Sunday, October 11, 2015

Traveling is good, but I like home, too.

I love to travel.
Every place is a place to travel, whether you get on a plane or in a car or just walk. It's traveling.
Traveling is good.
You can learn from every place you go.
I love to travel.
But I also like to come home.
Coming home is coming to the place where you belong. Coming to the place where you can laugh, talk, sit, stand, cry, plot, scheme. Where you can be you.
You can be you at home.
Not always when you travel.
In my experience with going to places, traveling, I have had to be polite to everyone I meet. I have had to use manners, use "Please" and "Thank you" with everyone, everywhere. I had to have a good impression, because I never knew where else I would stumble into them, and then I would have to be nice to them all over again. I would have to use manners, and smile, and be cheery, so their first impression of me would be confirmed. I had to be the nicest version of me possible.
I had to be a nice girl.
I couldn't tell them about dark things.
Things that trouble me.
I couldn't tell them about my Horrible Predicament. And I didn't want to.
I still don't.
But when you travel, you are expected to lap up every sight, be on the move every day, see all the sights that are offered. You aren't supposed to get bored when you travel. You are supposed to be interested, and have the best time. It's supposed to be fun.
Supposed to.
What do you want when you travel? To have a good time, or to think about home? I want to do both. I want to travel and enjoy, but to never replace travel with home.
Because after all, when you travel, whether you have a suitcase in hand or not, whether you are on a plane or not, you will always come back to the place where you came from.
And that place is home.
When I get back from  traveling, I think about what I did, and if I miss doing it or not, and I reflect. I am in a mood for travel for a few days, but I need to settle.
I must settle.
I am home now.
You can be you at home.
And that's the best feeling, to know that there will always be a place that you can call home, a place to be yourself without worrying about impressions.
Traveling is fun and lovely and great and interesting and life-changing, but home is home.
I like home as well.
Don't you?

Saturday, September 5, 2015

Colors and feelings within a poem.


Apples are
That are Red
Like a fire engine,
Or great Love,
Or a blush
Set upon the cheeks of
One Embarrassed,
Is the color of an Apple.

Gray is a Color,
Of Sad,
And Dull,
And Doom,
And the Ominous feeling
Of what's to come.
Gray stands for Lots,
Mostly sad,
Is the color of Sad.

How they are related,
There are colors,
That stand for Feelings,
That stand for Other Feelings,
Other Things,
What more is there?

 I hope this poem gets you thinking.
Of colors.
And feelings.
And how they are related.
Maybe the next time you see the color gray, you will think of it differently.
Maybe you'll become sad thinking about it.

Saturday, August 1, 2015

Making up for lost time is hard.

I don't like losing time.
Especially when it's time that I value.
Lost time is always hard to overcome, because you wonder: What did I miss? What will I miss from missing what I missed before?
And it hurts when there is a joke, or a story, or an event that happened when you weren't there, and everyone knows, and is swept up in the event without you. It hurts because they've been moving on.
They've moved on.
Without you.
Doesn't it hurt?
I always feel this way when I join something new, like a club or a site or a blog that has been operating before my joining. I wasn't a part of it starting, and I have missed the routines and habits before I joined. I wonder, what have I missed? And I frantically try to catch up and be part of all of it, and I end up not enjoying the joining part.
Maybe just starting the club or the site or the blog is a clean slate.
Maybe you can create something. Something big.
Maybe you can create a routine or habit.
I need to take this advice to heart, because I need to not rush into things.
You don't have to rush to become part of the event. Being new is fun.
Being new is exciting and being old is exciting too.
Both are exciting, and both bring great things. Both are great.
So when you just join something, remember. Remember everything I am telling you and tuck it all away and absorb it and make it part of you, hidden deep for you to pull out and consult with when in a situation like this. Don't rush.
Everything is screaming for you to slow down.
The journey is important too, so don't rush it to get to the destination. It's a lot like that.
The journey gets you there, and you learn a lot more from it then arriving and not needing to learn anything at all.
The journey is important too, so don't rush it to get to the destination.
Both are great.
Don't overestimate one because it seems better.
Both are great.
Remember that.
Both are great.
New and old.

