Jim Hodges
Study for Blue IV, 2009
I want to swim.
I want to feel the muscles in my arms cut through the blue, feel the sense of invincibility that oxygen feeds to hungry lungs, hear the splash of my legs in the water, and the cool kiss of the wetness wrapping around me.
(via jesuisperdu)
I love being a girl.
I can feel what you’re feeling
as you’re feeling it inside
the feeling
before.
I am an emotional creature.
Things do not come to me
as intellectual theories or hard-shaped ideas.
They pulse through my organs and legs
and burn up my ears.
I know when your girlfriend’s really pissed off
even though she appears to give you what
you want.
I know when a storm is coming.
I can feel the invisible stirrings in the air.
I can tell you he won’t call back.
It’s a vibe I share.
I am an emotional creature.
I love that I do not take things lightly.
Everything is intense to me.
The way I walk in the street.
The way my mother wakes me up.
The way I hear bad news.
The way it’s unbearable when I lose.
I am an emotional creature.
I am connected to everything and everyone.
I was born like that.
Don’t you dare say all negative that it’s a
teenage thing
or it’s only only because I’m a girl.
These feelings make me better.
They make me ready.
They make me present.
They make me strong.
I am an emotional creature.
There is a particular way of knowing.
It’s like the older women somehow forgot.
I rejoice that it’s still in my body.
I know when the coconut’s about to fall.
I know that we’ve pushed the earth too far.
I know my father isn’t coming back.
That no one’s prepared for the fire.
I know that lipstick means
more than show.
I know that boys feel super-insecure
and so-called terrorists are made, not born.
I know that one kiss can take
away all my decision-making ability
and sometimes, you know, it should.
This is not extreme.
It’s a girl thing.
What we would all be
if the big door inside us flew open.
Don’t tell me not to cry.
To calm it down
Not to be so extreme
To be reasonable.
I am an emotional creature.
It’s how the earth got made.
How the wind continues to pollinate.
You don’t tell the Atlantic ocean
to behave.
I am an emotional creature.
Why would you want to shut me down
or turn me off?
I am your remaining memory.
I am connecting you to your source.
Nothing’s been diluted.
Nothing’s leaked out.
I can take you back.
I love that I can feel the inside
of the feelings in you,
even if it stops my life
even if it hurts too much
or takes me off track
even if it breaks my heart.
It makes me responsible.
I am an emotional
I am an emotional, devotional,
incandotional, creature.
And I love, hear me,
love love love
being a girl.
(Excerpted from: “I AM AN EMOTIONAL CREATURE: The Secret Life of Girls around the World”)
We all curate;
it’s the nature of the beast.
But I like open windows,
and fresh breezes that fill my lungs,
and open doors,
that let in the sun.
I don’t like worrying,
or holding tight for fear of slipping.
I like holding tight because in that moment,
I can’t think of anything that could possibly be better.
I believe in genuine.
And honest.
To oneself most of all.
(Source: lonelyfrenchtraveller, via elistarlight)
I started writing about anger.
Earlier today I got angry.
The fire in my belly angry at the fact that I’m even angry kind of angry.
Sometimes I get angry, I wish I didn’t, I wish I could be one of those perfectly zen yogis who just breathes out negativity and breathes in peace, a window, easy, breezy, beautiful covergirl, but I’m not. I’m just a regular girl, and sometimes, even as I strive for peace and balance, sometimes I get tripped up, and sometimes I get angry.
Someone advised me to own my anger. To feel it. Fully.
And then to release it.
I was still working on the feeling it part, dreading the releasing, because I’m bad at letting go, even of anger.
But then I got a phone call from someone I haven’t talked to in far too long who told me something so happy I barely even noticed as the anger just melted away.
The fire that had been burning through my hands as I clung to it just disappeared into smoke as the enormity of my smile spread from my face out to the ends of my hair and down to the tips of my toes.
I am so grateful for the amazing people in my life. People who remind me that the things and people who make me angry aren’t even worth the calories spent on typing out the letters; a n g r y. People who remind me that there is so much more, that life is beautiful, and that love is real. So incredibly grateful.
And sometimes I hurt so much.
when i was much much younger my mom told me that i had either a talent or a curse because i could, almost always, find exactly the thing to say that would really get to a person. the first time she said it i didn’t really know what she was talking about, but eventually, as i grew and became more self-aware, i began to realize that sometimes, often, when my emotions took over i said things to people and it was like a switch flipped and we were no longer playing the same game. i slowly began to realize the impact we all have on each other and how to think before i spoke, and that just because words flashed before my eyes, that didn’t mean that i should say them.
i got better at controlling my emotions too…that one took a while, and yes, sometimes i still am powerless against myself.
sometimes, in those moments (or after them) of overwhelming emotion, i am reminded of this quote:
“It is better to be violent, if there is violence in our hearts, than to put on the cloak of non-violence to cover impotence. Violence is any day preferable to impotence. There is hope for a violent man to become non-violent. There is no such hope for the impotent.”
