Human Toxicity

Born into vessels that know nothing but the raw sensation of life’s first air connecting with unmutilated flesh,

We are a soul reborn into its newest life with a fresh start,

An existence not yet tormented by heartache or trauma;

No skewed perceptions of unconditional love to lead you down the broken path.

Born into such raw innocence with the potential for such intense love and human connection.

The only two things that matter in any lifetime,

Yet the two most complex and fragile aspects of being human.

Maybe this is what causes such potentiality to fall into the infinite rabbit hole of human toxicity.

A world that Alice herself could never even dream of,

Where people mistake self care for selfishness and caring for curiosity.

A world stained in the darkest red, a symbol of the emotional blood that runs from the hearts of humankind,

Hearts that face the deepest betrayals,

Betrayals that turn even the most beautiful of souls ugly.

The world of cyclical emotion overtaken with the man made haze of human toxicity that blankets the sky,

A haze kept alive from the smoking embers of the fires of ingenuity and raw anger, with the smallest hint of green in the center fueled by envy.

In this world there is joy in watching the failure of others, but envy at success.

Upon the birth of our refreshed souls, we would know nothing but celebration, yet the pull of the rabbit hole grows stronger and darker with each toxic act and emotion.

Inherently feeling the most beautiful affections, they are inevitably tainted by the smoke that carries the reality that humans, though born pure, choose the path that leads to the rabbit hole of the world of human toxicity.

Those who manage to escape the pull of the pernicious call of emotional toxicity face a more difficult battle,

The battle of human empathy co-existing with the shells of those whose souls exist in the gloom of the rabbit hole.

The balance lies in the empathy so pure, so raw, so genuine, that the burning embers liquify into cool, running waters of equilibrium and acceptance.

A balance which keeps the hope for unconditional love and human connection alive for those souls reborn into the righteous role of empathy.

Escaped

Like a paper cut that won’t stop bleeding—this internal wound bound with tape and glue rips open like a stitch freed by a scalpel…

The red warm liquid surges through his system like a bolt of lightning strikes a tree in the depths of a treacherous storm.

Every buried and avoided emotion evoked by the wave of electricity tearing through the surface—the rawness almost excruciating.

In these times, peace becomes a foreign concept to the mind, body and soul—

Ejected from reality, torn from the safety of the present and viciously thrashed into the dark abyss that is the past.

How his heart does not erupt in that exact moment is a miracle.

His brain strays to the role he plays, the hero or the villain—yet I suppose this lies in the perspective of the characters of his achingly complex past.

A battle lies ahead, not just a plan of attack and escape from these thoughts of dread, doom and despair—a steel barrier in the mansion plagued with the poltergeists rooted in the graveyard of his past life.

He approaches the crumbling, faded stone building engulfed with vines of eternal loneliness.

Upon entrance, he is struck with the fierce vibrations of the emotions he has returned to succumb to.

Lifted in a haze of smoke to the heights of the stained Victorian glass windows that lace the ceilings.

A true iconic symbol of fragility.

Irony lies in the solace he feels upon his expulsion from his physical being.

Thrust into serenity—to a place where the lines of forbidden love are invisible, where the obstacles of such evocative emotion drift away with the clouds—taunting them—darkening them with the stain of heartache—only to rain down upon those remaining in Earths physical plane of existence.

But he….he escaped.

Springtime Dreamland

The crisp Spring air seeps through your open bedroom window,

Cascading over the windowsill like an ever-flowing waterfall.

The lush air seeps into all senses,

Its purity awakens and brightens the soul,

Sending the heartache, despair and doubt far beneath the icebergs surface.

Acceptance, bliss and content come flooding in as hopeful whispers with the cool air comprised of only elements of clarity.

In even your deepest of subconscious states, you come to truly be one with the cliche artifacts that come along with a breath of fresh air,

A new level of gratitude that almost redefines and manifests as its own emotion.

