Skip to main content

Full of Life

 


Before I die, I want to feel. 

I want to feel joy like a breeze on the beach, like the smell of salt and tropical flowers. 

I want to scream so my insides know what anger means. 

I want to cry until my house floods. 

Before I die, 

I want to enjoy. Enjoy the smell of dew in the morning, five people on a trampoline, too heavy for the springs, the threads are stretching. To enjoy gripping a cold hand as you slip and slide around an ice rink

Enjoy sitting on leather seats with family sharing memories, on the road for hours, sometimes bored, never discontent. Sunlight shines through the window, illuminating my lap, flickering on my fingers.

Before I die,

I want to love so my heart sparks with flames. To love so deeply that it’s visible. To see it in my eyes, the smile that hangs on my lips

Love is like a parade. Like when Santa comes through the neighborhood with firetrucks.

Love that screams from rooftops.

Before I die, I want to suffer.

I want to be so broken, that it is undeniable that I lived. I loved, I hated, I ran, I cried, I screamed…

I want my soul to be past the point of mending. To be fractured in my ways, with distinctive shards and fissures that are only mine. So the fragments fit together in ways only I can recognize.

Before I die, 

I want to hate so intensely that the shards of my heart pierce my insides, cutting holes too deep for repair. I want my heart to break, splinter, split, and disintegrate. 

To hate, so my heart is cut in pieces—torn ventricle from ventricle, aorta from aorta. Let the blood rush out like rip currents from an ocean.

Before I die, I want to live 

To appease every piece of me, every impulse, every emotion. 

To painstakingly piece together every splinter and shred of myself. 

Before we fade into the eternal unknown, to paint our final masterpiece, to write our final chapter, from the fragments of every nuance that defines the soul of a human being.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

blood on the hands of the red, white, and blue

Since When Did Classrooms Become Battlefields? The same cries, time and time again. You hear that fearful alarm blare over the auditory system. You’re told to hide underneath a desk. You shudder as you scooch into the corner, huddling against the cold, unforgiving floor. Tears claw at your eyes, and you watch your teacher’s hands tremble uncontrollably as she fumbles to lock the door. You text your parents goodbye. You pray to God for the first time. You made it out alive. Yet every time a water bottle drops, your mind escapes to that night. The night you held your best friend’s body in your hands, watched as life drained from her eyes. The night her blood stained your trembling palms, her last breath scarred your soul. You light a candle for her the next year, but the flame only flickers in the shadows of your mind. Her laughter silenced. Her future, stolen. Your community gathers around her grave. A sea of faces, weeping, mourning, remembering. And yet, amidst the grief, an unimagina...
Post a Comment
Read more

“Indian Wedding”

  It explores the challenges of balancing two worlds, where a lack of cultural awareness can create gaps in one's sense of belonging. The song “American Wedding” by Frank Ocean parallels the concept of privilege. On the other hand, “Hotel California” provides a contrasting perspective on American life, emphasizing the gray zone where immigrant children often find themselves—unsure of where they truly belong. Both songs share the same tune but differ in meaning.  “Indian Wedding” In the glow of gilded sarees and the rhythm of ancient songs, she stood—a stranger to the vibrant pulse of a heritage she’d never truly known. She watched as the strangers known as her family danced in vibrant circles moving like swans sharing the culture of her ancestors.  Her heart longed as she watched her cousins' strangers to her heart laugh and share jokes singing hymns to commemorate the ceremony creating memories they would forever cherish.    "American Wedding" hummed softly in ...
Post a Comment
Read more

Define "Control"

  I love the way the wind blows through my hair Sending the curls in every possible direction  Like wild tendrils reaching for the sky, Dancing to nature’s whispered melody. I love the way the sun illuminates  My honey colored-highlights  Beautifully casting rays of sunshine  I love the way the heat radiates  Against my shiny casted hair  Sparking a beautiful glow  Like embers catching light at dusk. I love the way  My hair emanates with the sweet smell of coconut  every strand carefully coiled to perfection Like nature’s own ringlets kissed by the tropics. I love the sound of the my curls when they crunch  whispers secrets to the breeze, A soft rustle, like leaves in early spring. I love the way My hair curls like the roots of trees under rich soil  Twisting and yearning  Deeply Grounded yet reaching for the warm sun  I love the way  My hair springs with excitement with every crunch A chorus of soft snaps, Like ...
Post a Comment
Read more