile and exhausted in ways I’m normally too embarrassed to admit. 

Over and over I had to endure horrible mistreatment by those who had once been closest to me. Everyone who engages in this abusive pattern of behavior seems exempt from Karma. I miss the days when kindness was an even exchange. Now I create it just to give it away. My biggest regret was that I didn’t move on fast enough. Surely my lesson cannot be to isolate myself, but to go on fighting feels hopeless. I have all too often had to muddle through those dark days when the nicest person was often a stranger. 

So here again I stand, trying to pull the daggers from my heart. 

You gave me this will, why does it push me from you? 

You gave me this heart, why does it crack so easily? 

You gave me all this love, which I am unable to contain, yet has no route to take.

I know you don’t play favorites. I just wanted to feel like I mattered. Like this suffering has a purpose. 

My eyes glassy from holding back tears, taking measured breaths in an attempt to slow my pounding heart. The familiar burn that spreads across my chest.

I am your prodigal daughter standing on the edge of your perfectly crafted void. 

Crashing Down

You didn’t realize I could see your soul.

Lost and mangled,

Resentful thoughts with a mouth full of excuses. 

People like you love to be in control. 

You crave it because you think it gives you power.

But you don’t know what it’s like to harness the real thing. 

Power that comes from the inside.

The kind that burns through your chest. 

Purpose through the chaos. 

I will not be held back. 

I left you a long time ago,

All alone with your bad decisions. 

Curious, you ask “Do you ever miss me?”

The answer comes swift and sure.

“I miss the person you could have become”

I came back to watch your world come crashing down.

You will rise above but only as ashes,

A warning to others.

Lemon Cookies

As a child the only time I ever had lemon cookies was at my grandfather’s house. They were the store brand ones with the cream in the middle like an Oreo. I don’t remember if he liked them or if he only had them at the house because of me; but every time I eat a lemon flavored cookie I am transported to his backyard. I remember the pool and the hibiscus flowers. The water wings that actually made it difficult to swim. Everything was so beautiful. 

Honesty is a crazy thing. 

I was raised to be honest. I was told people would respect me for it. I was told it would set me free. Most often I found that it will set people free of me. 

The words come out easy, for me they always have. But it’s not simply the words - it is the meaning they carry. My eyes well up with tears, my chest burns, my spirit grows. But this is always perceived as weakness. 

I’ve lost so much for the sake of honesty I sometimes wonder why I was allowed to have anything at all. 

I give too much to get so little in return, but I’m not here to hold back. Let this venom run its course. One night at a time, love in fragments. 

Rejection gnaws on me slow and steady. Was I only made to be wasted? 

I can only be lost in myself for so long. My introspection turns into auto pilot. The cats are hungry. The sink is full of dishes. I let the laundry pile up for too long. I load up the car and head to the laundromat. I cram all my clothes into the machine and feed it quarters. I realize I haven’t eaten anything in a while. Sometimes the laundromat leaves out free snacks for the customers. I walk over the food stand and pull up the lid. 

Lemon cookies. The store brand ones with the cream in the middle. 

Birthday Wishlist

I want my ex to apologize for ignoring me when I needed him most.
I want my sister to break the patterns of her destructive behavior.
I want my best friend to talk to me again.
I want that damn door to fix itself.
I want my hard work to pay off.
I want the means to travel more.
I want to know what it's like to be successful.
I want to know what it's like to ask for help and recieve it.
I want the Artist to find the peace he refused to give me.
I want the Mechanic to know that I see his flaws but I have always repected him.
I want to thank the Cook for giving me a taste of true kindness.
I want to know what it's like to throw my phone into a river and not have to worry about the cost of replacing it.
I what to know what it feels like to have a sleep schedule.
I want to stop getting teary eyed at the vet's office because my cat is getting old.
I want to stop getting teary eyed at the vet's office because my cat has been the most consistent and enduring part of my adult life.
I want to know what it's like to be reckless and irresponsible.
I want to talk to my grandfather one more time.
I want to know what its like to be someone's first choice.
I want to be treated the way I know I'm worth.

The Ghost

Your love held me in place. I would tell myself that the weight of it all felt good, as though I had a reason to be part of this.

But the truth is I'm better at moving through walls than I am talking to them. 

My existence may be faint but it is you who are the empty shell. I've given up on sinking ships and abandoned buildings. 

You are going to feel me long after I've gone. Whenever a light flickers, whenever something disappears you swear you just had. The dreams you wake from in a panic. Anytime it's too quiet. 

