Prose & Poetry ~ very dark/depressing {you’ve been warned}

PROSE 11.24.16  

This room is dark and cold like a jail cell—but not trapped between the hollow of darkness—where the only thing you see are locks and chains. Every time I blink I see stuffed white cat statues standing tall and rats running around for blood like they’re the only vampire into the night. Glancing down at myself—it’s the same wardrobe that has been wrapped around my body many times. The same wardrobe that hides me and my soul from the world that can’t even see me in the flesh when I’m not wearing it.  

My eyes are closed and I’m taking a walk through a cemetery. I am hand in hand with a ghost. Shortly afterwards, a pack of ghosts then start to follow me, chanting something that I cannot seem to comprehend. Every time I stop walking, so do they, and as I look around nothing but fog covers the darkened skies. I continue walking until I catch my breath after my heart palps a few times.  

And, I am awakened to bath water full of blood. I am sitting in my claw-foot tub at my very own Victorian-style house. The blood is mine, and I’m not yet dead. Dammit. I think to myself. I caught sight of the white light and it pulled me in—but it lied, it fucking lied—so here I am again…..awake, and the pain still exists. Over and over—it sings—like a song I used to like before it became the definition of a broken record. 

I used to imagine that if I were anyone else, if I were some other person, would people care about me more than the person I actually am? It’s a twisted point of view for someone fighting to be happy within one’s self, but also looking in a broken mirror at midnight with tears in her eyes and mascara running down her face. And no one, absolutely no one, there by my side to catch me as I fall to the hard cold tile. Almost a thousand tissues surround me. I am so heartbroken. Why doesn’t anyone want to love me? Simply because some people just were not meant to be loved.

I watch Fight Club religiously. I study Tyler Durden as he plots to fight his inner demons. In a sense, I already am him. In another sense, I want to be him. But every single time I get up with the urge to do something fabulous or life-changing, my very own monsters that hold me down are telling me: I am nothing, I am unloved, and I get punched in the face with those realities. I am not even good enough to be a speck of dirt for someone to step on.

You see, I’m a writer—deep down inside—I know this is my true calling, but I just can’t seem to make it work. I tried to bring something to fruition a few years back, and since absolutely no one cared to read what I had to write, I made a fictional name and posted under that. I wasn’t even worthy of any attention under a faux name. Since then, I’ve hidden myself, and my feelings… but if I don’t get this out I’m going to burst inside. I know it’s going to be a really long life without love, that’s why I’m placing bets on my cards on hoping I die young.

After damning the entire world, including my body, for letting me live—I took a shower to wash all of the blood off of me. I felt like I was living a horror movie, and I was the main character that just got slashed by the serial killer that somehow figured out my pin code to the alarm system on my house was 3713. I got out of the shower and wiped the steam off the mirror and looked myself in the eyes. It was the first time I really saw myself. So sad, blue, to the point of black. Barely breathing. Then, my mirror shattered all over the floor and a piece of glass cut my leg. I just embraced the pain; it felt better than the alternative.

That’s when I realized I need to release these feelings to the atmosphere because maybe, just maybe, someone else has had them too. And if I can save a few souls before I die, that would be my gift to the world, and I can then rest in peace when my remains are scattered in the ocean.

POETRY 12.30.16

rubies fall like bullets from the sky
and diamonds crack in the ground,
from sunset to moonlight
forming rose petals full of lies.

suitcases full of letters
that belong to words in a sentence
galloping across the galaxy
wishing for a better novel to attend.

a telephone that never rings again
and the silence is deafening.
words being shouted across ten universes
and it never reaches the right one.

days when one never sees sunlight again,
because it is boxed up and packed away
just like yesterday’s memories
that seem to mean nothing more than that.

and poetry,
poetry pours from the dying soul
into a river of seas
right where her remains were meant to be.

Where in the world did 2016 go?

I’ll be quite honest, I don’t really remember the first half of 2016 before I got involved in the theatre over the Summer One Acts. It makes me feel like I wasn’t awake! ha! Or maybe cause it didn’t really matter.

Sometime in January or February I was brought on by the guys at World of Boating for my BOAT SHOW GIRL gig. What a fun year that has been being on the show and looking at where I was and where I’m at now.

