Everything I have is nothing, though everything I am is everything I've ever been. I've had so many words bubbling inside me lately and once again I've let them ferment so long that I either have very little to say anymore or I just can't seem to remember most of it.
I long so deeply to connect with others. To show others that they are not alone, but more than that. I want people to see their full potential. I don't want to be afraid to say what I feel. I want my words to be uplifting, to be encouraging, honest, and true. When I pass people on the sidewalk I want love to pour out.
And all of the pouring out that I do (or at least try to do) seems to leave me empty. Who is pouring into me? Who will pour into me? And questions like that leave me feeling selfish. Who am I to ask for others to pour into me? When people begin to show any sort of concern for me I am quick to think that they are doing it in an effort to just make me feel better about myself. Or that I don't really deserve their accolades.
So how do I share with others about how valuable they truly are if I'm not willing to hear of my own value? What do I truly value? What are my deepest desires?
I want to connect with others. I want to hold peoples' hearts in my hands. There are moments when I feel like I've held my heart in my hands and these moments are precious. It's hard to describe these moments, other than to say that it feels like I'm living a metaphor. These moments remind me that clichés come from somewhere. The become cliché for a reason: so many people have found themselves resonating with similar sentiments that some words and phrases become overused.
Is it really these moments that make me feel this way? I'm not too sure.
Writing, sometimes rambling, seems to give me life to a certain extent.
Creating does too. I like making things out of "nothing." All of this "nothing" that I have isn't really nothing. I've been given creative potential. We all have, really. Let's break the rules and leave them behind. When people try to tell us that there's one mold that we all have to fit in let's show them our scars. Do you know we're all unique? Before you make judgments about how I experience my life will you put my shoes on for a week? I'm not saying that I know everything, far from it in fact; rather that when you try and put us all in a box it makes me fear for those who blindly follow you. What are you teaching my brothers and sisters? Who have you led astray that is just looking for hope? Whose hope, like mine, have you printed on a doormat and walked all over? I will not be walked on. My experiences are my own though I believe that some things need to be shared.