You are going to feel your mistakes rush in like a storm surge. 

Your lesson comes when you realize your love wasn't a strong enough anchor to hold me down. My lesson was learning to let go. This wreckage belongs to you now. 

Don't worry my dear, you won't be haunted by my presence. You will be haunted by my absence.

Orion

I can only see you in the dark. When my eyes are closed. Surrounded by the endless unknown.

There was a time when I could watch your smile dance upon your face. I could feel the scars on your body. I used to know the color of your eyes. The smell of your skin reminded me of home. But I've never had a city to call my own.

I think I was always destined to be alone. I'm a fighter, a hunter. I love freedom. Tradition is control dressed up so the shackles feel like jewelry. Autonomy is the purest form of power. I never sought the company of others because I had no equal.

But you found me.

An accidental meeting that felt more like a collision. You were smart, charismatic, and a fighter as well. You held my interest like no one else. We could overcome the demons in the darkness with our fire. You saw the flickering moonlight in my soul and knew that was what you craved. You never tried to take me away from the things I loved. You had no ambition to tame me. Your love was real because you desired the wild.

You told me once that an extinguished passion is only dust in the wind, and you were here to play with fire.

I was always myself but in you I had someone I could be free with. I could run with you, fly with you. You never tried to slow me down. You kept up and encouraged me to be better.

But fate would take you from me. I mourned you with a flood of tears. I was used to being alone but for the first time I felt emptiness. Your absence wasn't merely just physical presence but a part of my future that was lost. Of course I can exist without you but the meaning is gone.

Sometimes I tell myself I can keep going because I'm strong. But other times I think I can feel you lying next to me. I catch a glimpse of you out of the corner of my eye. But you're not there.

People don't understand why I love to be alone. Why I find comfort in the dark. The truth is, out here, in the cold and the quiet, is the closest I can ever be to you.

Even though you are gone you still light my world.

To My Lover, My King, and My Executioner

One last love letter from Anne Boleyn to King Henry VIII.


Your Majesty,

Do you remember how you loved me so? For I am not able to forget.

Your smile, your laugh, the command of your presence and the gentleness of your touch. I did not fall in love with your status but with your soul as it was laid bare before me.

Your heart was dedicated to me alone. You were steadfast and devoted but I had the misfortune of watching your affections wither away.

Truly, I was feisty. I argued. I was bold and rebellious. I could never let you dominate me. I may not have always been the wife you desired me to be but I was your match in every way. You fell for me because of my strong heart and sharp mind. 

We brought a political and religious storm down upon ourselves because we were so consumed with each other. We defied the pope and redefined our worlds to bring ourselves closer in our orbits until we were able to collide into each other's arms.

I sit here wondering when it was that you saw fit to abandon me. 

Our world was made up of sunshine and storms, of bitter fights and ardent reunions. If I was a falcon I would fly swiftly to you and profess my endless devotion. One last embrace I was ruthlessly denied. 

Was your desire to maintain control so strong that you would so willingly destroy a union that we worked so hard to create? Were you so righteous in your determination that you would deny me the satisfaction of remaining in your good graces? You felt betrayed by things that never happened and condemned me for crimes I did not commit.

You sentenced me to death but in so doing you fail to see that you have likewise sentenced yourself to a life time of sorrow and regret. My heart breaks at the truth that you may always get your way but you will seldom get what you want.

You said to me once that 'if I remember you in my prayers as strongly as you adore me then you shall scarcely be forgotten'. My love, I shall uphold my promise and keep you in my heart and prayers. You will never be forgotten.

I only desired for you to adore me with the same reverence.

Your Lover, your Queen, and your ever faithful Wife,

Anne Boleyn

The Patron Saint of Solitude

"Let me tell you this: if you meet a loner, no matter what they tell you, it's not because they enjoy solitude. It's because they have tried to blend in with the world before, and people continue to disappoint them." - Jodi Picoult


Growing up Catholic I became familiar with the Saints. A particular favorite of mine was Lawrence the Martyr. He was a Roman deacon who was in charge of the church treasury and the distribution of alms to the poor. After the death of Pope Sixtus II the Roman army demanded that in three days he should turn over all the riches of the Church. In that time Lawrence gave away as much of the Church property to the poor as he could in order to prevent it from being seized. On the third day, when he was asked about the treasure, he showed the Romans the poor and the sick in his care and proclaimed that these were the true treasures of the Church. For this act of defiance he was ordered to be placed on a gridiron over a fire. As he was being burned alive he said something along the lines of "Turn me over, for I am done on this side".

