Situated Corpses.

I finally jumped onto the Twenty One Pilots band wagon and am writing this post while listening to:

Car Radio – Twenty One Pilots

“I run off before I even push them away. I try so hard to solidify myself to situations.. to my own state of being but im a ghost carrying around it’s own corpse. ”

I feel as though everything seems to be a matter of ” trying ” mostly because I over think and under think.

I think too much, but I also hardly think before I speak because my mind is constantly racing, tracing the constant circles that I ahve created cycles within.

My head keeps falling while my body stands tall and weak waiting for the exact moment that my mind will match it’s lively hood.

Crawling, sprawling out amongst the fields of my sprouting memories, dampening Nostalgia.

Advertisements

Instability has become Stable to me.

Song that I am listening to while writing this post.

10,000 Emeral Pools – BORNS

” Instability has become stability to me. ”

I’m so used to my moods going from 0, being numb to 100, being almost high on life within a few seconds.

I create chaos when there is no chaos to be seen, or it’s difficult to come across because when my mind is consistantly stable, I feel the need to split all of the good parts of my brain into tiny miniscular pieces and I try to glue them back together with feelings that don’t match up.

Like a vase that has been dropped a thousand times and repaired 6 times.

Vulnerable Senses

Song I listened to while writing this post:

Heavenly Father – Bon Iver Cover by Milo Bloom

Slowly sensed it, went past the                                                                                                                                                   point of returning atleast with a steady mindframe

Quickly started seeing, trapped in                                                                                                                                               my own space invaded with what-ifs

Here I am, after it happened, smothery                                                                                                                                 and vulnerable at it’s finest hour

There I was, thinking I had control,                                                                                                                                             mistakes unmade, not a mistake this time though

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

Alone is okay.

When you’re a kid, sometimes other children may poke fun at you because they see you sitting by the wall alone while they are playing on the playground. You just want to play by yourself or even sing songs to yourself.

When you’re a teenager, other teens calls you boring because you don’t want to drink underage or even in general and you’d rather stay inside on a friday night watching your favourite movie, rather than go to house parties or clubs with your friends. Being around people either brings you anxiety or you just prefer to spend time alone with your own thoughts.

When you’re an adult, many other adults will notice that you can barely keep a job long enough to even say that you’ve had a job or you don’t have a partner so you won’t most likely won’t find one in a long time. Maybe it’s just hard for you to be around people or even animals for some, maybe depression makes its’ way into your head and drags you down and makes it harder for you to make it out of the house for even as something simple as a coffee.

Regardless, it’s okay to have mental illnesses. They don’t define you. It’s also okay to prefer to be alone. Sometimes for some people, being alone is more beneficial for them than conversing with someone else.

The song that I am listening to while writing this post:

 

When I was a few months old, I was placed in a foster home with a little boy and his parents, shortly afterwards, those parents had adopted me as their own child. My birth mother, not only was she young, was not able to take care of me aswel as my birth father.

I do not remember how old I was when I was told that I was adopted. I also don’t remember how I reacted on the spot, whether I actually understood what being adopted meant or if I just acted like I understood because as I grew older, maybe around 6 or 7 years old I remember being really angry.

I threw tantrums almost all the time over the littlest things and I remember asking people to call me by the name I was given at birth even though my name had been changed. I assume it was one of the many ways I used to cope with knowing that I had been adopted.

These parents, who are still my parents, who are the only people who actually were there for me through everything and are still here for me, still love me to this very day.

I’ve gone through some hard obstacles in my life, maybe not as ‘bad’ or as worse as some people’s struggles, but I’ve been delt with a very mix and matched sort of hand.

The reason as to why I am writing about being adopted is because even though I had a loving family and still do, I had always wondered what it would be like to meet my birth parents. See if I actually looked like someone instead of just having the same hair colour as one of my brothers, although I didn’t grow up with blood, I inherited similar traits as my adoptive parents. I knew that I didn’t need to know any of my blood relatives. I had met one blood sister who’m I went through phases of denying her as my sister and not. I always wanted a sister growing up, but I just didn’t like her for some reason.

I didn’t want to have to put my name on an adoptive registry just to find my birth mother so I just decided to stop looking. Until one day, I found a picture with my birth sister’s last name from when she was born. We looked our birht mother up on facebook and to both of our surprises, we found her.

I mean anyone can have a dopple ganger, I think that’s what they’re referred to as. So that woman could have been anyone, even now how can one be so sure that the family they get close to and believe are related to them, aren’t you know? The birth sister I knew for the majority of my life not only looked like our birth mother, but her other children looked like the both of us. One of my sisblings I had met actually could pass as my twin sometimes. It’s actually pretty neat.

Now that I’ve grown to know part of my birth family, the mystery of what happened to my birth father still lingers.

Another reason as to why I’m writing this, is because my Niece is getting adopted and as much as it’s going to hurt her mother, (the sister who looks like myself and I look like her), it’s going to hurt me as well. I remember the time I received a phone call about her being brought into this world. The first time I held her, I will never forget.

I haven’t been able to see her often due to many different obstacles, but I get to see her next week hopefully for the last time for the next while because she’s actually getting adopted and although it hurts to see her go, she really won’t be gone, just physically, but taken in by a loving family. She’s grown so much since the time she was brought into this mess of a world, that it amazes me and comforts me at the same time knowing that she’s being placed in th arms of people who will be able to give her everything she needs, on top of that extending the love she has been given by her blood relatives.

I hope to be able to hold a place in her heart and have her be reminded of a part I’ve played in her little life.

I love her so much.

Walking alongside the demons

The song that I am listening to while writing this post:

Just What I am by Kid Cudi Featuring King Chip. You calmed me down when the demons were popping out Now they're slowly receiding, like my hairline may end up one day Confessing my sins to you as though you're a preacher But I know that I can trust you, walk with you To the shore, along the way I can open up Maybe, just maybe you'll be that person who will stick around Friend, yes, calming to say because I've had them, been there and done that Hit the friend scene and fleed it like a circus Crowds aren't my forte, but a lot of things aren't Trust is something I'll have to work on more Because I trust so easily that I don't, so trust me when I say I'm dying Inside in more ways than one, with feeling entrapped Aside from the fact that I've benched, sidelined these things I like to refer to as broken I can be there too, not just you baring the weight of intellectuality Sometimes I don't make sense, and I let my brain do the talking I say whatever's on my mind, filtered sometimes, but mostly not Like the water in the rivers, flowing without boundaries