anytime someone says God has a plan it's never a plan anyone is very fond of.
in fact, that statement is in no way a comfort and i really wish people would just stop saying it to me. all it does is make the person on the receiving end feel completely alone, completely helpless... completely hopeless too.
i understand they're really only attempting to comfort themselves when they say that. and i can be sympathetic to that. and if it does work to calm the speaker of that horribly inept sentence, then they should just repeat it inside their own head, to themselves, where no one else has to hear it.
because we have plans too.
the same plans everyone has.
we have good, wholesome, beautiful plans.
simple plans. simple times. simple hopes.
don't tie my hands behind my back so i can't hold those dreams anymore. why can't i just be allowed to hold them just a little while longer? don't take my hope from me. i'm someones daughter. i'm someones child. just let me hold on to the remainders of my daughterhood. just a little while longer. the good remainders. the ones i want to keep. the ones that are long hugs and back scratches. the ones that let me feel like i belong somewhere. the ones that make me feel like i do have a place to call home. is there any place in the world that feels more like home than when your parent hugs you? is there really a person on the planet that doesn't long for that feeling to claim them again? that feeling when you were little and you were held up high. held up and laughing. held up and protected and warm.
i'm just so angry. everyone who is going through this is angry. but i'm not angry at god. i'm not angry at anyone. i'm angry about the threat of time, the loss of time, and all the things that i haven't gotten to yet... as if a parent even needs a very big reason to feel proud of their child.
it's such a slow, horrible fear.
such a dawdling anguish. the spin of sorrow and regret and not knowing what to do.
there are so many days where i have no clue what to do with myself. i try to write it out and plug this in to the work... but i just end up feeling as inept and ridiculous as that damn statement.
the only sentence that feels at all close to the reality of all this is i just want my mama.
most days i just feel like begging.
i'll probably end up deleting this.
these texts are an archive of my life in the San Francisco Bay Area from march 2007 - march 2015. it stands as a record of close to a decade of my life, charting the struggles i faced as an artist, daughter, and lover. messy and chaotic at times, eloquent and poetic at others, these texts are an index i am proud of. it was here in this electric box that i learned how to be honest about my experiences and the person i needed to become. it was here that i first learned the truism that words make the world and how to trust such a beautiful, rife, hard fact.
thank you for meeting me here in such tall grass.
my artist website is here.
my artist website is here.