Sometimes

Sometimes you have to break away.

Sometimes you have to feel like you’re going to run out of money.

Sometimes this is what it’s like to live.

Sometimes you cannot be secure.

Sometimes you can feel free.

Sometimes you can heal.

Sometimes you can grow.

Sometimes you can eat cereal at night.

Sometimes you are okay.

You have cereal.

You have your breath.

Sometimes you want to roam the Earth.

Sometimes you want to connect with every soul.

Sometimes you want to live in every corner of the world.

Sometimes things are crazy just for the sake if it.

Sometimes taking a leap is boundless.

 

Today I am playing this Dan Croll song on repeat, because sometimes music is all that makes sense:

 

 

Hiding

As I continue on my journey of life I feel like I am starting to come out of hiding. Maybe this is what real “growing up” feels like. Maybe being 30 is the shit.

As a child I adopted this hiding thing when I didn’t want to feel my own emotions or those of my family. I would go into my room, lock the door and listen to the positive tunes of Hanson. Sometimes I would write my own music, always starting with lyrics, probably as a way to process the words I was hearing from myself and others. Looking back at these early works, hiding and not feeling heard was a theme.

At other times I would hide in the corner of my closet, carefully hidden behind clothes, hoping for someone to come find me even though I made sure I was so well hidden. I wanted to be alone so I could process my emotions, but I wanted to be found because I wanted to be heard. It was a double edged sword.

As I started entering “adulthood” I believe I got trapped in metaphorical closets of the mind. I was simultaneously starting to experience the serious pain of Endometriosis. I wanted more than ever to be seen and heard, because I didn’t want to be in pain.

There were quite a few closets in my mind. But I told myself I would only be stuck in them temporarily. I was working on that music career while I nannyed for the kid with the crazy mom. I was just surviving. Waiting for someone to listen to me; to come find me. I did that for about a decade.

But all along that person who I needed to listen, who I needed to look for me, has had to be me. I have to open those closet doors. I have to walk out alone.

I Am Waiting

I’ve spent a lot of my life waiting

To see if the pain will stop

To see if I’ll feel better

Waiting

For them to love me

For them to come home

For them to let me go

Waiting

For a true purpose

For the wind to stop blowing

And the weather to get warmer

Waiting

For a parcel in the post

For an epiphany to solidify I am human

And not a ghost

Waiting

For my plane to arrive

And waiting to take off

I’ve spent a lot of my life waiting

For things to begin

And end