A molecular structure built of miracles,

A foundation representative of new beginnings and rediscovery.

Lush alabaster linens capturing every unique curve and distinguishable feature of your being are tousled by the immaculate breeze as it floods over every inch of your velvet skin…

This air engulfing your bedroom and being…

The same air that holds the innocent and enchanting power to propel a magic carpet,

You are swept away like a leaf that escapes the fate of a dark Winter,

To a place where you have mastered the complex equation of the fine line between self discovery and selfishness.

A Dreamland created in the wake of the universe’s greatest test to your contentment,

Where you become one with the all encompassing untainted air of purity….

Its origins that of the Spring air that seeps into your bedrooms window and occupies your senses as you sleep soundly, in the Spring haze of your Dreamland.

Reading Like a Writer

💻 📖 Hey there y’all!..📖💻

My apologies for going radio silent on you for a while. Most of my creative writing energies have been focused on my first project for my MFA program. ✍️ Taking a classic (my absolute favorite classical Gothic narrative “Wuthering Heights” by Emily Brontë 📚) and a contemporary novel (“The Little Stranger” by Sarah Waters 📚) & focusing your on reading comparatively through the lens of a writer seeking out literary themes, techniques and conventions. •

Feeling completely engulfed and positively overwhelmed with the culture shock that this MFA program has already provided me. Taking on this challenge with diligence, pride & gratitude 🤘🏼 •

Needless to say I am feeling very inspired on this fine Sunday…so keep your eyes peeled for a new piece this week!

The Cyclical World of Forbidden Emotion

Living in a cyclical world of misunderstood perturbation;

Where even the moments of bliss are dusted with the ashes of despair.

Despair that lingers in the deepest corners of the unconscious mind;

A mind plagued with dark spaces filled with the echoes of unanswered questions.

Questions lit aflame by the sparks of acrimony and unfaithful betrayal;

A betrayal that ripples through the veins like a blood born pathogen,

Creating waves of emotion that surpass the realm of basic understandings of human sentiment.

A ripened individual stripped of adulthood, broken down to the vulnerable child within.

Stuck in a non-universal dimension;

A dimension created in the wake of the curse of empathy;

An existential place created by this brave emotion, so unattainable to the corrupted human consciousness of the present.

In this place, time stands still as you remain cemented in your vortex.

Human souls pass you by in their rapidly buzzing, blurred livelihood.

They get to live while you simply exist.

Going through the motions, breaching every hurdle, yet attaining no satisfaction or bliss…

Recurring disappointment.

Happiness still evades,

All senses dulled to their weakest capacity,

Making the metaphorical perception of a shattered heart achingly palpable.

The evidence of this wound so apparent;

Like the breached purity of fresh linens splattered with the blood stains of despondency.

The souls who endure these sentiments too afraid to speak these words,

Out of unadulterated fear of a deeper rejection…

And so they fade into an apparition;

Nothing but a ghost living in the cyclical world of forbidden emotion.

Greener Pastures

Moving on.

Moving on does not equate to inhumanity,

So please darling, set your guilt free.

Send it far beyond the southern depths that even flocks of birds in the dead of winter have never seen.

Because,

Moving on means utilizing the strength to choose the happiness over the hurt.

Moving on means taking the standing up from the dark, dirt ridden floors of despair to the illuminated promise of greener pastures.

Greener pastures that represent what it means to find serenity within ones self, within the process of becoming the being we so achingly strive and desire to be.

The protective barriers of these pastures do not allow for the sorrow of burning memories filled with holistic confusion and pure pain,

But only for the realistic memories worthy of who we chose to be in those times of the past and who we are destined to become.

The reality isn’t always a step forward into the light, but a civil war that leaves you crawling on your hands and knees on the dirt floor of despair, fighting with all that’s left just to find salvation.

Salvation is the moment you choose the path planted with the seeds of self growth,

The moment you find the balance between selfishness and empathy.

