Splinters

"I will always remember you
watching me walking away."
Meant by Elizaveta

"Your name is the splinter
inside me."
Joshua Radin


That last lyric
breaks me every
single time I hear it.
I know how that is.
I know what that is.
I live it, because there are splinters
and names inside me all day every day.
I'm sure some of these names know who they
are and there are others who know and don't care
and others still who never knew how much they became intrinsic
parts of me. I hold onto these names and I tell people that it is because
they make good stories, and I'm sure they do, just as I'm sure that I will tell
the stories one day, but the truth is, is that I've let these splinters stay, because the
pain of splinters stuck in my flesh is worth the remembrance of times past.

These splinters have sliced my hands when I slapped them
and became a part of me, sucked into my bloodstream
because when I was angry at them, they became intrinsic parts of me
how I remember and relate.
But now, where they came from is irrelevant to a certain degree because
there are now bits of wood and glass and steel, all with various names
and dates and deeds floating about it in my body
These are the prettiest and ugliest bits of me.
Splinters of people who touched me and set me on fire
and people who spoke words that remind me that family is choice
and that I will be loved despite the overwhelming prevalence of ugliness
that is inside of me.

There are splinters of people who
I text Thrift Shop lyrics to every other day
and see almost every Sunday
and people I talk to once every two months
and we are warriors and friends and sometimes
domestic as fuck and at other times we are gods of bagpipes and feminism
and splinters of a person I knew once all too well
but his god is not my own and I am broken in his eyes because
I do not believe that I need to be saved.
And splinters of people that are in the downward swing of our friendship
but because I know everything is a circle, they will swing upwards
and splinters of people who have been close to my heart
since I met them.
These splinters can be painful
but they bring so much beauty, that it is worth the pain.


On a sillier note, every time
Welcome to the Black Parade
comes on
I turn it off
unless it is just me listening to it.
There is the true confessions of my life.
And dancing around like a muppet is to this song
is one of them.

This is so very ridiculous

On reading through my blog,
I find my introspection deeply annoying.
I find the me that I reveal painfully ugly and angry
and most of all, disappointing. She isn't who I always
thought she'd be. She remembers the worst of people and
rarely tries to look towards the better parts. I want to be the
girl who sees the better part of everyone, but in reality, I'm closer
to the person who will hold on to the crappy things you've said for the
rest of your life. The idea of me getting better isn't too promising.

There is
no place of rest
for me. Of course, there
is a bed, or a couch, but not
a place I call personally my own. I'm
quite adamant that this should happen, and
in my brain, I know that it will happen, in time,
but my heart yearns for a place to call my own. I only
had my own for a very little while before it was taken away.
That is not to absolve me of my own involvement in that particular
situation, and I take my share of responsibility, and possibly even more
but I mourn for my own place, I desire it and I yearn for it the way a lover
yearns for....lover-like things.

Getting this job
means battling the insomnia
the way I know how, getting out of the
house safely and making money and making my
dreams some sort of reality. I love the idea of this. I
feel like I contribute so little to my own future, and while
in my head I know that very little of that is based in reality,
having some sort of money in the pot feels like there's really some
skin in the game, as my father is fond of saying. And I have a game to
play. I want to go to school, hell, I want to teach at a school and I need
money and motivation and a little bit of crazy and a good writing technique
probably one that doesn't involve watching the shapes of my paragraphs develop
slowly with each word. I'm sure it will come to me any day now, if I just eat all my peas
and carrots and pray like a good girl. Regardless of my belief, or lack of a belief, in a great
space alien god, I shall persevere in my goals. Even if I get tired, or depressed or angry or sad
or I just feel miserable as usual, every step is a step taken toward where I want to go. Even days where
you do nothing means you are still breathing. Breathing is a necessary element to getting where you want to
go.