This is not yours
This small victory is mine
But thank you to the universe
For sending you to my side
Inspiration comes in all different ways
You’ve been a refreshing wind each and every day
A guide with a calm touch
A reminder of a dream
An alarm I didnt set
This is not yours
Not this victory
But thank you for reminding me
Of me
One side of this white lined page
contains,
each dream,
every hope,
and all of my fears.
Surrounded by the happiest tears,
and how crazy they all seem
now that everything I had wanted has come to be.
On the other side,
still with the white lines,
are ink blots and rage
of my demons forcefully shoved back into their cage.
No more adventures
no more dream.
I’m all that is left.
Back to just me.
That other page now
it only brings pain.
It’s funny how quickly things can change.
©C. O’Connor, 2018
A neurotic
A sickly child
impressed by the natural world
A drop out
with great acclaim
An alcohol abuser
a contradictory image
met the dancer
the mistress
a passionate and turbulent love
all for show
a reject due to illness
a notorious poet
an archetypal Romantic
a flamboyant theatric
a heavy drinker
he collapsed
he died
a legendary figure
©C. O’Connor, 2016
“Dylan Thomas.” Academy of American Poets. N.p., n.d. Web.
It is truly sad to think, that so many times the people who offer the most supportive and positive words, are the ones that battle with the darkest and deepest fears and inner demons. However, it is only because of their own struggle that they know what words to say. It is because of their own internal war that they know how to react to hearing the battle stories of others. It is both a curse and a blessing if you choose to see it that way. The choice is yours, but I choose positivity. I choose to use my own darkness to help others get through theirs. So that someday, hopefully, we can say we know what true happiness feels like. Together.
Tell me a story, a story that can make me cry. Tell me a story that can make me laugh. A story that can make me weak or strong. Tell me a story that can change my life, that can remind me of who I want to be. Tell me a story that can change the world, that can change my world. A story of life.
Please, tell me a story.
©C. O’Connor, 2016
No feelings. No thoughts. No words. No nothing but space and time and history, I guess. There is a lot of history here. So much so that it breaks me. Just the thought of it. Of it all. That simple thought can stop me in my tracks, and start me running back. Back to everything I was. Everything I originally ran from. History. Oh History. It can kill. It can ruin someone. It can ruin me. So we stand. No feelings. No thoughts. No words. Just nothing. Space and history. So much of each. They can make us or ruin us. Which will it be? Yes or no? Made or ruined? Home or running?
©C. O’Connor, 2016
Can’t breathe
Haven’t been
Day to day
Coughing lungs
One gives up clogs up
In my face
Months
Months!
Dealt with it
Not dying
Not of this
sick mentally
sick emotionally
sick physically
Falling mind
Falling apart
Stress from outside
Body breaking
To nothing
I’ll be gone
Grains of sand.
©C.O’Connor, 2016
The things I want are not what you think I want. I do not want clothes, or shoes, or material things. What I hope for is a state of mind.
I want to wake up excited for the day, every day. I do not only want to look forward to the special days when something new is planned.
I want to live without stressing about schedules: work schedules, sleep schedules, no schedules. Except for the ones I create. No life except the life I choose.
I want to be adventurous without worrying about the things that I should be doing.
I want to be reckless without worrying about my reputation.
I want to stay up and sleep late without knowing that the next day will be a waste because of it.
I want to have a job that doesn’t exhaust me so much that by the time I get home I have nothing left in me other than the ability to get ready for the next day.
I want to go outside and see the sun without glass in between.
I want to be happy.
I want to care about things that I care about because I care about them, and not because I’m supposed to according to someone else.
I want to look forward to tomorrow because I am excited about each second.
I want to want to live every moment to its fullest, and not see each day as something standing in my way. One more day on the count down to something.
I want more from life than this.
So stop telling me that I want I want I want, because I have studied, and I have worked, and I have tried this current lifestyle to my best ability. Now I think I deserve, but that doesn’t mean that I will stop working. I only want to work for something that I actually want instead of what I’ve been forced into caring about.
©C.O’Connor, 2016
I’m not the hero. I don’t think I am the villain. Hell, I’m pretty positive that were my life made into a movie I wouldn’t even be the main character. I’d be that random person standing in the background. Everyone around me would have reactions on their faces to whatever is going on. I wouldn’t. My face would be blank. My face is always, and has always, been blank. I’ve heard about it since I was a kid.
One of my earlier memories goes to a time when I was in second or third grade. It was the end of the school day with the excitement of freedom coursing through the student body. I was leaning against the wall in the middle of my class’ line. I think it was the summer, close to the end of the school year. (I have no idea why, and I’m probably lying. It just feels right.)
I can see a blob of colors from kid’s clothes across the hall. I can hear the high pitched thrum of children’s voices overlapping. I don’t remember what I was doing in line, or whether or not I was talking to someone. I do remember the teacher I had in the first grade walking up to me. I do remember her telling me to smile. I do not remember my answer, but I kept thinking, why is she asking me? I wasn’t the only one not smiling. I wasn’t the only kid not looking happy.
So why did she ask me? Why single me out? I didn’t understand then. It took me years to hear the saving phrase that would explain the countless comments I’ve received throughout my life. It explained all of the looks, all of the are you okays?, the you look like you’re about to kill sombodys, and the are you depresseds?
The phrase is Resting Bitch Face. I don’t know when I first heard it, but it has become a part of my life, my daily life. No I’m not depressed, at least not at this moment in my life. No I’m not going to kill someone. I don’t want to go to jail. And don’t even get me started on whether or not I’m okay.
©C. O’Connor, 2016
My watch stopped. The world stopped. In that space on my wrist time no longer exists. It does not move forward or back. It is still. Life is still. At 10:37 on the 23rd. If it is morning or night I do not know. If it is Summer or Winter I do not know.
It does not matter. Times does not have to matter. We make it matter. We create the rush or lag. Maybe we should take out all of the batteries.
©C. O’Connor
The Rant 