I have always admired that level of righteous sass in the face of imminent harm.

I loved the lesson of laughing through the pain. It was something I wish I had learned to do more of in my early years. When I was little I remember sobbing at my grandfather's house. He told me lovingly "Don't cry, or one day you will run out of tears". It was a good tactic. I rubbed my eyes naively trying not to waste this seemingly precious resource.

Later I learned that the average human body is about 60% water. I am literally made of tears. As, long as I am alive I remain my own personal, endless supply.

My twenties were an enormous struggle. I survived unhealthy living situations, disastrous relationships, a crippling lack of finances, and severe sleep deprivation. I couldn't wait to be thirty. I wanted the stability I thought it would come with.

I worked tirelessly because I always thought I was working towards my goals. One of my goals was to start a family. I didn't realize how lonely that would turn out to be. I put my heart and soul into everything. My work ethic has become my greatest achievement and my splintering cross. When it comes to love there is a tremendous void. It just doesn't exist for me.

Work pays off. I have a finished product, something to reflect on, something added to this world. Love burns me up. I give but get nothing back. Karma only rewards my industry and forsakes my heart. So I devote myself to the work.

Love surely exists, but for others. I have always been comfortable being alone. Silence is freedom to think. To bridge the gap between heart and soul. Resilience is my only virtue. Cloistered in my room I create. I have become the Patron Saint of Solitude.

Penance in learning how to go forward without answers. Letting go without getting bitter. To love without receiving and to keep fighting without a reason.

You realize that the darkest hours are always in the beginning of the day. You open your eyes with the knowledge that you still have to make it through one more time. You have to battle demons but you have no weapon, only stamina. You'll never defeat them. You can only survive them.

I have been told for years that I am "an artist and that means I must suffer". As if the sarcastic lack of understanding is somehow meant to imply that my talents are some prolonged sin. As though I could never hope to find myself until I see the world though teary eyes. 

This concrete heart is heavy and tough, but porous enough to crack. We'd all like to think we are able to withstand, but how many days could you go without food? Without water? Without love? The reality is we are all just a few precious days away from disaster. I have had to endure this lesson many times over. The only way to grow was to create. Work with the parts of the soul that are not often expressed. Learning to never shy away, even when the pain is unbearable.

My weakness swells from my heart until it falls from my eyes. I wish I could be more like my grandfather. It is so easy to say "move on", to pick up the pieces, but all I've ever had was pieces. I've been trying to make something out of this broken mosaic for years. How do you reclaim something you were so happy to give away? When did working on a dream turn into begging for scraps?

Born to love but forced to battle. I never wanted to be a martyr for this cause. I just wanted to work miracles.

Turn me over, for I am done on this side.

Cleopatra

Cleopatra's final words to Mark Antony as he lay dying in her arms.


I survived so much already. The things I've had to do just to be here.
I could have walked to the moon and back on a road I paved myself.
If only I could have done it alone. But I needed you.
I loved you.

We already had everything. We just had to keep fighting.
It was only the Roman Empire.
We could have taken it all. Why did you let go?

I know who I am and where I came from. I will not let them forget.

The Queen of Egypt;
I've been called cold and callous.
I've been called so much worse.
Oh, the desperate taunts of the weak.
They think their voices are going to haunt me but they don't.

I am only haunted by my efforts, by how much time I wasted.
That look in your eyes when you couldn't see the way out.
My mistake was putting my future in your hands.

I fought like all the powers of hell and loved twice as hard.
My life knows precious little peace.
I have nothing left to be afraid of.
I've always had venom in my blood.

Bad Weather

I am not your delicate flower; I am the bad weather that tests its will to survive.

I don't give warning signs.
I like to watch you panic.
I can feel your heartbeat; taste your pulse through shallow breaths.

I come with all the power of Heaven, but I am here to show you the doorstep of Hell.
Move upon you like the God of War.
The turbulent tempest filled with electric rage.

I am ugly because beauty is a weakness.
I am not here to be appeased.
I will take because you have; destroy because it exists.

I will leave scars on this landscape as well as your memory.
I will make you forever look upon a blue sky with suspicion.
It will only take a change in the wind for you to know that you can never have peace.

