30

Never had to think about getting old.

I was so sure I would die young and full.

I had a list of things I wanted to accomplish and I made sure to finish them by 27 because that was the age of my foreseen death.

Now, on the verge of 29, the weight of 30 dawns on me.

Trapped in a mundane cycle of life as an adult. I look for an exit now that is not death.

A future that I had never drawn.

I want to try everything. Every thing is new again just like back at 18 when I decided 27 would be my demise.

Now, knowing any day I could lose the most precious thing in the world to me, I need to plan even more carefully than ever.

Yet, the goal that is sustainable for a long term might take all of me to find.

Edible bite size chunks of life must be designed. So that every step gives me a sense of fulfillment. Rather than having to accomplish the goal to finally be happy. I need to make sure every step I take is a step in itself both a step towards happiness and a step into happiness.

Many people now choose a nomadic life.

Trying to make meaning of the insignificance of one existance over a vast majority of the ever growing population and the ever dying Earth.

Is that a path for me?

Each day I must practice. Practice the things I love to be good at.

I must... (I know it will be difficult at this age) learn to have complete self discipline and focus.

I am connected even addicted to the network without any emotional or mental engagement... I must learn also to make connections that is true and of myself.

In order, I need to learn myself.

What are my qualities?

I am good at everything but exceptional at nothing. Because I have talent that ran out some 5 years ago and lack of practice and self discipline and overwhelming procrastination have put me into mental and physical hybernation state.

I must wake up and run again.

There is more life to live.

Mug

Frustration at my inability to step forward dawned on me in a heavy cloak of anger.

I screamed.

Then I grabbed his mug as if it were the thing that destroyed me and slammed it against my marble countertop.

To my surprise, it shattered into pieces and flew out everywhere.

My hand was bleeding incessessantly, but I did not feel a thing.

The noise blew him towards me, "My grandmother bought me that mug!"

Grandmother means a lot to him and I...

I couldn't allow myself to feel... I muttered, "You should have cleaned it up then! Its always out here!"

I started cleaning the the mess up as he got the dogs ready and fled.

bleeding became a little annoying and so i washed away the broken ceramic pieces from under the cuts and let the blood clot before moving again.

It's been 1 year and 1 day...
Nothing has changed and I havent moved forward.

4 years of painful past and the possible 70 or so more years my inability will bring upon me rushed over in anxious haste.

What is there left to do?

Pocket Size Me

I wish I were pocket sized.

So you may take me with you every where you go.

I will fall asleep in your warmth every day.

I won't have to leave for work so extra 10 hours of cuddling time with you.

I will only need small crumbs for food so you won't have to work so hard to provide for the family.

Though we may not have much, we will have enough.

Millenial struggles--where you only work yourself into more debt--won't be for us, because I would only have pocket size expenses.

During the day I can hang by your ear to whisper sweet melodies.

I will get to play with your squishy earlobes as a plus!

I will take naps by your shoulder, I would have to alternate sides so not to give you a knot on one side.

The world will be a wonder for me, so we won't have to wander far in search of wonder. So less travelling expenses, too.

Our wedding will be so affordable since walking down the aisle for me will mean the length of your finger.

I will love you and every thing will be romantic.

Only now to build a shrink ray...

Till then I still miss you every day...

Abuse

No one is the abuser.
Both are victims.
No end is seen.
Only self defense.
But we are full of bruises, twisted backs, swollen joints, scars on the skin... show signs of abuse.
If no one is the abuser,
Why are we abused?
But the finger is crossed.
Fingers belong to someone else.
Both are abusers.
But I'm the victim and so is he.
Unseen is the abuse but seen is the victim.
Unseen is the victim but seen is the action.
Words are like thorned whips.
Slashes like a bitch.
It's coming from the mouths of victims.
Violence is the self defense.
There are two victims of abuse.
But there are no abusers.
In the end, only the great God knows.
How it will go.
How it will pass.
No one's falling out.
Each with each's motive.
Grabbing fiercely to the piercing whip.
So it continues to slash.
Victims of the relationship.
Where it is the abuser.
Home is a prison.
Yet this is where the heart is.
It is cold and dark and frightening.
But it is warm, full and comforting.
God is good but the time is bad.
God is almighty but we only wade in pain.
God is love but our love is tethered and bleeding.
God is past, present and future.
My past is dark, my present is hell and my future is unseen.
Glory to the King. Rejoice this day the King hath made.
Because yet my heart chooses to trust in Him.
His unfailing and faithful love will deliver us all.
Though wicked are my thoughts and evil are my intensions.
Though my heart in pieces only sputter out poison.
Through Him I will be saved.
He will never give up on me.
So we on our knees ask for forgiveness so we can face the abuse of tomorrow.
For that joyful day, when we can taste the fruits of the spirit.