Life – N. E. Lives

Photography, Poetry

Tired Souls-Fading Youth

Posted on May 20, 2020May 19, 2020 by N.E. Lives

How tired you make me.

I grow weary and old when I am supposed to be young and full of dreams.

I feel as if I have lived a hundred years, so exhausted does my soul and heart bear down on me.

But I have not even truly lived yet in this one life.

There has been no grand love or even grander adventure.

There has been no freedom from this pain and heartbreak.

Only this staid life in exchange for a paycheck I have been told is what brings happiness.

And I…I have been to scared to seek more because of the whispers that scream I’ll fail.

Because of the screams from those that failed that whisper back I am not enough.

It feels as if my soul has been bleeding out for eternity, a slow and painful death.

Until I am gasping for air out loud because I cannot hold it back.

My heart beating louder with each breath, a faint ringing in my ears over and over. Each beat the same set of words of living with hopes of peace and freedom.

I cannot go on as I have any longer. I must let go of what was and instead carve out a life that is mine in every way. I must be be young even though I am old. And old even while I am young.

Poetry

Thin Veneer

Posted on May 9, 2020April 27, 2020 by N.E. Lives

You speak to me, but your words prove you are deaf to what I say, to what I feel.

You speak about me, but your words prove you don’t know me and only say what makes you feel best.

You speak as if I cannot hear, as if I do not remember all the words that you have used before.

More importantly you speak as if your actions have not spoken louder than your words.

As if you have not already proven to me that you are deaf to my pain and my hopes.

As if you had not savaged the frayed ties that are barely holding us together yet again.

As if you had not shown me who you truly are beneath the veneer you wear for others.

Even if you play at something else, I have seen what lies beneath. I will not forget. I cannot forget.

Poetry

Anatomy or Myth

Posted on May 3, 2020April 27, 2020 by N.E. Lives

My bones are brittle, as if made of spun glass. Still they hold me strong. If I occasionally shatter, who should know? I am still whole, only broken within.

My organs cringe, shrinking away from their duties. As the world tries to consume me with its spite. For the sake of its own un-faced pain, they will attempt to ruin me.

My skin grows taunt and becomes a mask for the madness and glory within. Hidden from a population of those that pretend closeness for insecurity or powers sake.

My bones, my organs, my skin….you see only my body. Only what you wish to see. What you wish to judge and take.

But what am I really?

One day you will hear my laugh from the heavens and you will know. It will send a chill down your spine. Send fear into your heart. You will wish to never hear it again….

Yet it will haunt you in your dreams. Both your nightmares and those of magic bliss, so then you will know what you tried to destroy.

Photography, Uncategorized

Perspective

Posted on October 19, 2018November 6, 2018 by N.E. Lives

Life is filled with different seasons, the ups and downs, moments-good and bad. That make up our lives and daily interactions. I’m always amazed when I see how far an artist goes for their work. Especially photographers. Laying in the mud, in freezing or blistering conditions, for that one perfect shot. That one perfect moment they can wait hours to capture. This image they have in their head that shapes the way they view things.

Artists have such a unique perspective of the world. Whether you’re a writer, a painter, a photographer, a sculptor. Or any combination of thousands of different talents that make you the artist and person you are. So full of life and willing to share with others, while still keeping a part of themselves unknown. Leaving their work open for the masses or the few to be viewed. For someone else’s perception of their personal work to become what it means to them as the viewer and not what it means to the artist.

Perspective in life, in whatever season you are in. Whatever artistic talent you do or do not possess is what shapes your actions and your reactions. Artist’s are all about changing perspective. Theirs and yours. When you find yourself in a season of change or maybe hardship, be like an artist, look for the best in what you see and if all else fails, change your perspective.

Poetry, Uncategorized

Life’s Battles

Posted on September 3, 2018 by N.E. Lives

Girls start out soft and sweet they say, quiet and delicate. But what if they came into the world as they meant to go on?

Screaming at the top of their lungs. Ready for any battle that may come their way. For the battles will come. And some part of them, even at birth knows this.

Boys start out stoic and happy they say, extroverted and sturdy. But what if they came into the world as they meant to go on?

Screaming at the top of their lungs. Ready for any battle that may come their way. For the battles will come. And some part of them, even at birth knows this.

What if we all started out as we meant to go on? Not in a box or as an idea. But just as ourselves. Screaming each day at the top of our lungs.

Our hearts filled with the madness and pain of living. But also, the joyfulness and laughter of life. We cannot fully experience one without the other.

For in madness and pain we find what truly brings us joy and laughter at our darkest moments. And if not for the joy and laughter we wouldn’t know what caused the madness and pain in us.

Life is a balance that only you can find for yourself. Start out as you mean to go on. Not in a mask or a cage of others perception. But screaming at the top of your lungs, in laughter, in madness, in joyfulness and pain.

Photography, Poetry

Silly Universes in People

Posted on July 24, 2018July 24, 2018 by N.E. Lives

Falling slowly apart so you wouldn’t notice. Then all at once, like a tsunami, it rolled over me. The cracks in my foundation grew. I fell apart at the seams.

Silly that, isn’t it? How can a person fall apart at the seams? What sews them together to begin with? Is it love? Their history? Their dreams? Their regrets?

Maybe it’s everything rolled into one brilliant, blinding universe inside someone. So that when I was done falling apart, when my foundation cracked and the tsunami rolled over me.