Saturday, June 13, 2015

The tree in my front yard.

I think it has magical powers.
The tree, I mean.
Magical powers.
I think this because of how, well, magical I feel when I'm in that tree. Like nothing can bring me down. Like I'm on top of the world, looking down. Like all of the stress and excess feeling that I have felt today is now only a mirage, as a calm serenity settles over me, and I have a connection with the world. Like I am part of the bigger picture when I step into that tree, and I am airborne, soaring with the birds.
How does this tree speak to me in this way? Well, when I was younger, I really connected with that tree. I would eagerly climb into it's friendly branches, and it would welcome me.
I had never felt so welcome in my life.
When I was younger, I didn't have as much stress, but this tree made me feel whole again. Little parts of me that had broken off joined back again, as I was healed by the soft wind in my hair, the branches whispering my name, the way I was carried by the tree, held in it's long, graceful fingers.
And I would smile because I knew this tree, every dent and crevice.
Every dent and every crevice.
It felt like another home to me.
As I get older, this tree in my front yard sort of melted away, it's powers residing in my heart less and less. I don't know if it was school and it's demands, or just the spark from my early childhood being gone, but I didn't feel the magic of the tree like I did when I was small.
It's such a shame, because the tree is magical, to me, and I didn't notice when I had school, because other priorities kept me from experiencing that magic.
I don't remember when, I don't remember why, but I climbed into the tree recently, and the feeling that came over me was incredible.
The feeling.
It was amazing. I stared up into the tree, and I heard a voice in my head, calm and peaceful, saying to me, welcome home.
I was at home. My home.
And nothing felt better than that.
I have been climbing that tree more lately, sometimes with a book in hand to read up in the tree.
And now, I have my own special place, high in the tree.
But it doesn't mean I won't travel to other places in the tree. It doesn't mean I won't keep exploring.
I recently found a place, higher in the tree, where I can look into a "ring" formed by leaves and branches.
It's beautiful.
I feel powerful.
It is a bit scary sometimes. Sometimes, I feel the tree sway underneath me, but a small amount of fear is a small price I have to pay to experience what I feel in that tree. Power.
That tree is magical.

Friday, May 22, 2015

It's been a long time.

Long Time

Sinking feet into the unsteady sand,
Hearing bliss of the water curling and crashing, 
Feeling the hot sun burn my fragile skin,
I am home.
And I will be for a long time.

Looking at the horizon, speckled with thrown-on clouds,
Watching the sun go down as the tranquility descends upward,
Smelling the aroma of cool comfort settle over me,
I am home.
And I will stay for a long time.

The peace and quiet is torn by seagulls noisy catching-up-on,
But I don't mind,
Because they are my brothers and sisters,
Always my family and forever my family,
My setting is my home,
Where I will partake in for a long time.

This poem is about coming home, and staying. 
For a long time.
Think about it. Can you relate to this? Is this a part of your life?
Will it ever be?
Because traveling can be exciting.
But coming home can be even better.
Coming home and staying.

Friday, April 10, 2015


How, is my question.
Not what.
Not who.
Not where.
But how.
I know what you're thinking, how what? What do you mean? And I understand. But this "how" isn't about just one thing. It's about a lot of things.
There are a lot of things to question in this world.
I can't list all of them, because that will take a long time. But there are a lot of questions, some that haven't been answered yet. And while I don't intend on figuring out the answers, I will continue to question.
How? How do things work? How do you do this? How is it real/fake? How?
There are a lot of questions in this world, maybe more questions than people. But together, all of us people can ask these questions.
And maybe we might get answers.
After all, what good is a question without an answer?

Tuesday, March 24, 2015

Let's just talk.

