Lack of Limits.

They say that there’s beauty in a storm. This isn’t quite a storm, but I feel as though I can relate to some of the objects that I take pictures of.

Over the past few months, I’ve learnt to appreciate nature more, especially the sky. The way that the clouds change shape and the colours that fill the air, they change as often as the thoughts in my head.

They also say that the sky is limitless, and as much as I always knew that, sometimes I was blind to anything that lacked a limit because I had made it possible to make most things limited for so long that I just simply thought inside of a box.

When I shoot pictures, I look through the lense and see what I was seeing prior to holding the camera up to my eye, but because the lense cuts out half of the scenery sometimes, that makes me feel in control. It gives me the power to decide what other people may see once the photo is taken. Do I want to take pictures of that bird over there flying over my house? That tree is propped against the rocks near the river, do I want to take a picture of it’s shadow because it looks like it’s a person sitting on something? The decision is mine.

Employed By Depression

I keep running away from almost every opportunity I get, especially with jobs.

But in reality, depression has become like a job to me over the past 10 or 11 years.

It’s consumed almost every ounce of me. It doesn’t matter what I’m doing or not doing, it doesn’t matter if I’m with people or alone.

Every other day if not everyday is a constant struggle with having too much sleep or not sleeping enough, eating or not eating at all, feeling alone yet needing to isolate myself so that I don’t annoy people.

People tell me to find a hobby, to get up and do something, but even when I find a hobby.. or do something I feel I’m decent at, I either lose interest by finding another interest or I get bored or give up because it’s too difficult.

What seems to be my rock bottom, usually doesn’t feel like it’s enough to help me soar to the surface.

Yet despite all of these things, I’m still fighting even when I’m on my last straw.

I’m still fighting even when I feel as though I’m at my lowest point.

Someone once told me that it’s sometimes harder to let go than it is to hold on.

That may not be true for some people, but I feel as though it’s true for me personally because no natter how much I want to give into letting my body give up, no natter how many times I run away and create a new identity, no matter how many times I try to give up, for some reason, I snap out of it. I find something that motivates me without even searching for it and it’s enough until it isn’t enough again.

Canvas Lashes

Song that I am listening to while writing the following poem: 

Let Me Go By KDrew, Rico & Miella

If only I could muster of the words to tell people exactly how I feel                                                                                                                                                                               As limited as my vocabulary is, my breath mutters more than any definition could scream                                                                                                                                       So the way my body moves is it’s own language undefined, unnoticed

Tear drops are the one thing I can rely on, just as pictures explain more than anything vocalized ever could                                                                                                       It’s taken me years to realize, appreciate such gestures as those subliminal images                                                                                                                                             Atleast for now, poetry radiates a bit of what can be seen if you allow your imagination to gather enough information from such things

For now, kisses are the one form of poetry I haven’t experienced enough                                                                                                                                                                 The way lips softly brush the canvas with light strokes and                                                                                                                                                                                       butterfly lashes fluttering quickly as fast as one blinks                                                                                                                                                                                           marking it’s territory by leaving trails of salty tear like substances

One day I’ll be able to find a new canvas to project such broad ideas onto                                                                                                                                                                 and jump back and look for a bird’s eye view as such an illusion may appear from afar

Confined Spaces

I look for you in places where only certain parts of the sun have touched

I find you in spaces that even the moon hasn’t been able to light

I lose you in cities which are unknown to man and beast

I only have myself and nature and maybe that’s okay

Dying to get a taste of life.

Earlier I was out longboarding, just as usual, nothing different. Just lit a cigarette, had my music playing from my phone and pushed my feet off the ground repeatedly to gain speed.

What surrounded me was the same as it always is around this time of the year. Trees blossoming with pretty flowers, colours blended intogether, mosquitos quenching blood and the fresh sent of fall. I’ve seen the same things aorund me for the past 25 years of my life.

But something felt different, everything looked the same, but they felt different. Was it that I was longboarding a bit later than I usually do, or the the sunset fell later than it normally does, or were the wheels of my longboard slowing down?

Do you ever go somewhere you’ve been numerous times before, nothing physically has changed, but you feel change, like some sort of small aspect has changed your outloud on what you see?

I believe that’s what happened, I started appreciating what I saw in that moment. I saw tiny little aspects, I disected the different colours of the sunset, noticed where the mosquitos and other bugs laid to rest and how settle it made me feel in that moment.

It was as though, my worries, my past didn’t haunt me, but settled me and I felt it. I didn’t feel like dying was the answer, but living was.

Stuck While Flowing

Sometimes I feel as though I am the river and the rocks are my obstacles.

No matter how hard I try to push the bigger rocks out of the way, I aim for the smaller ones first becausw rhey don’t seem to matter.

By the time I reach back to the bigger boulders, they feel heavy with the emotional weight I gained by focusing on the things that didn’t matter as much.

There I am, slightly bent at the knees, straight back, as thigh I were lifting a heavy box, trying to pick up what I had purposely left behind in the hopes of them disappearing, being washed away somehow, crushed beneath the earth’s gravity.

Sometimes with a strong effort, like a tornado of wind, the boulders move slightly, but when I don’t act quick enough, other rocks gather around and sit there and becoming like the others. Unthought of and waiting.