OFTEN

So often do I take out my hammer, nails, and wood, and start to build up walls. Walls around anything, really. My thoughts, my feelings, my mind, my heart. All these things are boxed in, behind layers, and layers of fine pine. I would like to think that one day, someone would fight their way in. Slicing the boards into wood chips, or burning them down to ashes.

Too often do I take out my hammer, nails, and wood, only to build walls too thick, too steep, too hard to chop down.

A bottled up mess.

 What happens when you mix sarcasm with walls that reach the sky?

You get me. A bottled up mess.

But hey. Who cares? Who cares about me, and my bottled up mess?

 Someone up above. Someone who created that very bottle.

Too bad I filled it with trash, muddy water, and snap decisions.

Here I am, that bottled up mess.

Want to know the crazy part? Someone fell in love with my bottle. My mess.

He'll help her dump out all the regrets, and scrub the insecure, glass walls. He will help her clean it up, and together, they'll realize that perfection isn't too far to reach.

This Essay took me Precisely 30 Minutes to Write

The need to set every task that occurs within the course of the day to an equal amount of minutes is a habit that has haunted me all my life. I need exactly five minutes more of sleep, ten minutes to get ready, and twelve minutes to get from point A to point B. Anything more is unnecessary, and anything less is insufficient. There’s just something about time being divided perfectly, and equally into small sections of my life. Every memory, every event is written down in the record of my life, with a beautiful round number of minutes sitting right next to it. No extra seconds spill, so carelessly, over the edge. 

The problem with cutting with such straight lines is, you hardly leave yourself any room to breathe. Sometimes, organization can be suffocating. Maybe I need to loosen the bands around my wrist and stretch those uptight muscles. Maybe I ought to tell myself things like, “Today, I will be happy.” Today I won’t complain. I will change, not for 24 hours, or 1,440 minutes, but maybe for the rest of my life. But just for today, I will forget the time, and let everything flow as it wishes, until its own natural limitation slowly melts away the adventure. I will eat when I am hungry. I will sleep when I am tired. And in between the gaps I will find myself doing things as they come to me. But just for today, can I be this way. Then, I can go back to boxing my life into minutes, perfectly round, perfectly even, boxes of minutes.