68 – I want to go home.

I thought I could do it. But I guess I extended my wings a little too early. I think it’s time to call it quits. Back to the nest.

I am losing me. Losing friends and not really gaining any. Losing my writing. My love of art and words and the combination of the two. I have lost the flavours I once loved and indulged in, the freedom I once wielded in my hands.

The city is killing me. Inside and out. My body feels weaker with everyday. Sick. Again. and again. and again. I value health over happiness and I want to be healthy again. I’m not sure that happiness is to be found here anyway.

I miss my old city. The mild weather, the rain. It’s funny, but I really do miss the rain. Miss hearing the clatter of it against the windows. Miss losing myself in wanderlust, in the droplets against the glass.

But I have learned something being here. And regained something too. I have learned that happiness is completely in the grasp of one’s own mind, that no one dictates how I feel besides me. Time away from family has taught me that. Here, I don’t have anyone else’s expectations to worry about – just mine. Just self standards. I have regained my love of reading and that is something I am utmost grateful for. I can once again lose myself again – I can find myself in another city, another time, among another group of people. I have discovered, once again, a different kind of freedom that I had thought only existed in the mind of a child’s imagination. But it appears I was incredibly wrong. Books are timeless, ageless – they maintain a sparkle of magic that can be activated by any mind. I love that.

I will write more. I have been so wishy-washy with my feelings of wanting to blog more and then end up not doing it. Everyday doesn’t seem to be happening, but I will try for more. More. One step at a time, I suppose.

I want to go home.

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Clay

Mould me with your authoritative word

And thoughts that are louder than those that are heard.

Spin me with your persistence, tell me what you will,

Show me what it takes to get back up this hill.

 

Shape me up and bake me down,

Release me to your flawless sound,

Pressure in, pressure out,

Whisper, speak, and shout!

 

Expression is but a notion of the mind,

But is also a hero of mankind.

 

Art is magic in its all – inspiration in its make,

But it’s  funny how hardened clay is all the easier

to break.

If Magic Existed

If magic existed in books and orbs,

There would be no doubt to what it absorbs:

Creativity and thought, charms and cheers,

Untouched by all the little doubts and fears,

Wishes and fantasies, all love and light,

Unscarred by darkness and unscathed by blight,

Imagine how mighty the orb would be

If powered by a simple child of three.

Good Ol’ February

This entry is completely out of my writing style and I must say I’m a little uncomfortable writing in such a different voice. It’s good to have change though. I think.

——

A brush of telltale fantasies

that seem to bring about this certain type of ease

Engulfs me with the coming of this new month –

an elusion fluttering in the February breeze.

 

This flustered innocence that I

know very well won’t last

Somehow keeps me contented with

ideals from the mass.

 

News! Change! Something bright

is promised in the coming of the new moon,

Don’t linger too long on the old thoughts as

the tides are turning and innovation comes soon.

 

Put aside the idling iPads and gussied up machines

and indulge in this new sensation,

Forget just for this moment, just for today,

all the floundering frustration.

 

Twinkle in some fairy dust, add some magic

to the brink of your life’s story,

Just for one day, becomne a vessel of

some greater power and invest in nature’s glory.

 

Come one, come all to welcome dear February’s arrival

And we’ll plunge forth through Winter as we await Spring’s revival.