Mismatched Mess

of life, love, fashion, & forgetting to update

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This is not a dorm room, nor a bed.

But the soft, clean grass–green, new.

As I lay relaxed, entranced, enthralled,

I feel the beauty of the night.

The beauty of the rain.

Falling gently and bravely.

Refreshing memory,

Washing away the smudges of worry, doubt, fear.

Allowing the total and complete abandonment of the stained garment in which we live;

Pulling over our heads the crisp, clean thought of a new day.

The rain does this to me. Nearly everytime. =) I am no poet, as you can see–merely a thinker.

Here are more rainy day thoughts from me:
Click to read: After the Rain Comes New Life

[10 Feb 2009 | Tuesday]

after the rain comes new life.

Imagine this rain pelting down on me, the lonely yellow flower,
or weed, you can call me whatever you like.
But…just imagine this rain, drenching me and soaking into the pores of my wilted stalk, and very ungently weighing the fragile yellow petals closer to the dark, drenched soil.
Mud-stained rain pools around my withered roots like a murder victim’s claim to death.
And all the while I feel as if I’m drowning in someone else’s lake of fire.
I only now did notice the soft, spongy texture where my roots desperately feed; secretly reviving my soul, pumping oxygen into my metaphorical heart, and bringing color to the saddest part of me.

Click to read: Steady Now

[27 May 2008 | Tuesday]

steady, now

“One more day to waste away,” the little girl sitting beside me on the bumpy subway sullenly shares. She is dressed in a gray trenchcoat with a matching beret.

The rain beats a continuous hum on my heart as I rush away from underground to the nearest magazine stand featuring the latest gossip and drag.

The new air has become more of a smog stuck in my lungs. I am carried away through the sea of grays and umbrellas to a quaint landing where birds brave the beating drops of water and continue to flutter in small circles forward and backward.

I stare a few blocks ahead of my beating heart and see through the rain exactly what my heart most desired in this dreary new land. Or what I thought it would like to desire. But now I forget why I ever wanted and dreamed of such a foggy mist and why I ever thought the horizon could provide anything greener, richer, more beautiful.

I didn’t ever mind the rain or the smog or the little girl.
I didn’t ever believe that life was here to waste; the days were here to mourn.

I could’ve latched onto the new, popular dreariness hitting down on every American home searching for the idyllic American Dream. I just didn’t let my soul become sucked up by the aliens who pretend to know happiness and the foriegners who sold happiness on the street corners.

I didn’t think they really had happiness to give away to me, so I walked on by their venues paved with gold. I could barely recognize the fear and the pain and the truth etched into the gold veneer.

I laugh and cry as I think I was so close to being one of the millions of unsatisfied customers who sell away their hopes and continue reaching into their ever-emptying pockets for more unhappiness.
But I just never let the fog enter too close to my heart.

In reading old blog posts on myspace I realized that I can WRITE! And yes that statement can be viewed as bragging, but hear me out: If I put my mind to it I can actually put thoughts and words together very beautifully. So there is no excuse why I write such nonsense. My words no longer hold beauty. Come on, now, Alyssa—find some beauty in your words again.