Reflect Out Loud

"The unexamined life is not worth living." – Socrates

To F*ckboys

Fuck you.
Fuck you for doing the samba all over my heart.
For making me think this meant more on your part.
For lying and playing games with my mind.
For taking for granted my kindness, my time.
For making me second guess my own worth,
Every time your call never arrived,
Every time your love was denied.

But I blame myself too.
Because it always takes two.
And I was a fool. Blinded by infatuation.
Making excuses against my intuition.
Jumping through hoops just for a crumb,
Texting you first though it made me feel dumb.
Clinging on to false hope,
Addicted, and you were the dope.
I betrayed my own self just to give you a chance,
And you stomped on my heart with your samba dance.

So Fuck you.
Fuck you, Fuckboy.

You don’t deserve my attention.
I’ve placed you in eternal detention.
I’ve learned to put myself first.
I don’t care if you’re dying of thirst.
I’m moving on now.
I’m better off now.
And I’ve learned my lesson.

*image credit to


When Inspiration Seems To Hide

I haven’t felt very inspired to write. At least not for your eyes and ears.
It’s like I’ve been cut off from grace.
Well. I am being extreme.
But that is certainly what it feels like.

I’ve been yearning for something I cannot name. Something I cannot describe. And every now and then I get a whiff of the emptiness that seems to follow me like a sticky shadow that never gives up.
I’ve come to understand this as part of my human experience.
I’ve come to learn that running away from my unpleasant feelings only creates more agony.
So now I sit with it.
I allow it to be.
I realize feelings come and go.
They are waves.
Sometimes they are up high. In the middle. Down low. Somewhere fluctuating between both extremes. All over. And that’s ok.

I am learning that there is greatness in simplicity.
There is joy in small moments. Like sitting here and writing this.
Or liking the way I look in my chestnut colored uggs and black leggings I cut into booty shorts.
Not everything needs to be some great accomplishment.
But it is great to be great as well.
And only time and continuous action will bring us there.

I am learning to play Kendama.
At first I sucked real bad. Now I suck a little less.
I can actually follow along ok.
This has taught me that the more you do something you know nothing of, the more you get better. And better. And better. And better. And better.
I’ve also learned it doesn’t have to be about being better all the time. Sometimes you just do it for fun. You just do it because you do it.

And so I write.

Stress and Peace

These are my brief, unedited ideas on stress and peace.

Peace is a lifestyle. It is something that you cultivate. It is something that you practice. And the more you practice it the better you get at it – like with anything in life. You have to learn to be at peace. And it is something that you will improve on as life goes on. There are always challenges both big and small that trigger stress, anxiety, depression, sadness and all other kinds of undesired feelings, bodily sensations and behaviors. Therefore, it is up to you to learn to work with your body and mind to cultivate the level of peace necessary to deal with the external stressor. Some external stresses might be small and easy to deal with like dropping ketchup on your shirt or breaking a glass or something. For some people though, something small like that might seem to be the end of the world. That’s because they haven’t practiced much peace yet. Because if you practice then something small like that won’t affect you at all… and the more you practice even the big things won’t affect you – not even death or loss. Or anything. Because you have mastered peace. And it’s hard. And takes lots and lots of practice and time and dedication. Peace is a way of life. You have to chose it. Because really the alternative is stress and it’s just so uncomfortable living like that.

Just Not Ripe

Sometimes we move too soon, too fast.
We pick before the fruit is ripe.

And that’s okay. Next time you’ll wait.
This time you learn.

Some Feelings

I hate-love the feeling of falling in love.

The butterflies and anticipation. The bubbling excitement. The mystery and courtship. Smiling for no reason. That little gnawing feeling of wondering where you are and what you’re doing. The absence.

I hate it.

I love it.

Neither Here nor There

There is so much I wish to say, yet at the same time nothing at all.
I am in this strange, uncomfortable, awkward stage of being and becoming.
In the middle of limbo.

Parts of me feel numb. While others feel quite alive.

I feel like a very well seasoned soup.

In love.

Everything all in one little bowl.

Metamorphosis: The Butterfly

What does it feel like to be a butterfly? To be born again? To leave the old life behind; old customs, old body, old places. To embrace the new and tread the allure of unfamiliar territory?

Is it something like growing out of your kiddy shoes; you know – the ones that lit up when you walked? Or like silently packing your last  sweatshirt as you whisper goodbye to the teary eyes of the person you once thought was forever?