When equilibrium sets in, salvation is immensely attainable. Finally.

In these times we must rely on the power of these greener pastures that gently call to the mind, singing the melody of this healing promise.

Grasp onto the notion that moving on allows the mind to become susceptible to this bellowing call of potential joy.

A new siren’s song that leads you into the arms of a broken, yet lovely and healing masked figure you will inevitably uncover to be yourself.

This joy is the key to the door that leads to self discovery, to a world with no regret or distain,

But to a world engulfed with nothing but the healing bliss of greener pastures.

Memories

The memories of the late nights that turned into early mornings… the passionate love that erupts between two so intertwined and bound it was almost painful.

A love that could not be known to be told by the simplicity of any words ever created beyond this time and space.

These late nights turned to early mornings are now filled with the now more vast memories of you.

A whisper turned a scream that unwillingly and eternally will ache a deep pain of loss.

A loss so angry, so purely excruciating as the devils soul is black. A loss that leaves a mark, a part of her that will always belong to you….That will change the way that she loves, that she lives for the rest of this time and in the next…

…And to the galaxies beyond the worlds we know.

But right here, right now in this world, time and space…these memories hold all the power. They invade the sacred sanctuaries created in the midst of the chaos of her mind.

Existing and persisting without free will in the matter, these memories a constant threat that can disturb the calm waters filling the empty spaces pd darkness where she hides the heartache.

The shifting of tectonic plates sparked by the cruel turn of events within her photographic memory, creating a tsunami effect in its wake.

Each day a new challenge to out swim the cruelty of the speeding waters as they come to life, threatening to destroy the structures she’s rebuilt.

And without fail…

These exhausting days turn to nights that continue to evoke the memories that forever burn inside her…memories of those nights that turned into early mornings…

Rosebud Photography
© Rosebud Photography

Bullet Creative Journaling

I have recently begun my journey with “Bullet Journaling” and using creativity to express myself on the day to day while keeping organized and true to myself!

THAT NIGHT

That night began with the sting of salt piercing each tastebud, with her plush lips awakened by the cool glass as it made contact, forcing the golden wave of liquor to dissolve the ache of the sting, only to be masked by the cool tang of citrus waves crashing on the shore of her soul.

The ingredients of a perfect recipe for the immense heartache and confusion that was her world. A recipe to fix the beautiful disaster at hand.

Yet one too many drops of the golden sea lead to unforeseen and farther treaturous waters. These waters threaten to invade the privacy of her most intimate self when the walls that protect it were weakened. 

Weakened by the dark clouds that engulfed her world that threaten to flood the already treaturous golden waters. 

They try with all their might to break the barriers. 

Pounding. 

Pounding. 

Pounding. 

She fights harder than ever before to keep the walls standing tall. She stands strong against them, willing them to protect whatever light is left inside of her most sacred place. 

Pushing. 

Willing. 

Praying.

….A sanctuary trespassed upon like the betrayal of the Trojan horse. 

It’s that night and she suddenly awakens as if suddenly the golden waters have been shocked, struck upon with lightning, clearing the murk of its golden wake. An escaped ghost in passing being sucked back into their physical being by unnatural forces. A painful clarity to see the truth unfolding before her in the ache of reality. 

Pulled back into her physical being, hearing now nothing but the pounding of her own steps, of the steps threatening to invade yet again from behind her. 

The pounding of a slammed phone that would lead to yet another loss, but also a cleanse of the dark energies that threatened to impede upon her mending soul. The pounding of the doors slammed but also of the invisible knocks that she couldn’t yet understand would lead to salvation.

Salvation that would also eventually threaten to break down the strong willed barriers of her broken way of loving.

 Yet when put to the test she comes to find that the scars left by the wounds of that night have prepared her for a lifetime of battle. 

In a sick twist of fate, she comes to find herself thankful for the strength that inevitably sparks the flames of light to evade the darkness that was…that night.