Life Is What You Make It (5)

I frequently think about my life, what I want to accomplish, what I’ve done so far, and how long I have to do everything I dream of. This is a series featuring things I’ve written about such things, both poetry and prose. The previous parts are here.


It’s my anniversary with my boyfriend. We’ve been together a year. A whole year! I can’t believe it’s been so long.

The past is important in shaping us into who we are today.

We live out each moment, each day, each week, each month, each year… But sometimes we forget where we came from, what shaped us into the people we are now.

Our memories are imperfect, sometimes even fabricated.

We’re able to record our thoughts, our actions, our lives more easily than ever before. People post on Facebook, and the next years, Facebook shows it to them again. They get reminded of their memories because they recorded them.

I’ve always loved journaling. For a while I hoped my journal would matter to others in the future. Now my past journal entries matter to me. I have a window into who I was in years past, a clearer view of how I’ve changed. I wrote about what was happening in my life. I might not remember a lot of that otherwise.

I can clearly see because of my recordings how time has passed, how my life has changed. I can track where I’ve been to see how I got where I am now.

We all need to know where we’ve been to understand where we are.

I journal and blog and date all the creative work I do.

How do you remember?

Life is What You Make It (4)

I frequently think about my life, what I want to accomplish, what I’ve done so far, and how long I have to do everything I dream of. This is a series featuring things I’ve written about such things, both poetry and prose.

This is based on the prompt “Ghostwriter” from Think Written.

“Art is for the Living”

10 October 2018

Hello, dear writer,

my long-lost friend.

How are you today,

How’s life on your end?

It’s a bit boring here,

there’s not much to do,

so I thought I’d visit

a fellow writer,

like you.

Please don’t run away

or yell out in fear,

I mean you no harm,

I just want

a listening ear.

I know it’s strange,

hearing from beyond the grave,

But we’re just regular folk,

like you, save

The fact we’re now dead.

But your a writer,

so you must understand,

things are different

Than we may expect or plan.

Have a good day,

Dear writer,

savor your time,

explore your ideas

Before you can’t,

at least in life.

For what good are

the ramblings

of a dead writer

when art is for the living?

Life Is What You Make It (3)

I frequently think about my life, what I want to accomplish, what I’ve done so far, and how long I have to do everything I dream of. This is a series featuring things I’ve written about such things, both poetry and prose.

This post contains profanity and mentions suicidal thoughts. If you are not comfortable with such things, feel free to skip this post.

[Don’t Forget] Low Self-Esteem and a Desire to be Remembered

18 September 2016

I don’t have a very

high self-esteem,

I don’t put much stock

in that I’m a human being.

I know that I’m valued,

worth a motherfucking bunch,

But it doesn’t always feel that way —

like when a bully steals your lunch.

I don’t very much love myself

any which way.

I easily find myself

depression-ly swayed.

I try to avoid

such dark, self-hatred filled thoughts,

But they sometimes come up

and shred me apart.

I find myself wondering

“what more can I do?”

I find myself wondering

if life’s worth living through.

I feel as though I’ll waste my life,

fuck everything over,

I don’t get to live twice.

That’s not an excuse

to “have a fun time,”

Or “eat, drink, and be merry,

for tomorrow we die,”

Because I want my life

to be worth remembering.

I don’t want to be forgotten

or remembered because

My life was lived rotten.

I want my time used best it can,

none of it, no moments,

left to fester in the trash can.

It’s a lot of pressure

I put on myself,

when I want my life story

to not rot on a shelf,

With no one caring what all I did,

with no one caring if I even lived.

I could be made up,

for all they may know,

So for evidence, what will I have to show?

I don’t want my story

to just be mistakes,

Or for it all to just have been a waste.

If it’s not worth

recording, reading, remembering, or reliving,

Is there even a point

to my life continuing?

Death is inevitable,

should I even try?

I want so badly to know

if I’ll really use my time,

But I won’t know that

until I’ve lived my life.

Right now, right now

I could not, would not

die satisfied

That my life was worth

all the time I spent

Making it what it is,

Wouldn’t die satisfied

that I’ll be remembered

For too much longer

after I’ve died.

Even if someone

published all that I’ve written,

I’d still be forgotten,

Forget having never been smitten

or ever in love,

That doesn’t matter so much to me

As my life story

being worth  my time,

being worth remembering.

I’ve been told I’m a good poet,

so maybe, just maybe,

There’s something to that

and my life won’t,

at least not in its entirety,

be forgotten and allowed to rot

in the annals of history’s

ever-growing bookshelf.

 

Life Is What You Make It (2)

I frequently think about my life, what I want to accomplish, what I’ve done so far, and how long I have to do everything I dream of. This is a series featuring things I’ve written about such things, both poetry and prose.


Whether the earth is only a few thousand years old or several billion, we live for only a few fleeting moments in the grand scheme of things. What we choose to do with that time, those moments, is up to us. For some, it is directed by religion, for others it isn’t. In either case we are each in the driver’s seat of our own life, we are in control of where we go and what we do. We only have so long, so we should make the most of it and live the best life we can, whatever that is for us on an individual level. For some that means marriage, parenting, for others singleness, creative pursuits, generosity, showing love and kindness to those who are lacking in some way. There isn’t just one way to live a full life, to feel your life wasn’t wasted, to have as few regrets as possible before you die, if your life is not cut short by some tragic accident. Knowing we are in control of our lives, our direction, our purpose is both freeing and frightening. You can choose to live directed by religion or not as well as so many other things. Life is what you make it. You have one life. Make it count.

Life Is What You Make It

I frequently think about my life, what I want to accomplish, what I’ve done so far, and how long I have to do everything I dream of. This will be a series featuring things I’ve written about such things, both poetry and prose.

Ponderings and Purpose

9 January 2018

It’s enough for them to assert

that this, too, shall pass,

that nothing here will ever last

And saying so is absurd.

For how could something finite

outlast that which is eternal?

But that for me wasn’t the

question but the answer.

For how can anything we’ve

ever done outlast a world

that’s just begun

after we’ve left it, gone,

all traces erased,

all paths equal, the same.

A life lived —

regrets and mistakes aplenty,

sure, it’s the same for ev’ryone.

There’s no reason to waste time

pining after a time

that may not come to fruition,

that may be entirely fiction.

We can’t know for certain

but we all love certainty,

so we create it.

Our assertions are flawless,

arguments misguided.

We’re all trying to make sense

of this life we’re all

so lucky to be living

on this wet rock in a

deep vast space

with other rocks and balls of gas

co-existing along with us.

Why are we here?

we wonder,

How are we here?

we ponder.

Sometimes you have to let

all that go, all those

big questions for philosophy

and live in the moment

because this life is the only one

we know for sure we’ve got

and wasting it, letting it rot,

we should be ashamed.

We should live life to the fullest,

not in the sentiment of YOLO —

which justifies stupidity

but for a focus and drive

to make the most

of what we’ve got

because in too short a time

it will be gone.