Is it like the heavy heart and slow motion hand that unwillingly closes the novel that enraptured your soul? Or like the volcanic laughter that erupts when you hear a good joke?

Is it like the feeling of Dejavu? Or more like flipping through long forgotten memories captured in still photos stored away in the depths of your closets?

Maybe it’s like a delicious morning stretch after a sweet night’s sleep? Or perhaps like a pink-fire sunset melting into the ocean?

Or could it be a little of everything? Not so much one more than another. A bittersweet conglomerate of past, present and projected future, whose colorful eyes fiercely vibrate to the dream of you. Of you who are becoming. Of you who are awaiting to birth.

*Image credit to google images

Want Not to Want

I want to be a dream.
I want to morph.
I want to be light.
I want to make love to you,
and to seduce you.
Then walk away –
and run wildly back into your arms
because my absence never fazed you.

I want to be beautiful like the models on TV.
Not just this average beauty. This “We’re all beautiful in our own way” kind of beauty.
But truly stunning. You can’t get your eyes off stunning.

I want to be beautiful on the inside too – because that’ll make me even more beautiful.
Inside and out. Not just one or the other – both. Not just average but whatever comes right before perfect if perfect isn’t an option.

Then I want to be alone. Alone to love myself. Alone to be perfect – whatever that means to me because what it means to me is always enough when I don’t need you; when I don’t want you.

But then I want to see you. You who is almost perfect. And I want to love you. And then I want to leave you because your imperfection bothers me. Because I want to feel superior – and actually be superior. Not just in theory. Not some narcissism. In truth and in every way better and more perfect than you.

Then I want to cry and feel sorry for myself. Sorry and guilty for ever wanting to be better. And for actually being better.

Then I will humble myself. I will be imperfect. You will have all the right to shine, even brighter than I. You will have right to be anything you desire because you deserve a chance if the game is to be fair and foolproof. This will be the way to prove that I am not necessary. To prove that I am creation and that perfection is irrespective of me even though it is me — it is you. This is the way it’s been all along.

Everything will be fair. Balanced. And it’ll be utterly boring to the wise. Utterly predictable. All it will mean is that everything is possible. And what’s the fun in that? You will know all the answers and pretend not to know. And for what end? Just to live out stories. Stories after stories. And so it will be. I’ll live my story. You live yours. We live ours. And so on ad infinitum.

Then I want to find – I don’t even know what I’d like to find after all that.
It’s never enough because the story never ends. The end is the continuous search because there’s always more. There are no limits. There’s always more. There’s always more. There’s always more.

What satisfies me is to forget. Forget all of it. Forget the stories. Forget you. Forget me. Forget life. Forget all realms.
The black screen forever. Pure nothing. Finally I can rest. This is my favorite place to be. At rest. Not in some point in time telling stories after stories. Not living story after story. But Here. Beyond the Silence. In the Eternal. In the nothing. As nothing. For nothing. Through nothing.

Because only when I am nothing I do not want. Only when I am nothing I am truly perfect.

In being nothing there is nothing I could ever fall short of. There is nothing to miss- nothing to lack – nothing to need – nothing to want.
To not exist is better than to exist.
Because in non-existence there is no such thing as better. Nothing wrong. Nothing right. Literally nothing.


Mmmm. Perfect.

But I cannot convince you of this. It would just be another story. My position versus your position and vice versa as it always is in this dimension of reality. You must come to know it yourself – through yourself, for yourself.

Meet me in the nothing. I’ll be waiting for you. Let’s be together as none again.

And when we are done, if ever, we can always come out and play again. After all, even though I hate your never ending stories, I love you enough to listen.

“See” you there.


No Title

I’m tired of the same old story. Of worn cliches. Of exhausted roads that lead to nowhere new. Particularly tired of airy fairy ideologies that offer no real, tangible, practical direction.


There comes a point in time where you just have to see that no one else will live your life but you. You are responsible for your results. And what are you going to do? Stay safe forever and play small because you’re so afraid to try? Scared to be original? To just fucking do it — whatever IT is?

Or perhaps fear isn’t the only demon that haunts you. Perhaps it’s laziness. Lack of motivation. It’s so much easier to just sit back and relax – let the others do the work.  And that’s fine. It’s your life. You can choose to be lazy and let the unexpressed desire eat away at you like a burning acid.


Overthinking gets the best of you.


Blog at

Up ↑