The Rabbit Hole
I am an over-the-top personality. I overthink, overlove, over feel, over stress, etc.-it is all or nothing, which is not invariably a negative aspect of my personality when channeled in the right areas. My extremities have helped me to accumulated over fifteen years of experience with insomnia-which comes in waves. Waves of countless replays of things I could have done better or different in my life-reminders of immature mistakes that are set in stone forever. Waves of empathy I feel for people I may have hurt ten years ago. Insomnia is endless reels playing on inner eyelids. I do not come with an off switch, and I have been looking for one for a long time-trust me. These shoulders get heavy, and there are times when I am exhausted and screaming out to no one, “I need a freakin’ break!”
It was the kind of day where the air pressed your skin with its heat. The fiery sun stung my cheeks as I hurried the last couple steps into the old barn. The only place in town I felt steady. The intense heat did not drop away in the shelter of the shadows. It clung to my body just like the heavy burden of my emotions. I could not seem to catch my breath lately-on the inside was a whirlwind of chaos-on the outside, my perfectly calm demeanor.
The anthem heard more often than not is to never change. Whether it’s I won’t ever change who I am or I’m always going to be this way no matter what, paired with a like or leave it attitude. You hear it everywhere. In popular songs or on tv, the phrase seems almost inescapable. The trend is almost all-consuming.
The Power Of Man
Years after the government configure the Party of the Old Power-middle and lower-class citizens are in shambles. Capital keeps you alive-if your pockets are thirsty, you are hunted, exterminated like mice polluting food reserves. Cities are leveled, making way for the Party blueprints, women of the correct foundation enslaved as reproductive machines. Soft vibrations ride the wind in murmurs of revolution, pleading the hunted to remain alive with intentions of assembling an army of rebellion against the Old Power.
The Taste of Ink
In a complete burst of spontaneity, I awoke abruptly one morning and insisted I needed a new tattoo. I required it that day. Absolutely no exceptions were to be made. I did not have the slightest clue what I desired or what tattoo parlor I would be adventuring to. None of it mattered in the slightest. I just sat down and started roughing out a design. When I arrived at the nearest tattoo parlor the artist complimented me on my rough sketch. The man's notice was significant enough to take me by surprise. I enjoyed doodling plus constantly drooled over tattoos. I suddenly slammed into the idea that I wanted to become a tattoo artist.
I decided to leave my job six months into COVID. I never thought making coffee was essential to the world but I was, in fact, wrong. There was more to my decision to leave. COVID was just the last straw and the push I needed to finally turn in my apron. At first, I was a little nervous about how we were going to afford our lives on just one income. So I started looking into ways I could contribute.
Music is a Safe Place.
When I was ten years old my mom moved the two of us away from my hometown in Washington to Las Vegas, NV. My older cousin came with us for about a year. We all lived together in my grandma’s house. My cousin and I would sit on the front porch at night talking about silly things like how the mountain in the distance looked like it was pasted on the sky. Similar to how they do it in the movies with their fake backdrops. During one of these conversations that stole us from reality, I was gifted my first Linkin Park cd. I had borrowed Hybrid Theory from him and could not stop listening to it. I carried my portable CD player with me everywhere and would always have the cd playing in my background. Finally, he just told me to keep it.
A confession, I have never been into fashion trends. There was a time in my life that I swore up and down I would become a fashion photographer. But, growing up I wore hand-me-downs from a boy family member. While the rest of the girls in my class wore bell-bottom jeans and cute sundresses I wore baggy jeans that my mom hemmed to almost fit me. The only time I was technically following a trend was by mistake. When I fell into depression in high school I wore the same black sweater with my hood up every day. I was labeled an “emo” kid and fit right in with the “scene” trend in the early 2000s. Regardless of my lack of fashion culture, there are trends I wish would come back in style to stick around forever.
Crashing Waves Of The Heart.
Morning here was foggy, grey, and damp. They were the type of cold that stuck to your skin making you ghostly white. It was not until the sun hit the horizon, staining the sky like dandelions stain your hands in springtime, that you felt you could finally breathe. The house had sold during the hours of damp grey to a younger couple that was new to town. Fortunate for both of us I guess seeing how it had been so hard to sell it before. The locals here always passing me with pitty written all over their familiar faces. No one wanted to buy the house because they just thought I was selling out of a mourn-induced psychotic meltdown.