I fractured at the seams of whatever had deigned to hold me together this long. Rising up from my feet, rolling under my skin, until the moon, stars and black holes of my universe burst through.

Settling on my skin like dust. That I slowly inhale as I pull the seams of myself back together each time. Now it twinkles on my skin, this fine shimmer against the darkness. The cracks filled with molten lava.

Silly that, isn’t it? To think of a person as if they had a universe inside of them? One made up of love, history, dreams and regrets. That spills over every time they come apart at the seams. Spilling onto each those around them. Tying us all together, piece by piece.

Poetry, Uncategorized

My Mothers Screams

Posted on March 11, 2018March 11, 2018 by N.E. Lives

I remember the screams most now. My mothers screams….house and lawn full of people waiting. Her calling his phone over and over with no answer. Then the flashing lights.

The lights pulled up and a man stepped out. My father was inside. He asked for the parents of, she replied “I’m his mother.” Then without warning lights snatched the world out from under us. “I’m sorry to inform you…was killed in a car accident…”

I remember the words fading in and out as my mother collapsed and my father burst out of the house yelling, “what did you just say?!” Lights backed away from this wrath. Still my mothers screams…

Then people being ushered into the house. My mother in a room somewhere sobbing. My father at the table surrounded by people. My sister and I left if a house full of people talking about death. I offered refills on drinks. What else was I to do?

I didn’t understand. It’s almost 15 years later and I woke to the sound of my mothers screams. A night full of nightmares that weren’t just a dream. The words chanting in my head, “it’s him, it’s him, he’s dead…”

Poetry, Uncategorized

An Artist’s Longing

Posted on March 7, 2018March 7, 2018 by N.E. Lives

Tears travelled well-worn and familiar paths down my cheeks, catching on the curve of my jaw for one suspended moment in time before they continued to fall. Sometimes my hands would catch them and sometimes the paper beneath would grow another mark.

Time slowed, seconds, minutes, or hours may have passed. I know not which. Only that my heart ached as I poured out the feelings I couldn’t give a loud enough voice too. Scribbled words across paper stained with tears and sorrow.

I longed to be held, but there was no one for such luxuries. I needed to pull myself together again and stop wishing for things I could not have. A soft touch, but one that held tight, even amidst the struggle and pains that life sometimes brought.

Oh, but I longed, in the deepest parts of me, the ones I couldn’t fully explain. For such a simple yet fantastic thing as an affection that belonged solely to me. To know I could touch without restraint and be met in return with joy and comfort.

My soul needed it like a flower needs the sun, I can feel it’s strength waning at times for the lack of it. Yet still I continued on. A little more wilted as time went on. My petals growing weary and pale as the days passed and my own did not come.

I can only take comfort in the fact that one day another such as I may find me and that together our stems and leaves will twine into a strong vine and our unique petals will reach for each other to live in colorful harmony and affection.

Poetry, Uncategorized

Life-Terrifyingly Beautiful

Posted on January 17, 2018 by N.E. Lives

Life is terrifying but beautiful. Terrifying because almost every aspect has at least an element of the unknown. And yet beautiful for the very same reason.

So much chaos inside each person, the only certainties that you have been born and that you will one day die. What happens in between is up to you.

Some chose the path well travelled to avoid obstacles, but find little happiness. Often finding themselves wishing for something else or a dream they once cherished.

Others choose the path they must forge on their own. Fighting obstacles at every turn to get what they have so long desired. They are filled with drive even when others scoff at their dreams.

The first may know happiness but they often feel the sharp sting of regret as time passes. The second often feels regret each time they fall down. But once they attain what they set out for, their happiness knows no bounds.

I am the first even as I am the second. I traverse the path well worn if only to also follow the path that I choose for myself. I cannot lose sight of my dreams or I will fall prey to the common and mundane days that the world tells me I must suffer for stability and happiness.

The world can steal your dreams as the wind steals smoke from a fire. Yet a fire burns its own path with unrelenting force regardless of what surrounds it or the opinion of others. Be a fire for yourself and surround yourself with matches for the days when you forget how amazing you are.

It is a journey we each must take on our own. Regardless of those we are surrounded by. We must choose our path and learn to be at peace with our choice. Else there will be little contentment or joy in the constant void of what ifs and what might have been.

If nothing else, no matter the path you choose. Choose peace and contentment for yourself no matter the circumstances you find yourself in. There is no greater pain than living a life on how you are told too instead of the life you are meant too.

Poetry, Uncategorized

Drowning

Posted on November 28, 2017 by N.E. Lives

Time never moves slower then when you’re dying on the inside. When the dam breaks and the tears come. I once held their hand in mine. Now their hand holds my heart in a fist and they’ve wrapped the other around my throat.

The only thing keeping me above the waves even as they shove me under. Your waves crash over me until I’m gasping for air. Punishing my lungs with every breath I cannot draw.

Your hand around my throat keeps my head above the water, but still I cannot breathe. The fist around my heart hurts to much to try and take in air.

I listen to your waves and watch for your storms. But you do not do the same for me and your storms so overtake you that you cannot see what they have done to me.

My tears mix with the water and it goes unnoticed as long as I soothe your hurts. I have a bucket filled with holes to try and keep the water at a safe distance. But the hand around my throat is all that keeps me afloat even as it drowns me.