Tag Archive: introspective


Up thoughts

Alice in Wonderland all rights to Disney


She stood on tiptoe her nose barely reaching over the edge of the table. The treats were so tempting sitting in their cut crystal bowl screaming “eat me”, but still she wavered. Some small animalistic lobe of the brain alerting her to the danger of too perfect an opportunity. Quickly she glanced side to side, sure she was about to be found out for the uninvited interloper she was, but no one looked or noticed. Quick as a flash tiny hand took tiny treat. The jolt of adrenaline added to the flavor making the sugar complex and wonderful. Wildly she enjoyed the stolen morsel, and having eaten her treasure sank to the floor… deflated. No one had noticed or cared. Emptiness filled her stomach and inch by inch swollowed her, mind and all. Everything now felt sharp and disjointed as if it had become over large or ungainly. She sat with her new feelings and confused by them began searching for explanation. She had gotten what she wanted, right? 

Yes, it had been exquisite in both anticipation and reality. So why did she now feel even smaller? 

The thoughts made her want to wipe her hands off, as if this mindset could be cleared away so easily. 

Maybe, no. Perhaps the real want had not yet been met. 

Immediately her searching switched to scanning. The treats were little, the pleasure they brought had been little, and the motive tiny. She would need something much bigger to make the smallness go away. Ruby and amber flashes winked at her from smoky glass decanters daring her to “drink me”. This, she thought, was no little thing this was big. The big action of a big person who people would notice. Decided she went for the decanter thinking only up thoughts. The flush of success, so newly acquired, slipped away as the liquid passed parted lips. It seared and burned on the way down pulling her after. 

Up it seemed was still out of reach.

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Today I came undone. It was an interesting feeling akin to screaming from a dream, pointless and jarring. My words were nothing more than pathetic echoes reverberating out of me, attached to nothing, devoid of meaning. Scales fell from my eyes, liquid fire, blinding me to the light. As I stood in the maelstrom, begging it to strike harder, I paid willingly in pounds of flesh. Eased by the warm rush of blood. Calmed by the whiring in my ears.

My masks lay at my feet strewn like flowers, representations of things I dare not name. They are my most and least honest appendage in one. The masks repel and call to me with the same voice. It’s familiar, and my fingers itch to pull them up, obedient as always.

An acrid taste upon my tongue sours my stomach. Perhaps this pill wasn’t meant for swallowing, but the hour is late and I’ve already decided. So while Fate looms chill and shadowy behind me, a shark, keen in bloody water, I drop my arms, stand firm, and adjust my posture. I am ready to continue because continue is what I do.

Swan Song

Thank you to everyone who read a post, tweet, or story. It ment the world to me. You allowed me to be the person I wish I was; strong, opinoiated, brave, outspoken, and whole. You gave me a community when I felt so very isolated and a soapbox to reach out across the globe. I have made friends and connections that I would never have dreamed possible, but mostly being this version of myself helped me live with who I really am. I am a coward. I am weak, broken, and easily manipulated. I cannot lie to you or myself anymore so I am bowing out. It comes with tears, I am sure there will be a void where Jess aka b00kreader existed within me, but I cannot be this person so I have to let her go. Please do not feel I have lied about everything because I haven’t my name is Jessica, I went to grad school in South Carolina, and I am a postdoc at DFCI, but I am tired and beat down not scrappy and hungry. The part of me that is so ashamed of not being the person I presented to you is still happy I tried even if it was only a virtual try. Thank you for letting me pretend with you it was amazing while it lasted!

When I’m gone let me go, but carve my name upon a stone. 

Such a silly thing to pop into a persons head, especially a healthy person, but there it was. An unshakeable truth that once thought could not be set aside. All of a sudden the graveyard I was passing looked even more beautiful and tranquil. And selfish. And prideful. 

What makes us want to inscribe our name in stone after we pass on to what is next? Could it be our very human desire to be eternal and more than just existed? To be remembered requires no such monuments so the reason must be much more personal and deeply dark.

Are we naive to carve into the very earth our names? If even the names of young lovers inscribed in passion is eventually lost to growth; then surely with time even a name writ in pain will wear away. We are but yelling into a void hoping the echo might be heard by someone… by anyone. 

Oddly the thought made me smile. I want a stone; on a hill, near a tree, overlooking a pond. I want the wind and rain to slowly wash my name away. I want to be lost to time like all those who came before me, but first I want the taste of imortality. So till time has had its way with me let that stone stand as proof I lived and loved. 

For as the deep set lines wear away my need for them shall surely fade.

By Megatruth as seen on DeviantArt


I shiver chafing my hands together on the bus. Even sitting uncomfortably close to a stranger my fingers and toes ache with cold. Standing on curbs waiting for late public transportation has that effect on even the most weather worn new englanders I imagine.

Staring out the window I feel myself begin to thaw in the sunlight. Now I can see it. The riot of color, the light frost turning to dew on the grass… Then I can see it. There under a blanket on the cold stone footer of the decorative bridge lays a person covered with a blanket a shopping cart at their feet. 

