Party of 3 (200 words)

I saw the clouds in your eyes as you tried to remember why you started. That blanketed expression you offered when you wished things were different although you know life has the ultimate and final say. What could ever possess a person to commit their entire life to dying with nothing but the darkest stenches of mediocrity? Why does living feel like the longest endeavor when it is the soul held captive in this unforgiving human body? Maybe the biggest fear is that they won’t consider your efforts–when the truth is intention means nothing if it does not bring you peace. It used to be about love and honest representation, but now all we do is mask our eternal suffering. Mistakes linger in our hearts–puncturing foundations with their ever-present tease. I know I am not above this “missing pieces” theory. Just like you, I fear failure and the inevitability of time given in vain, if I leave. But you can’t force puzzles to fit where they are not meant to be. I just wish you would admit to yourself what neither party wants to believe:

You will never find what you are looking for, if you refuse to set yourself free.

 


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– Jen Cosby

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Pitiless, Penniless, and Free.

Perhaps you will not have to brace yourself for impact. We know how all things that are not meant to be end. At the beginning, we are so full of wistful expectation that we fail to see the oncoming doom in all its glory.

You were not meant for me.

I whisper this thought internally, because saying it out loud will force me to accept its reality. If I keep it to myself–maybe we can escape the anger and pain that comes when people disappoint you. Maybe being silent keeps us of ignorant of the truth.

But we both know this isn’t true.

Instead, silence rears its ugly head at the exact moment you need to speak. It glances over restoration and latches onto apathy. Now I do not care to fight anymore or try to make things work when I have given all I’ve got and you sat there unchanging.

Famous for painting pictures that no one else can see.

Pity comes from a place of superiority. You “feel bad” for someone–but fail to see how close you are to your own painful story. I was broken in ways that I will never repeat.

Now all I want is to be set free.

 

You are Missing from Me.

As I draw further away from the negative reality of my past year–and come closer to the anniversary of our ending–I am hard pressed to examine and emote and release this anxiety that has already served its purpose for me. I suppose I just gave up when faced with the truth of my deception. I did not fight because I had nothing left to lose. Thought I was strong enough and wise enough to push past the initial defeats, but I will never forget you are missing from me.

I still try at times to make peace in my subconscious. My dreams are filled with road blocks and alternate routes that always lead back to you. Except, I spend most of my time jolted awake by the fact that I cannot change what God has told me is not now possible.

The hope is to give up the hurt you experience, and to focus your efforts on healing.

bloom, growth, healing, flowers, relationships, friendships, loss

Bloom with Intention

We all plant seeds that will one day take root and bear fruit. Whether it is good or bad fruit is determined by what we choose to leave. –Jen Cosby

Usually this would not matter to me. What mattered then is how my hurt manifested itself as a quietly ticking time bomb that without warning exploded on everyone I loved. Shrapnel broke down decades old foundations and opened up carefully concealed scars. This makes me human but also magnifies just how weak I really was. And just how weak I continue to be, when I try to forget you are missing from me.

Today, I walk through doors that I did not have to blow up in order to walk through. They open because they are mine and I did not have to convince myself that I was worthy. They open because I accepted my undeniable part in the mess I experienced and gave up praying God would bless the dysfunction.

I realize my pursuit of wellness may not mean restoration. My desire to be better may never be seen. But I promised myself that I would be honest when I am hurting. And the truth of the matter is you are missing from me.

 


P.S. As life continues to evolve I am realizing that I am posting less frequently on this site. My goal is to only provide “good” thought provoking content at all times. With my current schedule in mind, I will begin to follow a bi-monthly posting schedule.

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-Jen Cosby

For The One Who Birthed Me. (excerpt)

I used to pick fights with
the parts of myself that
seemed to resemble you.

The idea of me that lived up
to your impossible expectations
and the lies I told so often,
they eventually became true.

The difficulty I have now comes
riddled with self doubt because
the one I relied upon did not
know how to meet me half way.

Captured by your adverse opinion,
when all feelings are fleeting.

I will miss you, yes–but I know now that
I am not responsible for your unhappiness.

I will not cut myself open
because you refuse to let me grow.

Flames of Glory.

Flames of glory for the one who lost all control.
I picture this broken body with its propensity to feed
off my soul. Truth bears down on me, forcing me to
overcompensate. For my vanity. For my sadness.
For the bittersweet memory of my never forgotten
mistakes. You dropped your intentions in the middle
of a losing battlefield. Breaking dawn with our
destructive tendencies. I create out of darkness
what you can only obtain in peace. They said
there is no real hope for you or for me.
Tears wet my face as I violently shake the truth
from my mind. We are better together, no matter
what happened the last time. I wish declaring
what you wanted had the power to set you free.
But smoke is in the way and this fire is all-consuming.

Purple Hearts.

art, friendship, watercolor, purpleDecades before I failed to be an honorable person I had a best friend who deserved better than me. She was the type of girl who spoke her mind and loved everyone she allowed into her life intentionally. If any person set out to tell her what she could not do, she was determined to prove them wrong. She was the first of a few brave lady warriors I came to appreciate and know. The female warrior does not stand for disrespect or take bad behavior with her tongue in cheek. She calls you out. Her fierce power requires you take ownership of your faults. She will look for a reason to save you even after you have let her down. If you are lucky–if you have been the worst version of yourself and she still loves you, count this as the ultimate blessing. She knows you are not perfect that you can be a jacked up human being. She will attempt to appeal to your humanity. She will pray for your freedom from damaging perspectives and debilitating beliefs. She will never stop fighting for what she believes. She is an unstoppable force capable of impossible feats. Like, extending an olive branch to a friend she does not even need.

I just hope I am worthy.

Monsters in the Midst.

art, monsters, night

In my attempt to age gracefully, I am growing more uncomfortable with the truth of human interaction. I come from a distant, blended family–built on stubbornness and violent frustration. It is my hope to never want for anything, while I own my individual quest for excellence. Sometimes, I sacrifice the internal fires of the ones I love without a second moments thought.

I am here in part, because a woman desperately sought to continue her line. She chose an act of love, of determination–and no one could convince her otherwise. I am a fact. The result of two people choosing to advance their union. They saw something worth fighting for in a world full of the lost.

Family–was their answer to a lonely existence.

We wrap fragile hearts in a parallel journey. Still, some will not comprehend the gravity of combining their lives. You will quarrel bitterly and resent your other half. Maybe, you will throw a decades old friendship away because you lost your mind. Only to recover it when it is too late to make amends.

I am a tattered end. There are nights I cannot recognize my eyes behind tears I cry when I am sure no one is looking. I question my ability to be wiser and think, wisdom is not worth the trouble of this hazardous road. What good is hindsight if you leave a trail of damage in your wake?

It costs nothing to be a good person, but the price of being innocent is always pain. Even then, the victim is never completely blameless. Monsters dwell in dark spaces under our beds–waiting until you gain your courage…before they take everything you have. I think about how I have become a villain in the narrative of certain peoples lives. How, at one point in time I was a little girl whose own family was infiltrated.

Someone, huffed and puffed and blew my house down.

Knowing a strong foundation could never be knocked to the ground.