Monuments

A lot of people feel like museums are eerily quiet. I've never felt that way. For me museums are some of the loudest places on earth. Everything has a history. They all want to tell you their story. Not just the one printed for you on the informational card. It's much more personal than that. Who had the skills to make that piece? How lovingly did they perfect their craft? How many hours did the artist put into it? Was it ever lost? How long did it wait to be rediscovered? You only get to see the object as it is for you in that moment, often far removed from its original luster. For many people it can be difficult to imagine the object the way it was intended but for me they look as beautiful as ever.

When I went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art the things that stood out to me were never the famous pieces. In the Egyptian wing there was a tiny wooden dog with painted eyes and a movable mouth. It was a toy for a child and was never intended to be displayed as a work of art. But it was stunning! The paws were carved out in immense detail and the body was made to look like it was in motion.

It was not made for glorification it was made for the happiness of a child. Yet obviously a great deal of time and care was spent on this toy. It was made to be a simple play thing but became elevated to the status of art, just as much for its beauty as its ability to survive. 

There was the tombstone of a young girl who died in Greece. She was depicted cradling her pet doves in a gentle embrace. When she died her family chose to honor her love of birds. What a privilege it is to be able to know something so touching about a person who lived over 2,000 years before I was born. 

In the Boston Museum of Art lies the barber Nes-Ptah and his wife Tabes, a songstress. In their native Egypt they would have been buried separate locations, but in Boston they sit side by side. When you walk between them you can't help but notice that the air feels different. Almost like they are still trying to talk to each other. Unlike most Egyptian couples they've gotten to travel the world and they truly get to spend an eternity together.

These are the things that capture my attention as I wonder from room to room. The objects are beautiful in their own right but the story behind them can often be fascinating and surprisingly touching. History hold so many gifts for us. The chance to glimpse into the personal life of someone who lived long before me is one of my favorites treasures. It is the closest you can come to time travel and talking with the dead.

I was on my lunch break at work and I decided to scroll through facebook while I waited for my food to heat up in the microwave. I found this link that one of my friends shared on her news feed:

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2970270/Islamic-State-fighters-destroy-antiquities-Iraq-video.html?ito=social-facebook

"ISIS thugs take a hammer to civilization: Priceless 3,000 year old artworks smashed to pieces in minutes as militants destroy Mosul museum"

The video that accompanies the article plays without audio. The silence almost makes it worse. Men topple statues then smash them with hammers. Another man on a ladder destroys the face of a sculpture with a power drill. The casual demeanor was the most haunting aspect by far.

The reason they did this was because they felt that the statues promoted idolatry. To be fair there are a few schools of thought on this matter. In much of Islamic culture figural representations are frowned upon. They do not create images of their God because they have a strong aversion for anything that could be perceived as paganism. They choose to not to create images that could distract from the worship of God himself. Instead they create astonishing works of art from calligraphy and intricate mosaics.

However, most Western cultures seek to create representations of their God. It is not viewed as disrespectful but as a way to honor God. Western art was dominated by religious iconography for hundred and hundreds of years. It was their life and they wanted to see it all around them. Religious iconography was also an important way to teach a population that was largely illiterate. Education was granted through images.

I am Roman Catholic and I grew up with religious iconography. I always loved art and the depictions of Saints and stories made history come alive for me. But I can understand why it can be looked upon with disdain. One of the most iconic images of Christianity is the depiction of Jesus on the cross. For most Christians it is a symbol of hope: Jesus died for our sins and rose from the dead. But for non-Christians it must look absurd. We pray to the image of a man broken, bleeding, naked and near death. Not only are we visually depicting our God but we have chosen to depict the most horrible moment of his life and glorify it.

The choices to create images or not create images are both fine and the ideology behind both makes sense, it's just a matter of perspective. It is the lack of respect and the imposition that I can't reconcile.

I do not practice blood sacrifices like the Mayan did, but I also wouldn't fly to Mexico to destroy their cultural heritage.

Sometimes it's not even about the iconography. It's about the craft. It's about the person who made and the skill that they had. Someone made those monuments in Mosul three thousand years ago in the desert with primitive tools and a sophisticated level of skill. Now someone is using sophisticated power tools and a primitive mind-set to destroy these works of art. It is like we are watching are own evolution in reverse.

The library at Alexandria burned to the ground, Mayan codices were destroyed by Spanish priests and the Buddhas of Bamiyan were blown to pieces by the Taliban. We have lost enough. I want to see knowledge thriving boldly. I want a link to the past so profound that it can never be broken. I want to see a flood of new artwork so great that we forget what was lost.