It's been a long time since I've posted. And I know exactly why. I have been out of ideas.
But you don't need any ideas to talk to people.
Talking is a good way to get to know people, and to share interests, and to maintain social connections, and to expand your vocabulary. Talking is how humans have communicated through the years. Talking is a wonderful thing.
Talking is a wonderful thing.
Some people like to talk, more than others. And why should that be a bad thing? I mean, sure, it can get annoying to people, and if they talk too much, they can be labeled as a "chatterbox" or a "chatty Kathy." So what if "Kathy"s have more to say? Talking is a great skill.
Talking is a wonderful thing.
People have resorted to texting, tweeting, emailing, etc. And while that's fun and good and all, have people forgotten how to talk to each other?
Not literally. Figuratively. When people sit down, without phones and laptops and technology, do they forget? Do they forget how to start a conversation without the help of "Have you seen that new YouTube video" or "Look at this adorable cat picture"?
I bet if people couldn't talk about videos or pictures or anything technology-related, they would not know what to talk about.
And it's not just people and technology.
It's people and their inactive conversation skills.
"I." "Me." "My." Not "you." "Your." "Yourself."
People like to talk about themselves. I do it too. But what I really am aiming to do is to ask about people. Let them talk about themselves. Be interested in them. Talk about them.
Talking is a wonderful thing.
So, answer these questions about yourself: What's your favorite color? What do you like to do? Where is the most exciting place you have been? Do you have any siblings or pets? Tell me about yourself.
And they will.
And hopefully, they will ask about you as well. Then you get to talk about yourself. Then you ask about them. Back and forth. Back and forth. Conversation.
I know people who need to work on this. I'm not going to lie. Some people I know are horrible conversationalists. They constantly need to talk about themselves, and they don't listen. I might be a hypocrite. I admit. But these people need to listen, not just hear.
Talking is a wonderful thing.
Take into account that these people have lived life, and they have stories, and they are willing to share them.
Some stories you may find interesting.
So, once again: What's your favorite color? What do you like to do? Where is the most exciting place you have been? Do you have any siblings or pets?
Tell me about yourself.
Talking is a wonderful thing.

Friday, February 20, 2015

This Poem is called Whatever.

There are so many issues in the world,
So many scarred hearts and so many tears,
War and hurt and hate and darkness,
But it'll be fine, whatever.

The sadness and grief is rising,
All the things people put up with,
It can't compare and it never will,
But it'll be fine, whatever.

The future might not be better,
But we don't and will never know,
Impossibility ruins the big picture for everyone,
But it'll be fine, whatever.

Can't figure out what will happen,
Will we ever come close to the answer?
We say whatever, it will be repaired in good time,
But maybe we need a new word to fix the mess.

This isn't one of my best poems. But it's all about procrastination.
Not for small things.
For BIG things. Like war.
You can't put that kind of stuff off.
This poem reminds you of that. And it tells you about natural human behavior.
You know, how we tend to procrastinate.
A lot.
Even the organized ones.
Yeah. We all mess up.
But that doesn't mean we should be let down by it. No one's perfect.
And we can't "fix" people to be the true image of perfection. Because there is no such thing.
That's just not how it works.

Sunday, January 25, 2015

A whole month.

It's been a month.
Yeah, a month since I've written on this blog. One month. Exactly. One. Month. Christmas was one month ago. We have moved past then. And we are still moving.
20 days until Valentine's Day.
159 days until the 4th of July.
278 days until Halloween.
304 days until Thanksgiving.
333 days until Christmas.
340 days until New Year's day.
And one day until tomorrow.

I know, why all the counting? Rushing is one way to ruin a good time. It will hungrily run through a time and destroy your experiences. The reason I am counting is because some people don't know that. Some people don't know that rushing... wastes time. I waste time. Don't worry about how fast something gets here, worry about the journey, because the journey itself is longer, and more well-worth, than the time when you actually arrive at your destination.
But the title of this post is, however, "A whole month." So, the purpose of this post, at least for me, it to talk about the month that has passed. There has been ups, downs, highs, lows, and everything in between.
All in a month.
Things can happen very fast, or they can take a long time. It all depends on your perspective and attitude.
What do they mean to you? I don't want to get into it, but I might. Maybe in another post.
Maybe. Just maybe.
But for now, you just think about this month. This one month that has gone by. What has happened to us, all of us. The different experiences, and stories. And how far we've come. All of us.
Every single one of us.
Every single one.