P is for Perdóname

life, alone, forgiveness, kusaka

-where there is love, nothing is too much trouble, and there is always time –

For years now my love remained committed in a box that would only open for one specific person. No matter what angles or hoops or blockades we were given, I was determined to stand up to any opposition. So certain was I, that I called every reemergence a miracle and welcomed him back into my life. After all, everyone deserves a chance to make things right. But when you get one, remember that every chance you get is tethered to a past that you (and everyone around you) may not be fully able to forget. Still, we all want the ability to dive back in–in spite of our valid reservations. We want love to reign without damage and hearts to permanently mend. The truth however, is that some people want to remain broken. I am learning the hard way that the pursuit of perfection makes one blind to their own stubborn vision. That I am entitled to my perspective, but someone else may experience something entirely different. And forgiveness cannot rest while you are bleeding out from your respective chest of open wounds and passive beginnings. You cannot win anything if your answer is to run every time you face a setback or defeat. No one emerges unscathed from the tragedy of living. At the end of the day, the question will always be….Do You Love Me? Those four words have stirred in the back of stubborn minds and brought together weaker individuals than you and I. They doubled down on their investment and chose to stand and fight. And since we get to do the choosing–I pray we always get to decide–who stays, who leaves, who is ours for the rest of our lives.

This is not our story, but at least we can say we tried.



M is for Memories.

art, codependency, kusaka, blog, memories

I have a desire to be honest but the truth will make me appear vulnerable. So I choose to bury my feelings deep in my subconscious where they cannot hurt me anymore. The hope is that what lies dormant will eventually fade away. Or that there will come a time when I am able to embrace the necessity of change. After all, it is the heart that is most resistant. It fights in the midst of our self-inflicted pain and throws itself back into the fire over and over again. Right now it is fighting for me. Now, my heart fights against the fantasy it was sold. It grieves the lie of a happy ending. Now, it is working to protect the most precious thing I have remaining–my belief. I feel caught up in a bitter loop of broken memories. Trying desperately to suppress these thoughts that no longer serve me. I remember the last time I wandered towards the cusp of a permanent heartbreak. Numbing my emotions with spirits and physical interactions for which my soul will ultimately pay. Forgiveness still lingers in the atmosphere begging me to release that which I am struggling to forget. But the hardest truth we sometimes face with painful memories, is the fact that they are not done with you yet.

You Cannot Rush Freedom (400 words)

freedom, inspiration, life, writing

Most of us exist for tiny moments of excitement–forever looking for the next thrill to write home about. I wish life was always this simple and we did not have to think about problems or troubles or figure out 5-year plans. But the truth is, an honest life is one of requirement. Everyday we must come to terms with the fact that our lives are not completely our own. We are responsible for other people–in the most benign to the most extreme of ways.

And nothing wakes one up faster than realizing that another person is counting on you.

I imagine taking this type of ownership to its highest peak. Because without sacrifice, we are incapable of offering anyone anything. Sometimes, the hardest part of my day is facing this blatant reminder in the form of an unrelenting alarm clock. It screams, “Wake Up!” when all I really want to do is sleep. The act of hitting snooze in this instance is probably one of the most selfish things.

When I was a child, I relied upon my parents to prepare me for every future event. From school and extracurricular activities to family special occasions; I was helpless without them. At times I found myself helpless as a result of them. Now that I am an adult, I remember the way I would rationalize their dysfunction on my life. I did not see drunkenness and disorder; it was unpredictable fun. My mother was not financially irresponsible and careless, she was spontaneous and carefree.

This is the lens I used to guard my innocence when what I really needed was protecting.

I dreamed of leaving my destructive nest and living a life of order and structure. I remember trying to fly on my own for the first time and it was then I learned that you cannot rush freedom. I thought maybe flapping my wings and kicking up dust would guarantee that no one could ever reach me. But the higher I flew, the more I lost sight of my calling and destiny. It took coming back down and sitting in the reality of all the hurt I experienced that finally gave me the courage to let it all go.

I could have chosen to cling to my past and perpetuate the cycle of pain, transferring the guilt I felt onto my offspring. I could have continued to run from my responsibilities. But I know I must live a life of intention.

And God intended for me to be free.

The One You Love (300 words)

He leaned in the door frame with a shadow cast over his eyes from the hallway light. He looked down pensively as she stood in silence behind him. Neither wanted to be the first to walk away but both understood that something needed to change. Maybe if I was awake I would have understood the significance of this goodbye. Night fell over the home as children slept under the weight of adult decisions.