Some things cannot be destroyed. Some things fall into the right hands. Some things survive with scars that make their story richer. Ancient objects large and small all become powerful monuments. They show us how far we have come and what we have already survived.

Cloudy

"What a lovely day; there isn't even a cloud in the sky". 

What makes a cloudless day so perfect? 

That pleasant blue hue that hangs over us every day is a back drop for those ever changing clouds. 

The atmosphere is huge but the clouds are what gives it dimension. We would lose our grasp of how expansive our sky truly is without clouds. When you look at those gorgeous cumulonimbus clouds that look like giant piles of fluffy mashed potatoes you can see the way the sunlight and shadows gives it  such depth and texture. Like if you could somehow get close enough to touch it would be the most luxurious thing to grace your fingertips. Or the cirrus clouds at the very edges of the atmosphere. So far away and so delicate it is almost a wonder that they hold any shape at all. 

And then you have my favorite type of sky: a mixture of many forms. enormous fluffy clouds layered in front of swirling levels of altocumulus and cirrostratus. Then, looming off to the side is dark, all consuming rain cloud unleashing all of its water over some distant patch of land. All are moving at different rates depending on the wind and what place in the sky they hold. Some existing peacefully, others about to collide. From one perspective the clouds could look like an inviting day-dream; a weightless playground. Then you could turn your gaze upon a cloud that feels like the devil himself could be just on the other side and he is about to bring hell with him. 

The most beautiful days can be cloudy. You can be standing in one spot and see everything the weather has to offer. You can be grounded to this earth while a sky filled with clouds dances for you. 

Searing and Steady: The Cosmic Love

Everyone seems to love a fire of passion, and who could blame them?

Few things compare to that measure of heat and consumption. Ripped apart in the best kind of way in the hopes of rising again like the Phoenix. A newer, more beautiful version of yourself that can only exist with the merging of two powerful souls. Everyone loves a fire of passion.

Everyone loves a fire of passion; until they have to deal with the aftermath.

I have been burned so many times I don't recognize my own skin. I still have wings. Still a Phoenix but of a very different kind. Not born of fire, but simply of the refusal to die.

They tell me that the meek will inherit the earth, and that is fine. I always wanted the sky anyway.
I'd like to think that I am not looking down to the best I will ever have but looking up to all I could ever be.

I gaze up at the night sky and vast expanse of stars. From earth it looks so serene. The truth is this universe is chaotic, volatile, and extreme. A dangerous place for sure, but that is because we view it from this fragile perspective. If you were designed to live out there you would view it as home - not uncharted waters.

Everyone tells you to reach for the stars but no one really understood how difficult the journey would be. Maybe that is why we have only been to the moon. It doesn't make the journey impossible - just more worthwhile.

If love must be modeled after a fire then let it not be a flame; instead let it be a star.
Even a smoldering flame from a cosmic perspective is gone in an instant. But the stars do not measure in time. The stars measure in energy and light.

I want to bond with someone like Hydrogen and Helium. Pervasive and weightless - the essence of inconsequential; but with enough attraction we can light our corner with a heat that doesn't know how to quit. Of course it takes time, but it is hard to measure time here. Besides, the time it takes to create this brilliance is nothing compared to how long it will last.

Of course nothing lasts forever and all things must transition through the way they exist. Supernovas, planetary nebulas, black holes, neutron stars, and white dwarfs; even in a colossal death the gifts are many. Take the heavy elements of our endeavors and scatter them far and wide so that others may benefit from our love long after the light has dispersed.

I have been burned many times but I still refuse to die. Take me down to the molecular level. Tear me apart to make me stronger; more complete. We can bond with enough attraction to light our corner for ourselves as well as others who can not do the same. We can be the shining beacon, a reminder that passion doesn't have to be short-lived. Searing, steady and powerful in all our forms. Let us reinvent the Cosmic Love.

My Love Wears Pajamas

Remember when you were a kid on a sleepover? Remember how much fun you had with your friends staying up way later than you should have? Those were some of my favorite memories from childhood.

Once we get older we get dressed up. We get dressed up to go to work, we get dressed up to go out on dates. We get dressed up because we want to project the best version of ourselves. Yet even as an adult I have come to realize that some of the most meaningful moments of my life have been spent in my pajamas.

