The Forever Changing Seasons of Life

Part Nulla: The Forever Changing Seasons of Life

The seasons change almost as quick as your emotions.

One day I am basking in your warmth.

The next frozen to the core by your frigid touch.

See, as the seasons change around us we adapt to our surroundings.

We take time to transition to the frost bitten winters,

By watching the leaves turn a beautiful shade of hazy,

Auburn reds and deep yellows,

Color the world a peaceful tone.

Calm before the world freezes over.

Yet by then we are ready to brace the coming storm,

We are prepared with mittens and hot drinks.

But imagine if Summer ended with not a days notice.

If within a minute of scorching weather came the dead cold night of winter.

That is the way the seasons of life change.

Without warning,

Without time.

You changed from my favorite season,

To my worst storm.

Part I: A Fall of a New Leaf

It started so innocent.

Flowers in the morning sunlight,

Flourishing with strength and resilience.

You were my everything,

The oxygen in my mind,

The blood in my veins.

Sweet tangerine skies,

Melodic waves against the sand.

You were the closest thing to sugar I’ve ever tasted.

I began to write again.

The words flowing through my fingertips,

Visions of you control my thoughts,

Writing lines about your sinful lips,

Sonnets about your eyes,

Lyrics about your fingers running through my hair,

Your everything.

How was I so blind to your flaws.

They far outweigh the perfections.

Blind to the power of no other emotion,

Than love.

Our simple innocence lasted no longer than spring,

Our flowers wilting under the scorching sun,

Rosy cheeks became a harsh burning,

Our trees of passion bursting into flames,

Searing the path to our inevitable destruction.

You became more than just my world,

You became my sun.

Your life the center of mine,

Gravitating closer by the day,

Soon close enough,

To burn.

All of me,

Into yours.

The first time your voiced raised at me,

I coward from you like a child.

Away from the words spit at me,

For once seeing unknown,

Discovering the side that should’ve stayed in the dark,

If you wanted to keep me.

It was like this for the remainder of Us,

Once sweet words became ridicule.

Once candy-coated compliments became poison.

Once “I love you.”

Became “I own you.”

You screamed at me,

Until your mouth,

Dripped of venom.

People asked,

People stared,

Bruises on my arms from forceful fingers,

I winced at the raising of a hand.

I played it off,

Hushing truth dripping from my lips,

Hands cover my mouth,

Eyes widen trying to tell the story trapped,

I wished for the day I could let the words spill,

Cover the ground in stories only we know,

Tales of the part of us kept behind closed doors.

I tried breaking up with you you for four months.

Tears streamed down my face,

You selfishly sat next to me,

My reasoning spilling from my mind,

You sat there,

You only said one word,

Each,

Three,

Times,

I tried.

No.

I left you after Eight months.

It was the most difficult moment of my life.

That last time I would kiss your lips.

That last time I would hold your hand in mine.

The last time I would say a single word to you.

To take my last breath with you,

Was single handedly the harshest air to swallow,

But the most freeing breath I’ve had since I met you.

Part II: A Winter of a New Absence

I am at a loss for words.

As I have lost inspiration for my madness,

The words written are less truthful than before.

Like a broken machine of repetitive symbols and meaning.

The wretched world winding my words into worthless wit.

No.

Meaning.

The blank screen taunts me.

Intimidating me,

tearing me apart in search of that last string of words.

The last bit of hope that something inside me will spark a flame,

A fire that will grow to burn me from the inside out,

Setting the world around me ablaze,

killing the monster that is uncertainty.

I never understood the truth of feelings,

Until I went a day without you.

That first day without your touch,

Without your call,

Without you.

My tears burned streaks down my cheek,

Dropping onto my lap,

creating swimming pools of memories once so clear,

Blurring my vision to black and white,

Color no more.

I told myself I would never follow the quota,

Of family past falling into the worst of habits,

Until I bought that first pack of cigarettes.

Smoking out the empty room of my head.

My fingers numb against the filter,

Outside at 2:43 in the morning.

Replacing your touch with tobacco.

I open a fresh pack and place one carefully in between my teeth,

Pulling out my lighter to spark the end.

The cool drag of the smoke slides down into my lungs,

As the menthol keeps a cool mint taste on my lips.

I feel a burst of energy through my veins only for a second,

I lift my fingers to my lips for another,

Puff.

Puff.

Puff.

The absence of another keeps my bones cold and my mind colder.

I begin to travel into memories of warmer days.

The sun begins to shine onto my mind,

I think of the features of you I’ve come to remember,

Tracing every unique curvature of your face in my mind.

How captivated I am by the galaxy within your gaze,

As if the stars have taken refuge in your pupils.

Yet somehow we are still larger than the entirety of the solar system.

I’ve never seen someone so connected with the sky.

Combining the two most breathtaking sights into one,

painting the most inspirational art I’ve ever experienced.

You are a mosaic in my mind,

A forever twisting kaleidoscope,

A palette of every imaginable color,

The rosy embers of your cheeks,

The golden brown of your hair that falls ever so perfectly,

The depth of the indigo sea in your stare,

And your voice that speaks in midnight purples,

Calming me to the core.

