Importance

I know it's late and I know what you think...
Why the fuck is this chick up so late?

1. I seriously ADORE a thunderstorm. That in itself would keep me awake simply to hear the rain fall and feel Mother Nature's power.
2. Thunderstorms are excellent for introspection and y'all  know I'm full of that shit. 😳
3. Thunder almost echoes my inner voice. I wish you would listen.
4. Happiness isn't something that you search for and find, nor is it something that just is. You are able to find it, lose it, find it again over and over during your lifetime. Make sure that if you are "in" it right now that the other person, you, or the universe is aware. It can change quickly or very slowly. Both can be incredibly sad.
5. If you, on the other hand, find joy in any given moment,celebrate that shit right this second. Say it, pray it, sing it out loud. The person who needs to hear it will. Even if it's you.
6. Life makes you sad. It can and will pull you down pretending it is not as bad as you think. But that's not really life is it? Life is lifting; it reminds you all the time that you are special and you presence here is meant to be. You are important and no matter how long or how short, life is on your side. And you matter in every way.
7. I could have become a preacher of sorts (ha ha!) but instead I write. I realize it isn't always rainbows and sunshine but I'm not either.
Are any of us?
I hope its okay with you because I really need to write. Writing is my scripture, my testimony. I really need to share my feelings - good, bad, sad, or introspective. It's the only way I feel important, heard, and human.
Because being heard and/or understood is so important.

I sure hope you can hear me.

Real life?

How do you ever know, through the wind and rain, that sunlight will meet you on the other side?
You don't.
You appreciate what nature offers forth..
Then you decide what to take with you and what you leave behind.
I suppose that is day to day life isnt it?

Or the entirety of life.

Far Far - Yael Naim

Mask

Maia Kirchkheli

I wear a mask.
All day.
Every day.

There are different sides.
One is who you want me to be but also who I want to be.
The other is who you don't know and are afraid of - as am I.

They reveal themselves; at times, simultaneously.
How would you recognize me?
How do I recognize myself?

The carefree side I love the most; she understands who I wish to be.
The discomfiture feeds the depths of what isn't whole.
I both love it and loathe it.

The mask serves its purpose yet fails at times.
I scream behind it hoping you, someone, anyone will hear.
At times I am silent and accept. And observe.

I see more than you know. The roots of the mask are deep.
I notice what you don't; yet I feign ignorance.
Because mirrors aren't always welcome if someone is holding it.

Nor are they always welcome upon your own inspection.
Not because you scrutinize the physical, but rather you dive into the depths.
The cold dark drowning depths that haunt you.

The mask holds both light and dark.
You see predominately what I want you to see.
But there are days or moments when I am unsure of who I am.

Those days, the mask governs it's showing. I do not.
I can only let what it reveals lead the moment.
I don't know who you see.

Most of my days are this.
If I can't be my own true self, how do you know me?
How do you know who Rachelle really is?

An affliction that troubles me at any given moment.
At every given moment.

“No man, for any considerable period, can wear one face to himself and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which may be the true.” 
― Nathaniel Hawthorne

Peripheral

Most eyes see superficially.
Selfishly.
As long as the sight is reticent of personal acceptance.
Vainglorious.
The sights that favor your opinion are lighted with softened hues.
Self-admiration and muted colors are hung throughout your mind.

The cloudless grey dons on your walls.
A sad peeling paint flakes with every touch.
The bareness revealed as each flake dusts the floor.
They stir long laden dust like smog at sunset.
Each step wades deeper and deeper.
Until you are no longer able to breathe pure air.

How it must feel to move through life that way.
Suffocated.
Somehow you are unable to recognize the sepia.
Antipathetic.
Your sun doesn't drip from leaves after rain.
The acidity slowly dissolves all color.

Peripheral

Those eyes that see consonance.
Benevolent.
What they see are consummate acceptance.
Altruistic.
The sights that favor acceptance are lighted with wondrous hues.
Humanitarian and vibrant colors are hung throughout your mind.

The reverberating aquamarine dons your walls.
A soft yellow brightens with every touch.
The loveliness revealed as each sun ray caresses the floor.
Stirring up tiny luminous fairies to float around your thoughts.
Each step feels lighter and lighter.
Until you are only able to breathe pure air.

How it must feel to move through life this way.
Liberated.
You easily notice the omniscient spectrum.
Empathetic.
Sunlight bathes your surroundings in diamonds after a rain.
The colors slowly efflorescent the darkness in your heart

Intrinsic.

Time

There is time.
In every direction we turn, time will meet our gaze.
With every decision we make, time will tell..

You find a voice and you speak.
A thought may begin a revolution.
A sunrise just might spark a return.

The song you hear just when you need to.
The lyrics hit you within such an internal hurt.
You say nothing because the pain is too much.
The words you want to hear simply echo out of reach.

When your life is on the line, why do you stay silent?
Why do you spit hateful words?
You know you want what could be yours.
You know you want to love us.

A spirit mocks you. The demon speaks for you.
The face you see in the mirror is not yours.
The drink in your hand does not hold your life.
It only holds heartbreak.

Sing your song elsewhere. Sing for what you need.
Otherwise you only find a common factor.
The habitual anticlimax that is your word.
The perpetual affirmation that I am good enough.
 Are you?
Am I?

Perhaps I am not meant to be in this moment.
Maybe I am the thing you wanted but you forgot to hold on to.
Maybe you are the thing I wanted but I can't seem to see I have already have.
People grow - sometimes together, sometimes apart.

All people change. All people find themselves as strangers.
Whether to themselves or with others.
Whom do you choose?
Who makes the cut? Do you feel you can?

What would happen if we both make the cut?
What if we decide that we truly love each other and no one else matters?
Can you do that?
Can you show me that you love me?

Still?

Do You?

Thoughts run through my mind and long to fill pages.
I need words like others need air.
Days go by yet words aren't written.
Failure to create is like withered breath.
Expression is daunting.
It is revealing.
It warrants your time.
Do I continue?
Do you want to hear me?