Untitled Thoughts

Today, my brain has remained blank.

I try to think of what to write,

and nothing comes my way.

What you will read are thoughts

not entirely thought out.

Enjoy.

I notice patterns I've formed

over years of coming into my own.

What I lean on to distract is

nothing more than silly facts. 

This, that, and the next thing

doesn't help me focus on what

matters. I sway out of stories

of continuation, not born from

my mind. I sit and wonder why.

The internet is my enemy when

I need to focus. I go down

different rabbit holes of

google, twitter, and instagram

searching for anything. Movies,

television shows, song choices,

whatever perked my interest

will become a momentary

obsession of distraction. I

make stories in my head that

will never be formed into words

on a page. Certain stories aren't

meant to be known by anyone but me.

They aren't good enough. My mind

plays around with stories. I'm

writing one now, a story of my own,

born in my thoughts, written on

pages. I've been working on it for

almost two months. I know where I

want it to end and I'm not even

close. It's exciting, though. To

make a character come to life and

write what happens on a journey

of her own. So far, I like it.

Maybe one day you will read it. 

And you will wonder if it was

the story I'm writing about now. 

#MeToo

Too young to know
what happened
wasn't a game

He framed it
as something
fun and simple

Looking back
I wonder if his 
pattern continued




I didn't want him
to enter my
personal space

Arms crossed
I stood away

Clearly uncomfortable

He kept touching
my shoulder

Said he didn't
bite

Pulled me in
for an unwanted hug
my arms still crossed

I pushed him away
and ran

Scared he would follow me
and do something worse

Though I was physically okay
the moment left mental scars
throughout my teenage years


Anxiety

Fear
Paranoia

Always thinking the worst

What if
What if
What if
What if
What if


The thoughts I had running away
were applied repeatedly day after day



I don't remember
their appearances, 
voices, or names

Only their actions remained

★

Over the last couple of weeks, the hashtag MeToo has become prevalent across all social media platforms. I've read so many stories from girls and women of all ages, detailing the horrible encounters and incidents that left them forever changed. Reading stories from those I follow and who I am friends with, I understand that I'm not the only young woman who fears rape, sexual assault, or harassment every time I walk out my door. Whenever I'm anywhere in public, especially when I am alone, I'm hyper-aware of my surroundings. Who is near me and what is they're doing. I walk fast with determination and ignore anyone I don't know who tries to stop me. I pretend I don't hear them or shake my head without stopping. This is the mechanism I've developed over the years to feel as comfortable and calm as I can without letting vulnerability or anxiety lead my thoughts to my fears. I'm a focused walker. I can push my fears to the side to get through my day, or at least from place to place.  



One post that really stuck with me was from Caitlin FitzGerald, who wrote on Instagram:


"This summer my father and I were listening to the radio and a story came on about fear and the host said something like, "(white) men are truly afraid a handful of times in their lives, while women are afraid almost every day." My father turned to me in shock and said, "is that true for women?!" To which I could only reply with shock of my own: "Of course it is dad."" 



If this hashtag has taught society anything is that we live in a culture where much more goes unspoken than expected. Women (and men) are scared to share their stories because they're afraid of not being believed. There is an unspoken fear among the majority of women. 

We have stories. We are sharing them and we are being listened to. Where do we go from here? 

To My Mother

You see a version of you when you look at me

A younger one with your blonde hair

I am your mini-me, six inches shorter exactly

Half a foot, my two steps equals your one

Walking around the city for days

You tell me a bit about the old days

When you were my age, living in a city northeast of where we were

I'm the navigator, you're the passenger

You remind me to look around 

When I don't know where we are or where we're supposed to go

You tell me that time brings

Joy for the journey instead of the destination

I was too busy searching To see what could be 

I looked around more, appreciated the view

Of people living their lives and buildings sky high

You reminded me what to focus on what's important, what matters

I regret not spending more time the first day looking around

And seeing what I missed, we could have gone down a street

With moments I will never glimpse

Youth focuses on getting there and wisdom removes the anticipation

You forgive me when I got mad at you when I was really mad at my phone

For not understanding the road, the sidewalk of this place

There was magic in the heat of the sun but my mind and body were focused

On the feelings instead of observing how incredible the city is

I cried when we were leaving because you were going and I felt alone

What if What if What if What if What if

Swirled through my mind allowing me to cry

I would have been fine if I had less time

To go over why, to handle my thoughts

Unexpected moments, uncertain moments

Dramatic emotions, the rain was falling down

Tears were falling too, both neverending and fast

Causing reality to blur, all I wanted to go home

Though I said I love you first

Last Dance with Tom Petty

I was seventeen when I first heard Tom Petty's Mary Jane's Last Dance. I was driving around in the car with my mom, practicing for my driver's test the following day. When the song came on the radio, I instantly wanted to know whose song it was and listen to it a million times. There was something about the feel and tone of the song that grabbed my attention and told a complex story. To me, it was about many things and perhaps nothing of what Tom expected the song to be. I asked my mom what the song was and she said she thought it was Tom Petty.

When we returned home from driving around in circles, I looked up the song on Youtube and found a cd that my dad had of Tom Petty. I downloaded the song onto my iPod touch and played it on repeat for hours. There's something about the beginning of this song that says everything without words. The instruments, the echo, and the electric guitar create this unique feeling that everything is wrong and it's all caused by running away from who you're supposed to be to form this person that stays in people's memory.

The woman he’s singing about in the song isn't perfect and he details the aspects of her character that aren’t pretty. He doesn’t see past them and she doesn’t doesn’t try to hide them. Maybe I grasped onto his version of this woman because we, as the listener, do not know if her version of herself matches how he’s choosing to depict her as. We’re not aware of he’s a reliable narrator. To me, she represents someone who I’m never capable of being but ultimately was. At the time when I first heard this song, I wasn’t able to acknowledge who I was. I was mentally on the run, refusing aspects of myself I can’t change and yet everyone hears it. I was scared of what acknowledging who I am could mean. I wasn’t prepared and I ran for as long as I could.

Nowadays, I’m no longer running away from myself. Therefore, I can no longer relate to the girl Tom Petty was singing about. Last Monday, when I heard he unfortunately left this life at the young age of  66, I listened to all the Tom Petty songs I love throughout my day on Tuesday. Listening to Mary Jane’s Last Dance over and over again, I could hear who I once was and who the women he sang about used to be. 

Loops

Innocent lives meet an unexpected demise.

Legends fall from the fading skies.

Lost for words, don't know what to say.

Tears are shed when violence ends the day.

Shock makes silence when words go down your throat.

I write this little note.

Nothing makes sense, nothing is real.

Though it is, it is real.

These words you read come from me.

Trying to understand, trying to see.

What it means when this occurs,

And everything becomes blurred.

I ask questions but find no answers.

You sang to many unique dancers.

Destruction from pain that isn't sane.

No one asked to play your games.