You are art in its purest form.

You are the mural I’ve been searching for,

The inspiration for the words I will write,

The motivation for my brush to dance across my canvas.

You are my masterpiece.

Puff.

Puff.

Puff.

I throw the butt of the cigarette to the ground and stomp it out.

My bones are cold again, you are not here.

I then in that moment,

Realize I am not addicted to the nicotine,

I am addicted to the places it takes me.

I am addicted to you.

As time progressed my addiction became my lifeline.

Stepping outside for a drag,

Breathing in the benzopyrene,

Exhaling the aldehydes.

More chemicals than oxygen,

Filling my lungs for that last bit of freedom.

I learned to replace not only your touch with smoke,

But to now your voice with warm dripping alcohol.

Burning my chest to force the words out of my mind,

Now an echoing room with nothing to hold on to.

My hands reach through my rib cage,

Bones turn to sand in my palm,

The grains slip through my fingers to the ground,

My body once full of love,

Full of light,

Burning from the inside out,

As another shot slides down my throat.

I didn’t believe I would find love again,

Never feel a touch so soft against my cheek,

Never feel a passion so deep that it touched my heart,

To never have love again was to never breathe the same air.

To feel as empty as the silos that replaced my lungs,

As empty as the smoke that filled my mind,

As empty as my stomach after crying till my memories spewed from chapped lips,

Throat burning,

Eyes tearing,

Knuckles bruising,

Lungs gasping,

Nails scratching,

Hair pulling,

SCREAMING for air.

God I never knew,

How bad I had become.

Night held secrets not even I could tell,

The setting sun beckoning for trouble.

One night to change them all.

Blue and Red lights flashing through my rear window,

Abandoned parking lot whistled tunes in my ears,

Interrupted by the sirens,

One fifty two in the morning.

Mind clotted with the stimulation,

Breaking my bones with heavy breaths.

On the phone with my father who was fast asleep,

Woken by the ringing,

Realizing I wasn’t lying peacefully in bed.

That I was far from home.

Physically,

Mentally,

Gone.

I made my mother cry,

Tears shed over her daughter.

She never raised me to become this.

She raised me strong as diamond,

She raised me to shine just as bright.

To fall seven times and get up eight,

To fix my mascara when tears ran down my cheeks,

My mother raised me to become something.

To help those who need it,

To care for others but never before yourself.

My mother’s tears made me feel something new.

A guilt filled punch to the stomach,

My mother,

My supporter,

My life line.

I let her down.

Part III: A Spring of a New Flower

I did this for her.

I got better for her.

I threw my habits into the river,

Watched as they slowly ran farther from myself.

Far,

Out of sight from the future.

Five.

The number of times I would relapse before progress.

Every drag would bring the flashing lights back,

My wrists felt the metal cut into them strapped behind my back,

I sat there,

As helpless as the night I sat on the curb,

I cried my mother’s tears each one of those nights,

Disappointment,

Not seeing the clarity was still on the horizon,

Through my mother’s teary eyes.

I was told the firsts would be the hardest.

First day, 24 hour sobriety.

First week, 168 hour sobriety.

First month, 730 hours of sobriety.

I still have to go 8,760 hours.

December 7th, will be the day.

Everyday is still a struggle in my head.

The voices now louder not hushed,

Smoked out thoughts clear now.

I forgot how overwhelming living could be.

How black and white the world could be.

How people are so easy to just give up.

How hard breathing can be in between the sobs.

How my nails felt against my skin.

How cold this life really is.

I worked to better myself.

Everyday a new mentality.

One month after sobriety things looked brighter.

Sunny skies looked warmer,

Welcoming breeze taking me through the meadow,

Introducing me to the blooming buds,

Singing melodies of new days.

I realized how much life is like a flower,

The chill of winter killing its flourishing petals,

Frost bitten nights rooting it from its home,

But life does not end there.

For the flower is resilient,

Petals dulled to a midnight indigo under the cloudy days.

Now a fluorescent pastel purple glow,

And once the storm decides to pass it will grow again.

Stronger than before,

Because life might rip you to shreds,

Tear your limbs off and drink your blood,

But it will not kill you.

You have the strength of a blooming flower,

Never let anyone convince you otherwise.

Through sobriety I found that I deserve more,

I no longer need the dependency of another,

Occupying my own mind once again,

I was becoming healthy.

Mentality becoming clear,

Visions of the past now no longer able to bother me,

As if they were all just a movie,

And the screen has finally gone to black.

There is acceptance in isolation.

Solitude seeks a sense of approval.

To be alone is something of fondness,

Ability to be one with yourself,

Thoughts come and go in waves of sophistication,

Aging finely like wine cellar speculation.

To be alone in this world is to breath your own air.

To take your own strides and to paint your own murals,

To feel tears down your cheek and your stomach ache from laughing,

Life is lived as individuals,

Organisms varying to the fullest extent of comprehension,

Physicality of touch fueling an understanding.

We try to make terms with the compliance of others.