I had an awful day at work and my best friend offered to hang out with me. It was finals week and he was in the middle of taking tests and writing papers. The only time he had available was late at night. I had to be back at work before the sun came up but I still wanted him to come over. When he came to the door I was already wearing my pajamas. A bright pink top with dark blue mismatching bottoms that are much too long for my height. We each grab a beer from the fridge, sat at the table, and unleashed conversation.

We talked about the day and it was such a comfort to know one person who would put their busy life on hold to make me feel like a priority even if it was so late at night. It is hard to find time when we are both so busy but I cherish the fact that there is no time of day or night that we would not save for each other.

As the conversation began to wind down we glanced at the clock. It was 1:30 in the morning.

"Don't you have to be up for work soon?" he laughed.

"It was worth it" I smiled and I walked him to the door. The bottoms of my pajama pants sweeping the tile floor at my feet.

I let his empty beer bottle linger on my kitchen counter until the next morning. A reminder that the best company does not require getting dressed up. The best company shows up when you need it the most. 

Not long after that another best friend had to be hospitalized over the Thanksgiving holiday. She was sent home to tough out the remainder of her pain. She called me early that morning and asked if I would pick up her prescriptions.

"Of course" I said and I drove to her house. I didn't even think about getting dressed. I left the house in a pair of pajama shorts speckled with paint and a sweater that is becoming patterned with holes.

When I arrived with the medications I watched as she began to read the bottles trying to remember which one was the one that was making her nauseous. A sat with her as she called her mother to give her an update. Her dogs became the guardians at our feet while she talked about the future and how her current condition could affect her.

We talked until the medications began to make her sleepy again. We curled up on the couch under soft blankets and I watched as she began to doze off. Just when I was sure she was about to fall asleep she looked up at me and said "True love is being able to take a nap with someone." I couldn't agree more.

I have known her since high school and lived together for a total of five years. In the process of becoming best friends and my most beloved roommate we achieved a certain level of comfort. Although it may be fun to get dressed up I realize that my favorite people in this world are the ones you can be at ease with when you may feel that you are at your worst. 

This body composed of curves isn't made to fit into structured lines. I want a love that is beyond conventional. I want a love that is completely at peace. No need to look your best, just to be comfortable in being nothing but who you truly are.

Colorful, worn-in, and relaxing - My love wears pajamas.

The Survivor

Back in 2011 I visited my best friend who was living in Virginia at the time. We went to Washington D.C. and I was thrilled to see that the Natural History Museum had a featured exhibit on human evolution. I ended up coming across something that stuck with me for a long time. 

The hallways were filled with fascinating displays and I bounded from one glass case to the next. There were weapons and recreations of cave paintings. Colorful maps of how we spread across the Earth lined the walls.

Off-set in one of the smaller rooms was a modest yet profound gallery. It held mostly fragments of bone. It was a room dedicated to our ancestors who died by harsh means. It was meant to serve as a reminder that most of our history was a very real struggle between life and death. 

There was the small fossilized foot of a toddler with crocodile teeth marks torn all the way through. Grooves made by jaguar teeth decorate the skull of an adolescent. But the one I remember the most was the skull and arm bones of an adult male. 

Walking up to his display case my first assumption was that he died from the large dent left in his skull, but the huge difference in the size between his right and left arm raised my curiosity.

The explanation next to the bones reads as follows: Blow to the head - At young age this Neanderthal experienced a crushing blow to his head. It damaged the left eye socket and the brain area that controls the right side of the body, leading to a withered right arm. Nevertheless, he lived until 35-45 years of age. His group must have looked after him. 

As it turns out this individual suffered a blow to his head early in his life that not only crushed in part of his skull and left eye socket but it had also damaged the part of the brain that we now know controls the right side of the body. His right arm bone was far more slender and weaker than his apparently normal left arm.

What was so remarkable about his massive injuries was that based on the healing of the bones scientists were able to determine that this individual lived to be in his late thirties to early forties - which was about the average life expectancy.

How on earth could a man crippled physically - as well as possibly mentally and emotionally - survive so many years beyond the initial injury? What was even more astonishing was that he was not even a modern human. He was a Neanderthal.

Hundreds of thousands of years before modern medicine and what we would consider society, healthy males were needed to hunt. He, more than likely, would not have been able to participate in such rough and demanding physical activity. He would have been a burden. Yet his age and the healing of his bones tell an unexpectedly beautiful story: He was looked after.

