The Shadows of Down

Today, my journal needs to be just that, a journal for me, like it used to be where I unleashed, let loose and poured pieces of me across it's white pages without reservation, without edit, without regard to how it may sound. Today I make it just for me, I need to release some words................

In a perfect world, perhaps I would be writing about accomplishments and achievements. In a decent world, perhaps I would be writing about daily occurrence and delightful happenings. In a fluid world, perhaps my writing would be filled with general observations and thoughtful reasons to life's answers.

But in my loudest tones of dread, my world has been turned upside down and it feels about as messed up as it can get. My Island is enduring it's own assault of cold hard truth, bitch slaps of reality and I'm dreadfully tired today. When my eye's are closed I see the dark shadows of my past mocking me, when I open my eye's I see a future that has altered in immeasurable amounts of time and responsibility.

I can walk with the wicked world and stand within the mercy streets. I hold my dreams clutched to my chest with tenacious overtones and ridiculous hopes. I have no blame to place today, no fault to be assigned, it is what it is, happened with no explanation. An occurrence that sidestepped all obstacles and barriers. A percentage chance that is undeniably there I have discovered. How delightful that I can always manage to fall into the 1% category of life. How grand it is to fall into the struggle avenue of life, perpetually. Welcome to my pity party. 

I wanted the shorter story, one with a single hero and an intelligent heroine. One that started with "Once upon a time," collected some adventure, some ups and downs, and ended with "Happily ever after." I'm so far from that storyline, I'm starting to believe I'm in some sort of Stephen King novel. It's almost hilarious to think I had things under control lately, repressed emotions, selfishly buying and doing things for myself lately. I look up on my wall and feel almost sick to my stomach looking at the piece of artwork I finally sucked up and purchased.

Sleeper in lost dreams, picked up from the gallery just last week..........beautiful and exactly how I feel. Maybe the timing is actually perfect.

If I could put myself in a frame I wonder what it would look like.If I could design my portraiture of life, how would it appear. An abstact, a woman with emotional eye's and  downcast shoulders. A frame around this space that is me, a work in progress I suppose, as any artist would do to create an impression of representation. I protray so many representations I never know which one is the real me. To tell a story you paint a picture, to paint a picture you have to observe, to observe you have to see truth, the real deal and I'm not so sure I want to do that. That takes courage. That takes honesty.

It's the appealing form of down, down down, down.

I am aware down isn't where a smile should be found, I know the things that I should not be comfortable with

Is it real
Is it truth
Is it the series of faceless me's waiting for the absolution of honest revelations

If I touch my hand to my temple I can feel the touching voice of my humanity
If I touch my hand to my chest I can feel the turmoil of living my lies

There is no room for both, the lines of down down down have their appealing form of comfort.

I know not what I can do. I know not what I have crossed and how I will carry such burdens for down down down is my pleasure and down down down is my sentence.

For me today~