Tell Me Your Story…

I know you’re not boring (can’t help but put music in everything). This is really a space for everyone. Adulthood is a passage we all must sojourn in this ephemeral thing called life. By sharing our trials, tribulations and points of view, we can navigate it together.

I’m honored that my friend will be the first to post an experience and would be humbled if you felt the same.

So submit what you want others to understand, a new way of seeing things, your unique perspective to Sainttwenty@gmail.com! This is a place to heal through compassion, kindness and introspection. Also writing is insanely therapeutic. You don’t have to use your real name, do whatever makes you feel comfortable. You need different notes to create harmony, not just my one key. Remember your voice matters. Photo: Light And Text

Wicked Game

“If we don’t have trust, we have nothing.”- Beck

A concept incomprehensible to the honey haired prince, who would one day blossom into a king, ruling over his dominion with compassion and light. My hero, setting me free from the plantation, that try as I might I could not abscond. The darkness I endured there could not be believed, nor discussed since I signed settlement papers.

This was no chance encounter, it was our second time meeting, but this time we sat for hours. I didn’t want him to go, so I tried coaxing him into continuing the night. Respectfully he declines, elucidating a 7am call time the following morning. A supermodel radiating grace; even off camera, in candid moments possessing a poise and fluency of his being. He promised to come back the next day, he didn’t and by the time he did I’d vanished. His appearance setting off a chain of events that led me to karmic justice.

When it was confirmed that he had indeed returned in search of me, I messaged him incessantly. Indebted in gratitude towards him, I wanted to tell him everything. However, something went wrong and the honey hair prince abhorred me. No matter what, he wouldn’t give me the time of day. It hurt, but I understood he was manipulated with misinformation. On my end seeing him again infected my conscious, making me feel disloyal to my false twin flame. Still just like our first encounter, I couldn’t get him out of my head. The mere thought of his contempt towards me was unbearable, so I tracked him down based on a photo of his fire escape (my brain operates like Sherlock Holmes) and wrote him a letter.

Eight years his senior, I had the wisdom to see that it would be selfish of me not to let him go. I’m at a different stage in life, his skull isn’t even fully developed. He’s too young for the white picket fence (in my case a brownstone with a library, praise Jesus and it shall be so), dirty diapers and a diamond. I wasn’t ready at his age either, there’s so much life yet to live, lessons yet learned. Still something gnawed at my insides regarding his reaction to it all, he didn’t give me the opportunity to expound my point of view. He let others narrate for me, I would have never done that to him. In recent events this proved to be our dynamic, his first instinct to turn on me in a furor. So for you honey haired prince, who will one day blossom into a king, ruling over your dominion with compassion and light (if he’s lucky, which he is) know this: love without trust, isn’t love at all. Photo: Iprincipito

Plastic Faces

As a writer I know how hard being a poet is. The poems job is to fill you with descriptive imagery succinctly. Poindexter nails it every time. The world is a harsh place, people are often cruel, no wonder one can feel like crawling out of their skin in social situations. Have you ever felt socially awkward? What did you learn from the experience? I’ve learned that you can always find a person to chat with, as long as you get out of your head.

Check In. Check Up.

Take an emotional evaluation. Which one are you? If you’re happy write down five reasons why (be grateful). If you aren’t happy try this exercise. Get a piece of paper and write down what’s causing displeasure on one side (i.e job). In the next column write what you believe would alleviate the situation (get a new job). Baby steps! Choose one thing to work on this week (apply to one job a day). Life is too short, you deserve to be happy, we can do it together. Photo: Writers Pocket

Path Of Deep Healing

Put in the work and true love and joy will abound. It can be scary to evolve, but it’s instrumental to your happiness. Are you taking care of yourself? How? Are you on the path of healing? Why not? Is this the best version of you? Start small, do something for the sake of self care (exercise, meditate, a long bath, journal…).

Who You Are

Once upon a time, at least six other different species of humans roamed the Earth (i.e the Neanderthals…). All of them went extinct except for yours truly, us. A key factor in their demise was our race depleting their food supply, when we migrated throughout the world. We are Homo Sapiens; our ability to work as a team to hunt and gather is how we’ve survived. Together we are quicker, faster, smarter. When I read this chapter in Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind, I gave everyone on the subway the side eye; our ancestors were killers. Side note, read Sapiens if you want more information on how we came to be.

It’s no wonder we are social creatures in constant need of companionship, we crave that tribal bond, it’s in our genetic coding. We need each other, without a doubt. Sometimes the need to belong leads to some low places with low vibrating people. It brings out a lesser version of you, just to feel the validation of fitting it. Look around you. Look at your social circle. Significant other. Coworkers. Family members who might be toxic. Do you love who you are when you’re with them? Are you dimming your light to fit in? Dumbing yourself down? Behaving poorly?

Don’t be a low quality version of yourself to be in the in crowd, love yourself and you’ll attract a better tribe. You are the energy you put out, raise your vibration and your standards. The universe will match it with people who make you feel good. Photo: Were Not Really Strangers