Decisions that would affect the rest of their lives.

I wish I was intuitive enough to accept change with grace but all I remember is his absence the next day. Perhaps no honest explanation could have made a difference. After all, when you do not get to choose you must learn to accept what is given to you. Every day people fall out of love, break up and move on to brand new families.

None of which eases the pain of this modern day tragedy.

Years later, tales of love hit me like bricks in the chest as I mused on the idea of happiness. My experience of happily ever after left nothing worth desiring in my imagination. It seems the older we get the less likely we are to compromise–or seek a winning balance for both sides in the relationship.

So much easier to promise forever when your heart has not been broken.

I want to believe that anything is possible. I want to hope without fear that happy endings exist–that second chances can make all the difference. Because what have you really accomplished by leaving the moment it gets hard? Every bad thing that has ever happened leads you closer to the person who deep down you are.

The fights, the lies and the ugliest of goodbyes

…all have the potential to save your life.

The Heart Spits Fire.

There is something gorgeous and tragic about bearing witness to another person’s world crashing down. You feel invincible if they choose to let you in–to their pain and suffering. As if, you could be capable of some kind of beneficial help. For some, it is easier to go through life focusing on anything else but their selves. Telling other less aggressive people what they need to do.

I’ve got all this energy pent up. Crossed with a reluctance to check back in with an undesirable reality. I keep feeling like I can do a whole lot better. Maybe make faster decisions that will ultimately be positive for me. A lot of times we prefer to remain stuck–in our monotonous cycles and inconsistent dreams. Never fully fighting for a change in anything. But I always believed I would live my life differently.

watercolor, art, faces, portrait, depression

If only I knew where to start.

Lately, I continue to grapple with the thought of what in particular makes me so special or indispensable? How do I redirect this perpetually misguided energy from the ghosts of bad decisions and reinvest them properly? I wonder, does growing up come from absorbing difficult losses? Do we accept pain with forced smiles on our wrinkled faces?
Am I finally realizing that I am too old to keep ignoring the necessity of pain?

This dark-eyed agent of misery has propelled me to great heights many times before. Yet, as soon as I begin losing momentum, I let myself forget just how much that growth cost. The current sticker price of this knowledge will force me to write off 2016 as a loss. There is no insight in the world worth all the damage I have caused.

I only act self-centered and uncaring because I have no other choice now but to move on.


Burn, Pine, Perish.


absent, minimalist, art
ABSENT: Richard Shipley

The only thing worse than a woman you cannot tame is one you can never figure out.

Sometimes this is fun for men, a challenge if you may. You felt, you would eventually claim her and place her on your shelf of impossible things. Or perhaps, you tried to admire from a safe distance–and learned regretfully, that this would never be enough.

For a week now, I have been poisoning a man with the seductive nature of the alternate reality. Letting him desire and believe in a future with me. It took him a few days to realize that I would not hand myself over or play into his insecure games. But he continued to push against my resistance anyway.

I knew from the beginning I would fail every one of his tests, so I decided not to play. I was harsh and absentminded. Elusive and purposely vague. He decided this was normal and patted himself on the back for making it this far. If only he knew how much confusion he could have avoided by turning the other way when we met.

I suppose it is no longer about being truthful and honest even when it is hard.

I know I am not free to explore a new realm of possibilities. Chained to this unfinished business–that is impossible for me to forget so easily. I wait for the final ball to drop. Entertain this, proverbial sign I still hope exists. Spending half the morning analyzing notification messages.

Wondering, just how much worse can it really get.

Rushing in Like a Hurricane.

tornados, weather, storms, life

Sometimes I want to stand outside in my backyard and scream at the sky. I know you aren’t listening, but this helps to release frustration when I feel I am going out of my mind. They say, suffer well once so you never have to suffer again. But I am a repeat offender. The more I experience, the more I become complacent. Could I literally pack up everything and take a trip to a destination where no one would dare to look? Only I would burn an entire house down because the phone is ringing off the hook. I ask myself why can’t I just answer it. What am I really afraid is on the other end of the call.

Maybe what I’m running from is buried deep underneath the ashes and rubble.

No matter where I go or who I drag along, this itch continues to beg to be scratched. For a long time I successfully ignore it. But then, instead of the hand or my arm or neck–my entire body trembles with the need to react. I am a lustful creature of shameful habits. Craving temporary pleasures that almost bring me to the perpetually elusive happy place. These are contradictory truths, exposing antagonistic behaviors that no one ever wants to admit they have.

The peak of my ambivalence is coming up fast and I know
from experience it is going to be bad.