where / driftwood / water

I was supposed to be at Destination: INK tonight reading my poems, but I rejected the offer in the end.
I want to be home.
I'm going to be away for a month and a half and I don't even care if I've been trying not to be overly anxious about how I haven't memorized all my monologues yet... I just want to be home.
I will always want a roof over my head even though I'm naturally adventurous/fleeting/playful.
I know I leave. I know I can't stay in one place or go through routine. This is not the life for me - it's not even about the fact that my family has wealth and I have the chance to travel. No it's not. It's about every single thing, the most important aspect being the people I love.
And it doesn't mean I don't appreciate them but I need to go.
Leave, leaving, left but I'll always come back.
This mere month may change me and the way I look at things but the experiences I've had and the people I've met and interacted with over these seven months won't be robbed from me.
I am upset with myself and thoroughly disappointed, to have done "not-so-well" for the previous week's shoot.
Kept telling myself it's just something to learn from but why do simple words stay in this head of mine for so long.
Now I'll never get the chance back to watch myself grow and to do better at this job. It's harsh on myself, this mindset of mine, but the fact that I have to do the leaving and the fact that I had to go through the inevitable committing of those mistakes makes me angry.
It's quiet anger, but it's still anger.

These past few months have been the best I've ever had in terms of working life.
There is nothing fun in the leaving but it does feel good to officially have had my last day of work. There is a ton of relief in the leaving as well, since I have been begging myself and circumstances to let me have time to myself, to play, to train.


"A double meaning for a person who strives to give a double kind of love."
I wish you were with me in England and that I could lose you there among the crowds or watch you fall through a deep, cavernous valley, or even some place off an Irish cliff where a knight once lived.
I have dreams for you and I but when marriage is all about "tax benefits" and when you want to show me that we live in a world that waters down vows... where does the good go.
Because I'm good. I'm good to go. But perhaps, it's not with you. And even though this reality mirrors a sort of impending sadness that doesn't confront but creeps up, I will embrace the pain and continue to sing throughout this season of life.


It is March, and I can finally pin down the word that has been echoing in my head all this while.
The word is "where".
With a fullstop, not a question mark.
Where.
Because I am inexplicably drained.
I feel like driftwood; I'm being swept away and broken on rocks by this churning, aggressive tide called life.
Yet, Your love calms storms and You will show me a fresh new way between how You command the nature of crashing waves and how water itself is also made to flow and trickle gently. And You will give me rest again on lush, green banks where the glistening soft dew mimics clarity.