The first quarter of the year: all I remember is that I was in my tailspin of finishing off one entire year of working 2 jobs (60-80hrs) where I didn’t see or talk to anyone outside of work. That was extremely hard. I didn’t mean to cut people off but I had no choice, so I am so sorry, everyone. I also had no choice of not being able to move forward in my projects, either, which put me back a few decades.

In March ~ we got a new director at my work and he changed everything for the better. It was such a blessing to have him join our team, especially since he took interest in where I was going for life in this industry and he’s still cheering me on. We had a really rough time getting employees in the door, which put a new perspective on what we needed for the industry and that helped me train my thoughts a bit.

When I finally left that second job in April…

I went straight to rehearsals for the Summer One Acts around May and started helping out back stage. After 12 years, it was totally meant to be that I came back at that very moment. I met the most amazing people there, and one amazing individual that means so much to me, and has had the best impact on my life. More than anyone ever has.

I celebrated 2 years at Thunder and they spoiled me rotten. They also spoiled me rotten when I turned 30.

Year 30 turned over a new chapter–being with someone I truly cared about, listening to jazz music, and just being in love with life because I knew I could never go back.

In that time – there were so many things that I did, including going to an acting class (that I eventually want to go back to) and getting into the film society. What a year for spectacular things to get involved with, and those were just two of the things!

Give or take a few months, there was a break between Summer One Acts and Over the River & Through the Woods. It was a smaller play, not much to do, and now I’m working with Parfumerie…. which, unfortunately, will probably be my last production to help with until Summer One Acts (or maybe the production before) because I have some of my own projects to take care of.

There’s this new journal phase thing out right now the bullet journal or something like that. Well, instead of buying one, I made my own and out of 5 ‘main’ goals I wrote ‘BE A WRITER FIRST ABOVE EVERYTHING’ and shortly after that is when I got my first writing gig, then my second…..

I’m ending the year with my brand “BOAT SHOW GIRL” getting two new adventures — one I’m writing on a marine marketing website and I was just recently invited to guest blog+freelance on another. I am ecstatic. I tried saying the other day that ‘man, this stuff is happening too quickly’ and my boss reminded me, ‘no, it’s not, you’ve been working for this for a really long time.” Oops. I kind of forgot.

The ending of this year hasn’t been too great though, it feels like everything is set on the same thing every day and not moving forward. I’m getting burnt out on the things I once loved doing, and I can’t stand that feeling, and it doesn’t end up good in the end. But I’m working on making positive changes.

Eisenhower survived his first year with me and his second year molting. I nearly freaked out when he was molting on me because I couldn’t play with him and I didn’t know if he was alive. I can’t express how I felt when I saw his newly born pink crabby body down in the shell though. My heart exploded with happy, and I wanted to write a book from a crab’s point of view of how nature does its thing and they grow up just like humans… but differently, of course.

I’m cleaning up my apartment once again and getting rid of things that don’t matter any more or old papers. It always helps to do that. I started watercolor painting, oil painting, and drawing once again this year. I haven’t written many poems, but quality over quantity, I say. Financially I’m getting back at it — I’m getting rid of my debt. Sloooooooooowly but surely, and my credit score is finally getting to a point where I’m happy with it again.

And, unfortunately, I end this year with not so happy news and news about my baby mutt sister, Bella, passing away. It’s so odd how 4 years ago a memory popped up on Facebook of her face. Ugh. Sometimes I hate Facebook for that reason, in another way, maybe it was a sign of some sorts. A sign from Bella to me.

This years goals I am hoping to have a few plays ready to submit to Summer One Acts, I am hoping that BOAT SHOW GIRL takes me places that I wouldn’t have ever thought that it would, I hope to join in more boating events, I hope to act (finally!), get to go to a few creative classes, finally get organized (even though I say this every year), volunteer at the Holocaust Museum, write and publish a few books, consider doing some art submissions / poetry readings, take voice lessons, and hopefully–within time–one certain thing works out.

I thank 2016 for giving me the best person I know as well as all of the other experiences that went with it. Here’s to 2017 and hoping all other things will work out.

image1hope

(Painting I did on Christmas.)

-Love Always, Maeby