Mahatma Gandhi
because sometimes swirling emotions feel just that; violent. and in that violence of emotions i can try to harness them, to maintain non-violence, but even when i can’t, i would rather let that violence erupt out of me than to give in to the hopelessness of spiritual impotence.
in my life, i try very hard to be a good person. i try to treat others as i would want to be treated - with kindness and love and understanding and a recognition that i can never know their struggle but that i can understand that everyone struggles and humans are imperfect and we all make mistakes and, for the most part, we’re all just doing the best we can, and that’s enough.
"
What men mean when they talk about their “crazy” ex-girlfriend is often that she was someone who cried a lot, or texted too often, or had an eating disorder, or wanted too much/too little sex, or generally felt anything beyond the realm of emotionally undemanding agreement. That does not make these women crazy. That makes those women human beings, who have flaws, and emotional weak spots. However, deciding that any behavior that he does not like must be insane– well, that does make a man a jerk.
And when men do this on a regular basis, remember that, if you are a woman, you are not the exception. You are not so cool and fabulous and levelheaded that they will totally get where you are coming from when you show emotions other than “pleasant agreement.”
When men say “most women are crazy, but not you, you’re so cool” the subtext is not, “I love you, be the mother to my children.” The subtext is “do not step out of line, here.” If you get close enough to the men who say things like this, eventually, you will do something that they do not find pleasant. They will decide you are crazy, because this is something they have already decided about women in general.
"Lady, You Really Aren’t “Crazy” (via crookedindifference)
(Source: sparkamovement, via crookedindifference)
sometimes i feel like i might die.
like the ache in my heart just might squeeze the life right out of me.
i’m not unhappy here, in fact, in a lot of ways, i’m happier than i’ve been in a long time…perhaps ever.
but it’s not easy. and sometimes, i just want it to be over.
i have done, and seen, and heard, and felt, amazing things. inspiring, motivating, rejuvenating things. horrific, maddening, saddening things. beautiful things. ugly things. mysterious indescribable things.
i am glad i came here. and that i am here. and that this experience is a part of me now - and a part of who i will one day become. i am glad.
but having my feet on two different continents gets exhausting. and israel or palestine or the middle east or the desert or disneyland, gets exhausting too. and med school gets exhausting. and anticipation of the unknown gets exhausting. and sirens get exhausting. and missing people and things and ideas gets exhausting.
and my thighs burn from doing the splits across the world. and when my niece asks me if i can maybe stay another day or come for christmas morning or spend the night and i have to say no, no my love, i can’t - it breaks my fucking heart. shatters it to pieces. sharp little shards like the pieces of the vase my brother made for me, (blew out of molten glass, and mailed to me across the globe), after my cats, my fucking cats, knocked it off the bookcase.
and while i no longer yearn for a yesterday or a once was, i do miss how wonderful that felt. i miss being in love so completely that there was nothing i was more certain of in the world. a love so strong that i knew, not thought, but knew that i was invincible. that i could do and be anything. that all i had to do was try.
not that it was easy. i had to work hard. but working hard when you have confidence in yourself and the pursuit of your dreams, when you are backed by love and support and encouragement, well it’s like running a race when you’ve trained brilliantly and you’re in the best shape of your life; it’s still hard, hills still suck to get up, but it’s fun too, and rewarding.
i am still breathing though.
and running.
and starting to believe again, that i might just get there in the end, and that maybe the crest of the hill isn’t so far off anyhow.
(via Nabokov’s Legacy: Bequeathing Butterfly Theory | Brain Pickings)
sometimes i forget to breathe
and my chest feels all tight
like someone’s squeezing me
really hard
for a little too long
.
and sometimes i just need to cry a little bit
to just let big wet drops of me tumble out of my eyes
and down my cheeks
and onto my chin
.
and sometimes i remember
that sometimes
flying
is hard work
and sometimes it’s ok to get tired
and to stop for a moment
on a flower
to catch my breath
(via freshphotons)
bruj:Blooming (My Garden State) Spring 2011 (c) K J G F Photography
i’m not usually what most people would call “girlie” but i did play with barbies as a wee lass and i do have a fantasy of one day putting on a pretty white dress to commemorate a love i believe in with all my heart and to share in celebration of the beauty of love with those i hold near and dear.
simple.
fun.
outside with pretty flowers, good food, and a whole lot of dancing and a whole lot of love.
that’s it.
and yet,
at times i wonder…
is it all just some spoon fed fantasy i’ve gobbled up like the good little consumer i’ve been trained to be?
there was a time i knew.
i knew for sure, with out a doubt. not a single doubt. that i’d found that person, that this cinderella story was real.
now…
now i’m not sure what’s real,
and while deep down in the depths of my heart, hope for love still burns brightly,
i’ve stopped trying to figure it out.
i can’t.
at least not right now.
