takes.

i don't love recklessly like that. love is an art. and it's not abstract. it's a delicacy. it takes tactic. it takes skill..... at my level at least.... at our level at least. it takes craftsmanship. it takes patience. it takes time. it takes effort.  

it takes. and it gives. oh, it gives.  

conversations with a mogul that got lost through the portal

i think there was a time in my life before you in which i prided myself on my independence and my lack of ability to establish and maintain a connection with another. i'd tell myself that any energy outputted from my end would be better off invested on myself, than on somebody else. at that point in time, i never imagined myself putting so much faith and entrusting another the way i believe and trust in you. i have always been so self fulfilling and have operated on my own wavelength. people's  frequencies and their urge to constantly have their needs met with disregard to what toll that took on me and my being was draining. therefor, i never really had the desire, or the energy, to feed fires, or extinguish them for that matter.... habitually, i'd just let them blaze 'til they eventually died out. I know they read me now like they read me then; my self, an open book. they nick and pick at my structure, my complex simplicity. they've always taken from my essence to satisfy their necessities. and they let themselves be consumed with what ever it was they found in me. so lost amongst the results that they were ignorant to the collateral damage (me. my being. my self). such a fine, thin line, in equilibrating the give to take ratio. i gave. i'd give. and it all ended at, what about me? what about myself? no one ever stopped to think, what is it that i could do for her? she's good, she's awesome, but what can i do to make her better. the work of oneself on themselves is always a work in progress. one is forever growing, learning, experiencing- not one single event, moment, or phase is singular- they all amount to our whole. we are all just an accumulation of first drafts (finals and rough) sloppily stapled together into a single, final product. i have theorized that the world is divided into the conformist and the nonconformist, the people who need stability and those who comfort makes uncomfortable. i've lived and have loved long enough to know that there are different types of loves, and i've yet to experience two of the same type. and i think that's ok. you won't be able to break down the psychology and/or the walls of every single person you meet, you won't be able to find fulfillment in fulfilling someone else's needs in every relationship that you're in..... and that's ok. that is good. it makes for experiences, for adventure, for growing, for learning, for loving love. the beauty in life is that you are at freedom to personalize it to your liking. everyone has different needs, different wants. i live mine to my standards, to my own expectations, to my liking, to my loving. and that single on fact has been the hit or miss factor between me and all the others. love is the most powerful emotion. it starts and ends wars, it knows no boundaries, no limits, no restrictions. love heals, love destroys. i've destroyed, i've healed. and, i'm here again. but it's not like before, and it won't ever be like this again. that forever vacant chamber of my heart is currently occupied. it feels good. it feels right. it feels different. it feels extraterrestrial. it doesn't imprison me. it doesn't box me in a 4x4, as i once feared. it doesn't blind me, it enlightens me. it doesn't judge me, it frees me from having preconceived notions pinned to me. I've always been free, and i've never feared commitment. i feared settling and feeling like i settled. that's not an option, it never was, it won't ever be. i'm the girl who loves to be alone in the dim lit room with her bright dark thoughts. but nothing feels better than to be left alone with you in a dark room, bringing out the light in one another. what that's done for me, oh, what that's done for me......

conversations with a mogul that got lost through the portal.  

 

open letter to the lookers who don't see

i've always felt their eyes watching me. they look at me and see what they want to see, but they don't see me. they only see a mere reflection of what i am, this one sided view of me, which they've accepted as me in entirety. 

they can’t make me.

they can't break me.  

they want to tamper with my megapixels.  

they want to confine me to these 4x4 boxes.  

but, i am what i am. and no one can mold me.... 

i could never let their preconceived notions shackle me because i'm better than that. their preconceptions try to hinder my growth, but they can't. because i’ve shattered my own reflection every time it didn't add up to what i knew i could be. and i started over. i have picked up my very own pieces just to rearrange them the way that i wanted to. i rearranged them to fit me better, to enable myself to do better. i don't need help to save me and i don't let negativity tare me apart and make me different, make me worse. i don’t give them that option. they don’t have that power. they don't have the answers, but i do within. within me. within what i am; a combination of what i once was and who i'm yet to become, intertwined as one: me. 

to everyone and anyone who has ever loved me, 

just let me be me, who ever i might be in that instance, in that dimension; and if that image ever falls short, or if it doesn't equal the miraged "me" that you've mentally invented for me, set me free. and find yourself, there’s something for you else where. there will be something for me else where. i have found something for me, elsewhere. i have found something and i haven’t had to lose anything to keep it, to have it, to hold it, to feel it.