Fireworks and Cauldrons…

Note: I wrote this my sophomore year. I found it when I was looking for old pieces I had written on my Yahoo! Account. I used to send all my writing to myself. I can’t remember why… I’m sure there was a good enough reason. It made sense at the time. The piece made me think and over-think about who I was five years ago. Jesus. Five? I was so sad that year. So miserable… And even though this is a shitty piece of writing I think that comes through well-enough… How heavy it feels to be alive when you’re depressed and fifteen. I don’t know. I think I’m being over-dramatic. Probably. But anyway, I couldn’t decide whether or not to post this. When I was reading it I felt like I was invading my own privacy. Like I walked in on a naked fifteen-year-old me. But obviously I decided to post it so… I don’t know… It’s been a long day… So here goes:

“Asleep in perfect blue buildings, by the green apple sea.”

I’m listening to the lyrics, letting them rush through me.

Counting Crows always sounds like the ocean.

I’m thinking about how I tucked her in. Tightly.

How I squeezed the blanket around and under. Cocooning her into something–

Something that was supposed to look safe. Or feel safe. For me or for her.

I can’t write like I used to. It doesn’t bang out like it’s supposed to. Like it was meant to.

Not writing is like not breathing.

They tell you not to invest yourself completely in one thing.

That you shouldn’t pour yourself into one cauldron.

Because it could tip or the spell could spin and then

Then what would you have?

I never listened to “they”

Whoever the hell “they” are

I poured myself thick

Because that’s the only way I feel like the Ocean

And that’s the only way it’s worth it.

I’m the ocean when I write.

Maybe that doesn’t make sense.

But I am.

I’m heavy and light and calming and tumultuous and angry and peaceful.

But I can’t write like I used to.

People used to ask me how I wrote the way I did

And I didn’t know.

I still don’t know.

How could I have?

But I can’t anymore

And I’m not sure if the world has changed or if it’s just me

And I’m not sure which answer would make me more comfortable

I should have listened

When they told me not to over-invest.

But I think it’s the only way to live

To live big

To live like fireworks

But the fireworks are gone

And I don’t remember how to write.

~ by carik on August 29, 2008.