Purification, Possibly.

I wonder when sex will mean anything.
More than two bodies mutually meeting "in a place where there is no darkness"
and yet equal parts night sky.
Where there is no confusion, but only kindled devotion.
But can it ever be that simple?
I set myself up for the worst kind of destruction:
the kind that eats your soul when you’re being used,
or when you’re using someone else.
I have this ring twisted around my middle finger,
that once upon a time was supposed to mean something.
I wonder if I should throw it out.
It symbolizes beauty and destruction wrapped in a tight ball;
it is a mere symbol of the past, a reminder only.

I am all indecision and confusion, with tears squeezed lightly inside.
And I recognize I don’t know how to hold on.
It’s just me, bouncing from one false feeling to the next.
It’s almost impossible to distinguish what I truly feel at any given moment;
it’s like every emotion or outburst or cascade of tears is a mask for yet another and yet another emotion.
I need to find me, in this jungle of false feelings and masks and emerald green hopes and sapphire wishes.
No shooting star can save me, and no prayer could leave my lips.
I recognize futility when I see it, especially when a ring symbolizes a cyclical reality
that is never broken, never joyful nor joyless.

How can I escape?
How do I find the essence, the substance of myself?
So much hangs helplessly in the balance and I don’t know which way to turn.
Happiness is a journey, not a destination, they say.
So maybe I don’t have to turn anywhere. Maybe everything will evolve or disintegrate,
and in the end, everything will turn out the way it was meant to, perfectly.
Maybe there is no such thing as destiny, maybe it’s all fabricated by the confused mind of a child,
who keeps making the same mistakes,
keeps riding on the sick cycle carousel with a blue coat.

I’d like to believe that Sinatra could sing the soundtrack of my life,
and sunsets and coffee and brilliant colors and smiles are all I need,
and the ribbon of my destiny is intertwined with another, so alike, that it is nearly heart-stopping.
But can I? Seeing all that I’ve seen, hearing all that I’ve heard?
It’s almost impossible to distinguish my own voice from the tangle of others around me.

And I need a white dress,
one of purity, one of new beginnings.
I need black, shiny shoes and tame hair and neatly trimmed fingernails.
I need organized chaos that reflects the flippant tilt of my head,
the sparkle of my eyes when alight with only a moment of molten joy.
But how to achieve, how to start on the journey of happiness?

"Live by what you trust, not by what you fear."
yet my heart seems incapable,
and my mind inaccessible.
My actions seem robotic,
though deep down,
I know I have control, I have strength.
Where to find it? How to apply it, once I find it?
And how to modify my personality to create harmony and peace?

I want it to hail so hard that it knocks the world down.
I need a dark refuge, away from the sun.
The sun is bright, harsh, and I’d rather take the soft blackness to recollect and purify.
Love
Amanda.