Posted in art, Music, poetry, writing

To Listen

To Listen  I skipped every other song, brushing aside the lyrics scribed in MP3s, at my ear’s whim to dismiss  whichever ones I wanted. I was walking outside, so I needed beats, the kind compounded with stimulants, adrenaline, to spark my shoes to rebound off the concrete as if springing from a trampoline— I was trying to get a workout after all.  I turned the corner onto my street, readying my hands to pause the music, to wipe my sweat  and recede back into my house, subjected to an atmospheric beige, a poetically devoid space,  a television two napping parents and a microwave.  I reached the door, but I couldn’t go in, stopped, as if someone had grabbed my shoulders and yanked them backwards, pleading with my instincts to yield.  I sat down on the porch swing, sinking into the darkness of pause, listening more intently to the words rapped in my headphones, and for a moment,  I let the stillness rest, let my sweat dry on its own, and waited until the song reached its end before I went inside.

‘I hear your music and I’m listening. Thank you for sharing a part of your soul in your art.’ That’s what I’d say if I could tell anyone who has ever written a song how much I appreciate their work and their passion.

Posted in art, Music, poetry, twenty one pilots, writing

Quiet

Quiet  It’s the stillness that scares me, when time collects in a jar and thoughts settle like dust, caking every blink, every swallow, every breath with extra weight, a heaviness that enslaves the body like an anchor strapped to an ankle, chained, trapped ruminating in one room inside the mind, consumed by the freedom to think, suffocating in the privilege of thought, the torture hidden in the violence of quiet.

The last couple days have been action packed. For one, it was my birthday on Thursday. Secondly, I went on my first business trip. In other words, I grew up a little in the past 48 hours. I like keeping myself busy because it allows for optimum productivity and fun, sticking by the cliche of living every day like it’s my last. But every once and awhile I’m forced into solitude–the three hours I hung out in the airport yesterday and the subsequent three hours on the plane. It’s those moments, when I’m by myself, that the world feels big , and I’m invisible, just an ant in the crowd. Sure, quiet can feel calming at times, like when I curl up with a notebook and spill my feelings, but that’s the kind of quiescence I choose, the kind of quiet that begs for reflection. I wish I could remember to savor that sensation of stillness and learn to live devoid of loneliness. My company should be enough.

This one’s inspired by “Car Radio” by Twenty One Pilots. Quiet is violent.

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Gag Reel

Gag Reel

Don’t forget to laugh today.

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Tunnel Vision

Tunnel Vision

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Breaking

Breaking

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Flushed

Flushed

How’s everyone doing? Sometimes it’s odd to think that I’m sharing poem after poem with all of you beautiful people without really knowing you. The truth is, I want to know who you are and how your day is going. I want to know what brought you here and what you’re thinking about this Friday in early May. I want to meet you, to get coffee with you, and steal inspiration from your stories. Life’s better when we take the time to acknowledge one another. This is me acknowledging you, whether you’ve visited She’s in Prison before or whether this is your first time. Please don’t be afraid to say hello! I’m on Twitter too if that’s more your style!

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Stop Sign

Stop Sign

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Helpless

Helpless

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A Letter

A Letter

It’s a Thursday night…what else is there to say?

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Distorted

Distorted

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Concrete

Concrete

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Two

Two

It’s Twenty One Pilots’ Saturday on She’s in Prison and I’m officially running out of TOP songs to steal the titles from (gasp!). This one’s about options, aptly titled after the song “Two.” We’re all faced with options, some tough, some not. The dilemma isn’t the option but rather the choice that goes with it. Sometimes choosing seems impossible.

Have a great Saturday!

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Mirror

Mirror

I love you Cameron. Happy snapchatting!

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Regarded

Regarded

I never thought I’d be the type of poet that wrote about a strand of hair, about the seemingly unimportant details of a day, but something about that moment struck me. In its banality, it was beautiful and carried so much more meaning than I could have ever expected. How many interactions do we brush aside without pause. Maybe it’s dumb, but I seriously discovered some things about myself in examining my hair strand. What can you discover about yourself if you only take the opportunity to consider it?