Skip to main content

my weed garden

today i made a weed garden. cat mint and pansies. i was repotting plants with my mom and i fell in love with a little mint plant, i couldnt rip it out and leave it to wither. so after i had potted three new plants for my mom, i planted my own garden in a little pot. i was very proud of it. it was the first time i had felt an emotional feeling the whole time i was outside with my mom. i went through the actions in a mechanical manner. my mom noted "i can tell you're not enjoying a bit of this" i managed to reply. the first sound i had made the whole time "ya..i am." and it was true. although enjoyment was something of an emotion, and i was curiously void of feelings. it felt odd, my mind was clear. not to say i wasnt thinking, but i was thinking in an oddly perfunctory fashion. but as i sat, shovelling dirt from one pot to another, i found myself feeling in a different way. i found myself grabbing handfuls of dirt and feeling it slip through my fingers. i found myself crumpelling composted leaves into dust, marvelling at the way it felt on my skin. i grabbed handfuls of damp soil, squeezing it, feeling it squelch between my fingers. i was confused. and with the absense of thoughts it was hard to figure it out.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

teardas

this is the reason i broke up with him in the first place. because it was so much stress and it just seemed hopeless. i know that's a harsh word but its true. he's got so much on his plate and i dont want any more on mine. i have my own set of worries i need to take care of. but i cant just turn him away. the way he opened up to me...it litteraly moved me to tears. i feel his dispair, his depression. he has nothing. but i dont want him to have no one too. at the moment i feel thats all i can do; give him the comfort of knowing that i'm here for him, that he has me. contrairy to his beleifs he hasnt lost me. if he really had, i wouldnt have seen him yestrerday, or tuesday, or any times before that. we wouldnt have acted or talked the way we did if he'd truley lost me. his words stung because i felt his pain through them. his feelings soaking the words and turning them a different colour. i never told him to get the fuck out of my life, but it hurt to know thats how he fe

neighborhood nights

I feel like somewhere along my life there was a shift. Suddenly nothing was for fun any more, it was all necessary. Suddenly I'm bothering with what others think, afraid to link any connotations I deem negative to my being. Why do I care what people I've never met, who'll forget they ever saw me, think of me; this obscure stranger in their peripherals. It's a warped sense of mind and place, seeing the space around me in my mind's made up ways. So I stray away from everyone, isolating myself unwittingly, turning them against me. Self fulfilling prophecies, I succeed in creating this reality. I need to break free from my mind's mentalities, with which negativity has propelled me. So I've started a new sport. I call it neighborhood night dancing. Donning headphones and heading out alone to the empty streets as the city sleeps, and moving to the beat. Letting it compel me towards a freedom long gone missing. Letting go is an art. Complete release is a tough

the layers by stanley kunitz

have walked through many lives,some of them my own,and I am not who I was,though some principle of beingabides, from which I strugglenot to stray.When I look behind,as I am compelled to lookbefore I can gather strengthto proceed on my journey,I see the milestones dwindlingtoward the horizonand the slow fires trailingfrom the abandoned camp-sites,over which scavenger angelswheel on heavy wings.Oh, I have made myself a tribeout of my true affections,and my tribe is scattered!How shall the heart be reconciledto its feast of losses?In a rising windthe manic dust of my friends,those who fell along the way,bitterly stings my face.Yet I turn, I turn,exulting somewhat,with my will intact to gowherever I need to go,and every stone on the roadprecious to me.In my darkest night,when the moon was coveredand I roamed through wreckage,a nimbus-clouded voicedirected me:"Live in the layers,not on the litter."Though I lack the artto decipher it,no doubt the next chapterin my book of transform