Life Vests and Preservers

It's time to grab hold of a life vest. There's something gentle/tender about the word- life vest. A preserver; to preserve your life. I never understood the concept truly. Until now.

I believe this island is becoming so saturated, so full- like a sponge on a rainy day outside on a sidewalk-that people are soon going to jump off the island, into the unknown ocean/bay/river searching for sanctity.

So grab a life preserver, because on land we aren't required to use one. We walk upright and bump into each other at random, in moments of weakness, moments when any word, look can change the future and possibly a version of the past that was before alien to us.

So I ask when we jump, to jump with a smile and swim away into the dusk or dawn, or whatever you can hold on to, a vest, a preserver to save you from yourself, from your past, from his-story. Because your-story is the future, what you want to make of it, off the island.

So if you make it and swim to safety, throw off the life vest, and walk upright drenched in memories of the past, and in hopes of knowing you won’t bump into history but continue to leap into the future.

Hyph-en-ated

I am a hyphen, a thorn in your side. I am a hyphenated version of a wholesome person who is unaware of her own destiny. I am a writer, and a singer, a lover and a romantic. I am a version of myself which is completely incomplete, a shade lighter than the norm, darker than the average.

I lose myself, daily, in myself, from myself. Escape to the depths of my soul which are untouchable, impenetrable, unbeatable. It’s beautiful. But I can’t have it come out, to be who I should be, could be, would me. It’s the -oulds, before the hyphens which ruin our lives.

Could
Would
Should.

Just do it. It couldn't be what it isn’t, shouldn't be what is was and wouldn't be what it can be. I'm afraid I don’t have the answers, I’m afraid I think I know it all, but actually I know nothing.

What’s good, bad, happy, sad? What is life? What is love? So many questions, so many dreamers all built a palace of thorns, to fill with sorrow and tales of what could, should, would be.

So now, here I am. In my entirety, un-hyphen-ated.

Incomplete.