Speak of Silence
"But don’t speak of gardens. Don’t speak of the moon. Don’t speak of roses or the sea. Speak of what you know. Speak of the thing that rings in the marrow, that plays in your eyes with shadow and light. Speak of the endless ache in your bones. Speak of vertigo. Speak of respiration and of desolation and of your treason. It’s so dark, so silent, this process that grips me. Just speak of the silence."
dress c/o // Nasty Gal top // Forever 21 sandals // Mango purse
Are we the change we wish to be? Or the murmurs of integrity we lay behind? Like the grueling hours of work meant for someone else's success. Or the growing impatience of the "right time" to wash away your meaningless tribulations. What about your envious eyes chasing down the next opportunity given to someone so graciously. Am I what I put in my portfolio of performances or the dirt collected under my nail beds of petty labor?
I want to grow gardens of beautiful rose beds with stacks of my achievements laying atop. I want people to see the stars shine with my completed work displaying in glass cases across the sky. If only life were that easy. If only we were measured by the shimmer in our fulfillments. But rather, I am defined by the thorns protruding from the rose stems and the misting clouds shadowing a brighter universe. I am what I know. And what I know is, I am the troubled mind with pressuring thoughts to be and do better, always. I am the stressful amounts of time and effort spent to reach a goal, even if it means doing the unwanted dirty work for someone else first. I am the adrenaline rush in my blood veins driving my motivation each day, even on days I feel like the blood pumps harder for nothing in the end. My hardship and struggle speaks mountains of my true character, and though it isn't the prettiest to share, it's all I know who I am. I am my dark days of self-defeat and depression. I am my discouraging moments of personal integrity. I am my covetous eyes surrendering me to ominous comparisons. I am the disappointment in my slow progression. I am the very few hours in the day struggling to squeeze in adulting's chores. I am the frustrated, overworked, overwhelmed, insecure speck teetering on the edge of sanity. I may not be completely fond of these characteristics, I may not be proud to admit to these unpretty qualities, but they are the words that hold most true to my mouth and the scars that stream along my wholesome compass. I am a working piece of chaos and it will always remain in shambles but it's the only me I know how to convey. It's the only language I know how to speak. The only silences that scream louder in my reality.
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Photography by KMTBPhotography