Everyone Follows Cycles

Morning. Completely sleepless she lays. Her duties flow underneath her eyelids but the energy is not there. Decades pass through the ticking clock and the silence tortures her enough to rise. She can’t remember a day when the prospect of rising was less appealing then just lying there but the silence never heeds to whisper in her ear. It surrounds her mind, her body, her spirit. Its judgment forces its way into her world.

Duties. Clamoring about her home keeps her busy. The knowledge of praise and acknowledgment from those around guides her hands. And yet in those few seconds from changing tasks she is reminded of the shameful memories from silence

Seduction. She now seeks stronger entertainment. All the praise in the world would never be enough to convince her of her importance, so she turns to love, the emotion that brought her tormentor but now protects her sanity. His skin is what urges her that she matters. He guards her warmth in his arms as she completely gives it to him. She no longer needs to occupy her mind because his mouth drinks up her thoughts. In his cocoon of love, she rejoices in the small light of a new beginning.

Fear. The sheets of another conquest reminds her. His arms no longer shield her but instead slam the gavel for her fate. His whispers of love cannot enter her heart. She is retreating, hating her lover for the uselessness of his company. She patiently awaits the wave of added silence to her conscience. She rises when the torture once again becomes too much. A collection of her belongings lay rejected on the floor, unappealing even to her own eyes, just another reminder of another night with another temporary man. No matter how much she scrubs she cannot cleanse herself of the regret and anguish growing stronger inside her womb. Where it is nurtured everyday by her memories and where her reassuring thoughts have no value. No way of erasing what the first had done to her. She sits, contemplating when she will find the right soul that can fix her and give her the voice she needed the first time.

The Appeal of Fitting Out


There are two worlds I am constantly being pulled into. The first world being the ideal American women who is suppose to be striving to become someone society has no reason to not respect. This women is strong, clever, and always on top of things (the bedroom included). The image of this women is in the back of my mind, she teases me with her independence, her confidence, and the way she seems to calmly avoid all the tempting distractions of the world. The second world, which if I’m being honest I find more attractive, is a darker one. This women finds her independence not in the confines of safety and planned out goals but in the pleasure of the unknown. This women is attracted to the dark alley ways, to the hard to read man, and to the tight ways her clothes seem to fit her. I revel in the notion of becoming this women, apart of a world so out of the “in”.

The picture above is of the aftermath of a concert. Hidden underneath leaves, the rocks stabbing my already sore feet and along with hundreds of other people, I begin to leave the show. Adrenaline of this kind is partially why people go to concerts anyway! I can tell the people around me are feeling this as well. The air is sagging with rebellious energy and I feel safest in the middle of all these bodies.  I didn’t know it then but when I saw these people with their bands tees, their companions and their radiance, I fell in love. At this moment I was the epiphany of this darker women. I wanted nothing more than to scale this fence in defiance, in the hope that the universe sees I am my own person. As I throw my bag and tied up Converse over the fence I picture myself. Although the first women, who could hold her head high with a spotless reputation, can be seen as a perfect example to the man up stairs, I know I can’t be her. She will always be looking at me inside my mind, with her piercing judge filled eyes, fixing her wrinkleless skirt, wondering why I couldn’t pick her.

Our world’s are determined by who and what we grow up with. But if you take that away you’re always aware of a small inkling of a feeling that tells you which world you’re already apart of. It’s not about whether or not your mother would aprove, or if you’re significant other would accept you like this, it’s about whether or not you do. Do you fall in love with your way of being? Do you feel the air around you and connect with it? I climbed my fence and the world that I landed in became my reality.

The Details


I decided my first “post” to be about a topic that is a cause for a restless mind. Bare with me when I say how blind to detail our friends and companions have become. As I was leisurely sitting underneath this tree you see in my picture I came to the realization of the lost beauty of my new friend. This tree, who has probably seen more than any professor on my college campus sits innocently by the bulding my class lecture was being held in. Now this tree, very average and much like many other trees may have anticipated my being there underneath her leaves. As I tried to conjure up an excuse to force this guy, who was talking to me about another pointless snap chat story, to change the subject, this tree’s leaves moved in a way that immediately caught my attention. How did I have the audacity to take up her space and so blatantly ignore the sign she was sending me. Her leaves, her branches, her roots, and even her bark all suddenly came into focus. My friends’ voice was drowned out by the sudden rush of natural beauty that was entering my mind. I tend to experience these moments of pretentious clarity at random times during my days. During this specific obnoxiously poetic moment I took in the scene that I was in. I observed the green of my tree’s leaves, the thickness of her branches and the sway of her dance in the wind. She called to my mind one word… connectivity. Although this tree has been rooted and placed in this one specific spot next to my lecture hall I felt from her a sense of awareness. Next to this tree I felt inferior knowing she had this way of mutual communication with her surroundings. I noticed the perfect layout of her symmetry and the way she sheltered those smaller lives inside of her. The details of this tree proved to contain another world. A world that is hidden from the eyes of teenagers with cell phones blocking their mental vision. Hidden by the propaganda shown to us by our media and hidden by the desires these advertisements envoke. Why is a tree, who holds life, energy and spirit, so irrelevant to us? If something so beautiful and natural is taken for granted imagine the even smaller things that slip from our vision.