Crash

Our faces are inches apart,
The air between us erotic.
Beating loudly is my heart,
Your steady breathing hypnotic.

The seconds feel like years,
Time is all but frozen.
Forgotten are my fears,
As I live in this moment.

What will your lips feel like,
Crashing against mine?
What will your tongue taste like,
When ours intertwine?

The outside world fades away,
And there's no one but you and me.
Desperate for that sweet foreplay,
I forgo myself completely.

(b.m.)

Revenge

In the shadows there lurks a soul, 

Whose loneliness has taken its toll.

All she knows are cries and moans,

An empty shell of skin and bones.

She's stranded to the dark of night,

 Left with creatures of ghoul and fright.

Her heart's been sent through the guillotine,

And she's seeking revenge this Halloween.

(b.m.)

Which?

Which is worse?

Never to have loved,

or

Never to have b

                              e

                                   e

                                                     n loved?

Which is worse?

A hollow heart,

or

A f

       o

         r

             s 

               a

                  k

                     e

                                      n heart?

(b.m.)

Mended

There are levels to brokenness. 

There are things that can be mended. 

A broken nail. 

A broken toy. 

A broken bone. 

There are things that can be replaced. 

A broken dish. 

A broken phone. 

A broken window.

And then there are the permanent ones. 

A broken trust. 

A broken relationship. 

A broken heart. 

Those are the ones that stay with us. The ones that, even when put behind us, always seem to be etched into our brains. They can't be mended or replaced. You may trust that person again, or get back together with your ex. Your heart may return to a steady rhythm. But there will always be that uneasy feeling in the back of your mind. That doubt. 

Will they betray my trust again? 

Does he love me the way he did before? 

Is my heart ready for this? 

The answer may never be clear.

Life is sometimes unforgiving. It's a fucking mess. Parts of it are easily broken, but there's strength in experiencing pain, hardship, and shitty times. Why do we use the phrase "break a leg" to tell someone good luck? Why do we love to tell that story about how we broke our arm in middle school falling out of a tree? Why do we empathize so much with movies whose main character had their heart broken and then lived to be a success story? 

There's power to it.

So go ahead. Break a nail. Smash a glass plate. Have your heart broken. Don't regret a single thing.

There are levels to brokenness. 

How broken are you?

.

.

.

Better yet,

How strong are you?

Ignition

You set a fire in my heart,

yet

                you're

afraid

             to

    get

                                  burned.

       

-b.m.

Rhythm

      She doesn't need someone else's music to dance.

She 

            sways

to  

              the 

rhythm 

         of

  her

              own
damn

              heart.

-b.m.

Meaning of Life

Welcome to September, Moths!

It has been one long heck of a summer. I wish I could say it was filled with memorable nights and drinking until the sun came up, but unfortunately the real world had me tied down to work and school. Which I'm not necessarily complaining about because I saved up money to live comfortably while I'm away at college for the next couple of months, so there are trade-offs.

Now I know you're all thinking, are you going to tell us which school you go to, or what?? Since you begged, I'll share! I will be a senior this year at Rutgers University in New Brunswick! I transferred here last year and have been so grateful for the house I was accepted into. This house, called Helyar House, is unlike any other living arrangement out there. It is a co-op/coed, fifty year establishment filled with long-lasting traditions and amazing influential people. It really is a humbling experience to work alongside 39 other people to keep a house running effectively and-for the most part-smoothly.

Part of the uniqueness of this house is that the students who live within it basically have full control with a strong sense of independence. We have an E-board consisting of a president, vice president, food coordinators, historians (one of them being me), etc. The members of this "E-board" moved in a couple of days early to acclimate to the house for the upcoming semester, consisting of some training sessions discussing things like diversity, constructive personality exercises, stress/time management, etc. At the end of one of these sessions, our residence counselor, Neha, left us this food-for-thought before heading to bed:

What are three or four things you want to be remembered for when you die?
.
.
.
.
That escalated quickly, huh?

The context behind this is that we were discussing things about each other, such as things we feel we are oppressed by, memories we had about issues with gender/race/confrontation in the past, and things alike. The goal of all of this was to feel a deeper connection with the other members of our E-board, as well as feeling comfortable enough to share these things that may be crouching in the back of our minds. It really hit me, and as I laid in bed that night, I couldn't get my mind off of the thought. Sometimes we are sidetracked by all of the clutter in our lives. Clutter can be stress at work, worrying about if you look "too fat" in this outfit or whether or not we're having a bad hair day or worrying about posting this picture rather than the other, etc. We hang on so closely to these minuscule issues that when we are asked to take a step back from it all, it seems so utterly ridiculous that we wasted any time worrying about such things in the first place.

And by we I mean I, naturally.

So what are my three or four things? I'm going to share them with all of you lovely people:

• I want to be remembered for my smile and the way it lights up the darkest of rooms (as I have been so graciously told)
• I want to be remembered for having a kind and compassionate nature towards others
• I want to be remembered for my unwavering passion for wildlife, and things alike 
• I want to be remembered for my infectious, side-hurts-so-bad, only-stopping-to-gasp-for-air, kind of laugh
• And above all, I want to be remembered for all of the happiness I've brought into other people's lives

Let me be clear: I'm planning on my death being a veeeeeeeeeeeeery long time from now, and this is just an exercise to gain a perspective on life. 

Neha also said that if there ever comes a time in our lives where we are at a crossroads, or are going through a difficult situation in which life seems impossibly overwhelming, that we ought to utilize and retouch on these in order to reorientate our souls with our meaning of life. In other words, to take a step back from the magnifying glass we look through every day. No one is going to remember that huge pimple you had during the tenth grade that you ogled over all day, or that one time your belly rolls showed when your crop top was a little too cropped. None of these things will matter once we've departed from this physical world. It's how you chose to live your life, and how you treated people along the way, that matters.

I urge anyone reading this to take a few minutes to yourself in a quiet and secluded place to think about, and write down, what it is you wish to be remembered by when you die. Don't treat this as a morbid exercise, but rather your own guide from which to touch base with your core/soul. Write them down and store them somewhere you can access, somewhere it can remembered when you need it the most. These are for you and no one else, so really dig deep. 

What are you living for, moths? xoxo 

Masterpiece

She watched life from
A distance,
Never getting too close.
She was met with
Indifference--
Outside the wind blows.

But within her shines a
Bright light,
Merely kept at bay.
Like stars decorating a
Dark night--
Invisible during the day.

She wonders if anyone
Truly knows,
The sparkle that she hides.
Or the hypnotic way her
Blood flows--
Like the moon to ocean tides.

Until then she has made
A vow,
A promise to her heart.
To lose herself she won't
Allow--
An eternal work of art.

-b.m.