In Writing, I Seek The Ultimate Validation From Me. Not From Others. I Seek The Validation From My Past.
In writing, I seek the ultimate validation from me. Not from others. I seek the validation from my past. Are I a reflection of my past self? How many candles, meditations, and cleansings do I need?
Are I doomed to forever fall flat against the marks I've made for myself? Am I not entitled to the desire for truth? What's been placed upon me, is my own burden. My own weight. I am fighting and resisting me. How do I let go?
In this case...I am the lesson. In this case...I am the bridge scorned, for believing that at such a time, I could ever feel open enough to have. Have? Have what? Even I am confused. Hell, I've burned myself twice as poster and imposter for what can be. In this case...I am the bridge scorned.
Thus I write. And I'll keep writing until my fingers are numb. Until my eyes grow tired. Until my mouth becomes dry. Until my limbs ache, my heart stops, and my mind shuts down until I am not there anymore. But I will write. My sin, my success, my tragedies, and the unknown that surrounds me.
More Posts from Jolieflows and Others
my mind is full of flowers, dreams, gentlemen and ethereal ladies
Where do you start when you feel despondent? not the feeling about being alone. However, the only factor. nowhere to fit. being nothing in a world that is something.
When your voice falters, your heart beats in trembling clef rhythms; but, when you do feel stronger, why does it fade?
No depression. No isolation. a feeling of separation on the inside. How can you fight that sensation? There are no materials. no substances
My words are failing, and the pen is on the page. I'm eagerly awaiting the boomerang-like return of my hopes.
Where do I go now that I feel so alone?
Here. I came here. It was noted down.
From: Angieπ
To: Your self right now. It'll all be okay. π€
Daily Affirmation β‘
π
β Vladimir Nabokov, Letters to VΓ©ra
Franz Wright, from God's Silence; "Why Is the Winter Light"
[Text ID: Empty me of the bitterness and disappointment of being nothing but myself]
π° πππππ ππππππ ππ π° πππ πππ πππππππ ππ. π°'π π ππππππππ ππ πππ πππππ ππ ππ. π¨ππ ππ π° πππ ππ, π° πππππ π'π ππππ ππππ.
π«ππππ πππ π ππππππππππππ πππ πππ πππ ππππ. π³ππ'π ππππ ππππ πππ πππππππ πππππππ.
πΎπππ π ππππ ππ πππππ ππ ππ πππ πππππ ππππππ ππππ ππππ ππππ ππ ππππ π, ππππ ππππππ ππππ ππ πππππ.
π°π πππππ ππ πππππππ π ππππ ππππ. π΅π ππππ πππππππ; ππ ππππ πππππππππ; ππ ππππ πππππππππ.
π° ππππ ππππππππππ π ππππ'π πππ, πππππππππ πππππ ππ ππ ππππ πππππππ π πππππ. π°'ππ ππ ππππ ππ πππππ ππππππ ππππππππ ππππππ ππ π° ππππππ ππ ππππ.
Every day is unique. Nothing will ever be the same again. Even the similarities will never be identical. Both tragedies and joys will never fall on the same plain again. And why are we so adamant about refusing something we've written and are familiar with?
When we had a very lovely day. When something excites us. When the day welcomes us with its silkiness and softness. We grow fixated on the idea that each day will be identical to the previous one. All of the fortune cookie wisdom vanishes.
As a result, each day is unique. Why is it so difficult for us to live each day in this manner?
The real world is no stranger to us, nor is yesterday's hurt any deeper. Unlike yesterday, we can look forward to a better tomorrow. And tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, is a classic repeat?
We were prepared for failure. We hoped for destruction. We were on the cusp of disassembly. These hopes now will not plague us tomorrow. Tomorrow is the only one we have.The future is what's right.
At the rate I'm going my succession is the least of my worries. I am beyond the clothes, hair, glitters and gold. I'm exhaling any pent up aggression brought on by unnecessary stress. Oh yes, I am. This worn out clichΓ© and ode to βstarting a newβ because of course a post, stamp, scribble will enhance any of the hard work that comes along with actually doing it. So I write it. Or I go around shouting to myself like the beatnik freak I can be. Almost in a jumbled fashion, no?
Be
Better
Or
Else.
Or else what?
Bouncing off the metaphorical wall with howling into the wind. A nuclear war with myselfβif I were a country alone, I'd be nuked by own inner self. Ahh...there we go... there's that playable and loveable skepticism I've found. Humorous no? Yes. Because now I can move past it.