Trading wavelengths attracting and rejecting,

As people we are taught interaction is to be alive.

But we forget the importance of confinement.

To be alone is to fathom how to feel truly yourself.

Pressure of your own fingertips against your neck,

Feeling a beating drum tapping the reassurance of life,

Metallic sting against your tongue,

The world outside is quiet.

Your mind echoes ideas of existentialism.

Yet to be alone is to be one.

To be all and none in the same moment.

We as humans demand acknowledgement.

Screaming questions into open air,

Awaiting an answer undeniably,

Disappointed when not resolved.

But there is acceptance in isolation.

To come to terms with what is true.

The truth of life and existence,

The truth of death and the unknown of the afterlife.

The acceptance comes within one,

When they come not separate,

But together as one life,

Alone in this question of being.

Part IV: A Summer of New Warmth

I met a boy on a warm May night,

His skin pale as paper,

Yet hair dark as chocolate.

His name rolled off my tongue like candy,

So sweet I couldn’t get enough.

My memories of the past began to blur,

Replacing the immaturity,

With respect.

The screaming and yelling,

With soft words.

He made the past,

Seem impossible.

His psychedelic melodies,

Words strung together in sweet songs,

Candied sentences wrap around my neck,

Breathing in his sugar coated symphonies,

Exhaling new found passion.

Something about him made my mind spin,

Kaleidoscope eyes captured my every move,

Now staring into more than his baby blues.

Now seeing more than the surface.

More than the masculine persona.

I tore through his flesh with precision,

Down to his very core,

I sat there with him,

Watching as his true self illuminated onto a screen in my head.

His love,

His loss,

A movie in my head,

As I sat there unable to move,

Unable to take my eyes off of the vulnerability.

Busy as a bee in a life of little time.

There are a million things I could do,

But all secondary to the time I have with you.

We spent summer nights together,

The stars in the sky the only ones that knew our story.

Tempting me out of my house at one in the morning,

My smile would grow to the size of the universe,

As I crept out the back door into your car.

Driving around the abandoned city,

Streetlights pass by with the minutes,

Windows down blasting our favorite songs,

Living a life meant to be lived.

We walked miles under the moonlight,

Stepping through the tall grass,

Reaching the top of the hill,

A sign reading

Sled Only to the North

Was our beacon to the highest point in our flat little village.

We stand there in the heat of the summer,

Looking out onto the horizon of the midnight sky.

Seeing the glowing lights of Chicago alive in the dead of the night.

Allowed my mind to wander to better days.

The night was young in the City,

Sleep was foreign tongue to a Friday evening.

I wanted to leave this town.

This municipality that succumbed after the sun went down,

Curfew killing the curiosity of the youth,

Authority trumping the mystery of the moonlit streets.

We would climb the hill in almost a rebellious way,

Reaching the top long after this repulsive town had fallen asleep,

But our lungs alive with the fresh air untouched by others,

Just us,

Exchanging breaths between our lips,

Hands reaching and gently tracing each other,

Becoming the audacious voice of our generation,

Above the dead town,

Where I fell in love with him.

I don’t know how I could live without him.

It’s a different kind of dependency.

Nothing like the drugs.

You see, the drugs replaced the control,

The screaming reverberating in my head,

Hushed by the smoky drags.

But the night I met him the clouds began to part,

Alleviating the numbness I used to escape.

Dopamine receptors broken now mended,

Scars on my hands now healed,

Fixing the parts of me broken by the other.

He has taught me how to love myself.

I live my life without cheesecloth wrapped around my eyes.

Allowed to see every part of my future,

Planning for the greater good,

I was able to finally walk on my own.

What a freeing experience it was,

To finally take a step in the right direction.

This candy coated boy taught me there is more to life,

That before you can live you must learn to love.

Not another but the deepest parts of yourself.

Through him I now know,

Loneliness is no more than lack of another.

That you explore more when breathing your own air.

To learn to love yourself,

Is the most important trait held by any human.

I learned how to fall in love with myself,

Through falling for him.

Part Tandem: The Forever Changing Love Of Life

Last year, I was victim to your touch.

Your voice raising your fist,

I wasn’t allowed to live.

At least not as myself.

Burning holes into my pockets that I worked so hard to patch.

Ignorance shadowing every part of those months together,

Eight months of abuse,

Eight months of dependency,

Eight months of false love.

I sparked my lighter to the corner of every note,

Watched as my past flooded with fire,

Attempt to move from your grasp.

I felt your fingers fall from my mind,

You no longer control me.

Exactly One Year Later,

I have found a new kind of love,

One in which my blood will never fall to the ground,

My hands held against another instead the concrete,

Picking rocks from my palms carmine colored,

Tears dried,

Sniffles silenced,

“I’m sorry” exchanged.

I will learn to love myself before others.

My mind the weapon against my past,

Quiet riots rampage my mind,

Tearing the walls built from bricks of burden.

Love is something I’ve learned,

Trial and error,

Pain and triumph,

Harsh palms and gentle fingers.

Through my past,

A past I never thought I would outrun,

I now know how to love myself.

Because life changes almost as quick as the seasons.