The shiver comes again. This time it is the cold creeping under my skin and into my soul. 

How dare I complain. 

The image whips past me as the light changes, no matter it is burned into my mind. 

All rights to the owner of the image whom I thank

I am not a product of abuse…

     no cuts or bruises mar my visage.

I am a survivor of indifference….

     proud of the scars upon my psyche and the mended fractures to my resolve.

And so I live with the uneasy truce

     between who I see in the mirror and the worn out images

held up in reference

     so that I might try, tirelessly, to compete with a stereotype which has never evolved.

My success?

     Downplayed.

My dreams?

     Limited.

My identity?

     Predetermined.

So still I come home to clean, cook, and amuse

     as if there had been no woman’s suffrage,

and I smile and nod in deference

     as those around me try to force me to devolve.

But I know my strength and my views

     and I feel not alone, as I am but one in this strong female lineage.

So ignore me and worse… make your inferences.

   I know I’m good getting better as I absolve…

your hateful sin of indifference.

image

All rights to owner. As seen on Enlightened Conflict

    

image

All rights to owner~who I graciously thank for placing their stunning work on the internet

The tides change and the water rises ever higher…

Yet I remain.

Glorying in the sensation of weightlessness.

Euphoric.

The storm winds build momentum evermore dire…

Yet I maintain.

Begrudging the lustful hate that rages in the tempest.

Inspired.

The lashing rains fall forever with ire…

Yet I am sustained.

Luxuriating in the cold indifferent raindrops.

Enigmatic.

I…am the water bearer.

I fell

image

I fell the other day and in falling I saw myself.

I was weak at all the improper junctures fortified by supports and pulleys.

Strong in others where there seemed to be no point.

But I was whole.

Though strained and tired, somehow, I had remained intact.

I am a series of unfortunate events which have clouded my vision and tarnished my pride.

However, I am also grounded, headstrong, and capable.

I am greater then the summation of my individual attributes, inclinations, ideas, or achievements.

I am who I am today because of my journey.

Though there have been bumps and bruises there has also been joy.

So though I fell as I am sure to do; I could pick myself up and start anew.

Perhaps not over, as no one part of my life can I consider waste, but again.

I grow because I must,

I change because it is required,

But I want because how could I not.

I may not be the one I hoped, for the path leads ever on, but I am who I am.

And that is what I wish to reflect in every motion, word, and thought.

Me is what I wish the world to see smoldering in my eyes as I struggle, and rebuild, and continue.

For as I fell I saw not my disgrace or loss but my chance.

Open Handed

This, this is me.  Not just part of me…me.  I stand before you opened handed, unprotected, and battle scared.

Look closely and see the strength I hold.  The strength of doing, of trying.  The hardness I have developed through years of repetitive tasks, but more than just that.  I have also willed them strong.  Each tear they’ve brushed aside, bridge they burned, or link they’ve forged imbuing them with an unbreakable force. 

The lines upon them map my progress, follies, and life lessens.

They have healed and soothed in times of need.

They are tools by which I live and work, but even so they fail me.

My fingers red and ragged from pulling myself up and you along with me, of holding you up and me back, of clawing forward inch by inch only to find I am grasping at straws.

They are my weakness personified.  In a million tiny tells they fidget signalling to the world my discomfort, my worries, my fear.

They bare the only physical mark of your claim on me; never ending and set with an unbreakable stone.

Yet fettered they can still rebel, even bound their strength grows, for beneath your claim these hands are still my own.  Perhaps the most honest depiction of self I allow the world to glimpse…vulnerable to pain yet strong enough to carve a path I am in part yours, but still…

The bitter aftermath

Her ears rang and burned.  The lies and questions hung in the air like tangible things, she could grab and use for want of a better weapon.  Her heart pounded and raced, her breathing was ragged, and red crawled up her neck.  She stood clutching the chair before her as if it were her only life line.  The only solid thing left in her twisting life of turmoil.  She stared at him blinking back tears, of rage, of hurt, of disappointment, but he did not meet her gaze. 

She imagined the anger in her leaking out in waves pulsing blood red and midnight black, equal parts frustration and despair.  Her grip tightened as she strained to make her voice level and calm, “We going to talk about it?”

Silence was her only response and the breath she took, shook, undoing the small composure she had.  The angry, hateful, hurtful things she wanted to say were so loud, as they rolled from her mind to her tongue only to slam into her teeth like so much rainwater against a damn, that she couldn’t hear herself think. Without an escape the imagined sounds just echoed and reverberated through her wholly until they become just another layer in her shell of self preservation. 

With a conscious decision she unlocked her jaw and tried again, “It won’t help a thing to let it sit like this”. 

Now his glare was added to the equation.  She shook her head unable to stop it, as she went off to do anything else.  She could even swallow her pride again, she thought, but God help her if she had to be civil at this moment in time.  If he called for her it would be over and she knew it. 

She could taste the final straw, and it wasn’t sweet like freedom it was bitter like defeat.

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