He would never have been able to survive on his own after sustaining such a traumatic injury. But there were those who would not leave him behind. He was fed, clothed, and given shelter. He remained with his tribe and whatever burden he may have been, he was not abandoned.

We don't often think of Neanderthals in this way. They are presented to us as brutish, less intelligent versions of ourselves. They faded away and so we assumed dominance. But slowly it is beginning to emerge that this lost species had achieved a surprising amount of culture. The oldest known cave paintings and burial sites are thought to be Neanderthal. And when you are looking at the bones of a Neanderthal who could never have survived alone, it is impossible to see them without a culture. The level of compassion for this man must have been amazing.

It makes you wonder how he even got hurt in the first place. Who was the one who found him or was with him when it happened? How did they even treat his wounds at the time? Today we can see how the injury affected him physically but we can never know the full extent of the damage. Did the blow to his head hinder his eyesight? Did it affect his memory? Did he suffer from chronic headaches? Did it change his personality in some way? Did those who looked after him feel like they lost a part of him or were they relieved that they still had him around? How did he compensate for the lack of development on the right side of his body? How did he cope with knowing he would never be the same again?

Other visitors to the museum move past me, eager to see the next exhibit. I stand still looking down at his skull with my fingers pressed against the glass. It is a miracle that someone even found his remains. What are the odds that I'd be standing over a man that died so long ago and be able to know a little bit about his life? I have so many questions that I will never know the answers to. Sometimes all you can do is just let yourself feel. I am so moved by the life of this man and what he must have gone through. I am grateful for this touching window into the past and this profound example of humanity. My eyes tear up and I linger by his bones. For a moment the distance between our lives seems so small. The museum buzzes with movement around me but I remain still. I share a moment of silence with this survivor.

Goddess of War

I want love scratched from my memory. Remove it from the back of my eyelids so I may have one place to find solace. Take it from my heart for it interferes with the rhythm of my joy.

Or maybe it’s just your version of it that I've grown distasteful of.  

It is a blessing to have a courageous heart and strong mind but a curse to be the only one. I still know what treasures they are so I refuse to wish them away. I will cultivate them and make them my most powerful weapons. Yet I still crave to be more at peace with my destiny:

“Stay on the path as much as you can. It is your path only.”

A message given from the Oracle -  I already know these words will haunt me.

Those who assume themselves to be victors are the ones who perceive love to be a game. 

But I am not the Queen of Hearts; I am the Goddess of War.

And you cannot conquer something you cannot control. If you knew what forces you were provoking you would never tempt Fate.

Love, seduction, and scandal belong to Aphrodite. I have no use for them. I want justice. Retribution. Let this be my battle cry. I want to use your sins as currency. You will be in debt for mistakes you could never afford to make.

You can not bargain with me because you do not have anything I want. My ears are deaf to the pleas of the weak. If you were fighting for the right reasons you never have to beg for anything - especially forgiveness. The dead weight of your corrupt heart is more burden than I would ever choose to bare.

There is a reason I don't take prisoners. 

Thank You For Reminding Me

Thank you for reminding me that even though I don't always get what I want, I do always get just what I need.

Thank you for reminding me that new friendships can be just as meaningful as ones that have a long history.

Thank you for reminding me of the joy of checking my phone for no other reason than the messages you send make me smile.

Thank you for reminding me that swearing, sarcasm, and making random noises at each other can be the basis of a language that is good enough to be ours alone.

Thank you for reminding me that unladylike behavior can get you farther in life than following the rules. And that being called a bitch by someone of like mind is a compliment just as much as it is coming from someone who is threatened by you.

Thank you for reminding me that being unique and intimidating is nothing to apologize for.

Thank you for reminding me that this job only pays minimum wage and we are going to make it worth while by laughing through it. You can turn a mundane day into magic.

Thank you for reminding me that moving past the hurt of previous relationships can be beautiful and liberating. I wish I had your strength years ago.

Thank you for reminding me that giving the boys a run for their money is giving them just what they need. The strong ones will understand.

Thank you for reminding me that drinking wine, painting nails, and talking shit are the ties that bind.

Thank you for reminding me what it feels like to have one female friend who not only reminds me of my childhood but makes me feel like my inner child is the most accessible part of myself.

Thank you for reminding me that I need to make more time to enjoy life. You have given me so many reasons to laugh.

Thank you for reminding me that getting into trouble is completely worth it.

Thank you for reminding me that being smart, tough, and crazy is the only way to be.