pileofmixtape

[pileofmixtape]

mastermind , xavier thorpe.

pairings: xavier thorpe x reader

“what if i told you none of it was accidental and the first time you saw me , nothing was gonna stop me?”

“what if i told you i’m a mastermind? and now you’re all mine , it was all by design.”

summary: xavier knew he wanted you from the moment he saw you— and he always made sure to get the things he wanted.

Xavier remembered the first time he saw you.

You were wearing your favorite outfit , one he had seen you wear plenty of times now , and you were clutching a stuffed animal in one arm and holding cotton candy in the other. With a bubbly smile on your face , you followed around your friends , soaking in the scenery of the carnival and grinning ear to ear. ( You really loved carnivals. )

He hadn’t seen you before. You didn’t go to Nevermore , and he wasn’t too fond of Normies. But there was something about you that seemed so different. It sounded cliche , but something clicked inside of him when he first saw you. You were beautiful , and you looked so sweet and innocent. He wanted to know you , who you were , what you liked. He wanted you to think he was just as attractive as he saw you. God , did he want you.

With his hands stuffed in his pockets , he huffed when you strolled on out of sight. The carnival was packed and he knew he’d look weird just watching around for you the entire time. He also knew , he didn’t want to approach you in front of your friends. He wasn’t particularly fond of them— just you.

He tried getting the image of you out of his head. It was just one girl , he kept telling themself. There’s more out there , don’t bother.

He played a couple games with Ajax , chatted with Wednesday , and still nothing turned his head the way you did. Nothing interested him enough to want to stop thinking about you.

“Bro you’re hot.” Ajax scoffed. Xavier bashfully admitted to him what his problem was after looking so irritated that past thirty minutes. “You make art come to life. Literally.”

“Okay and what if she’s like a super cunt who only dates guys like Tyler Galpin?” He borderline whined , hating that he cared so much.

“Then she’s a cunt so why would you wanna be with her still?” Ajax pointed out.

Xavier nodded , knowing Ajax was right. Maybe he was scared of finding that out— having the already made image of you tainted by a scornful tongue or an upturned nose.

“She seems to like Enid.” Ajax cut in , nodding over towards the blonde talking excitedly to you. You talked to her grinning , showing her the piece of jewelry Enid complimented you on.

Xavier watched the two of you closely , his eyes lightening up as Enid handed you her phone. He silently prayed you were exchanging socials instead of numbers , so he’d be able to find you later.

When you turned your phone around , showing Enid you had followed her , Xavier grinned excitedly.

“Gotcha.”

“what if i told you none of it was accidental and the first night that you saw me , i knew i wanted your body? i laid down the groundwork and just like clockwork the dominos cascaded down the line.”

That night Xavier laid in his bed and searched up Enid’s Instagram. Social media wasn’t really his ‘thing’ but he had an account just to be nosey every now and again— and luckily , it came in handy.

He wasted no time in searching through Enid’s followers until he found you. It took him about twenty different people , but then , finally , your profile picture was a photo of you in the woods. A huge smile on your face as you stood there with your arms wide open , eyes screwed shut.

Shamelessly , Xavier stalked you as far as your Instagram would go. He was in awe at your photos , how artistic some of them were compared to the pretty selfie’s you’d take. There wasn’t any sign of another significant other in your life , which made a proud smirk appear on his face.

He followed you , and turned his phone , ignoring the excitement bubbling in his stomach.

Then the next morning , as soon as he woke up , he saw you had followed him back. And he smiled.

The next time he saw Enid , he grabbed her arm and pulled her off to the side , stuffing his hands in his pocket nervously. “So. . .”

“You wanna know about Y/N.” Enid cut to the chase. “Ajax ratted you out to me last night! He said you couldn’t stop talking about her. Xavier that is so cute! You guys would be the perfect couple.”

Xavier made a mental note to tell Ajax about his blabber mouth as he flushed , rolling his eyes. “Calm down. I just wanna know if , you know , she’d—”

“She’s not like the rest of them , I promise.” Enid cut him off excitedly again. “In fact! She’s sneaking in me and Wednesday’s dorm tonight.” She smiled proudly , “you and Ajax should come by.”

Xavier smirked. “You know , I’m surprised at how little work I’ve had to do to score this.” He admitted , thinking he’d have to go on the wild hunt to find you somewhere’s in town.

“Maybe you’re not the one trying to score.”

“you knew i was a mastermind and you’re mine , and all you did was smile. ’cause i’m a mastermind.”

Enid was finishing up your hair as you checked it subconsciously in the mirror. “And he asked me about you?” You already heard the story a million times , you just wanted to hear it again.

You were practically leaping with joy when Xavier had asked to follow you. You caught his attention. Finally. You wore your favorite outfit , ran around the entire carnival looking silly , just hoping he’d come up to you.

You were a bit disappointed when he didn’t , but when Enid texted you saying Xavier was asking her about you— you were ecstatic.

Wednesday rolled her eyes at the same question she’d been hearing for the past hour. “Do you suffer from short term memory loss?”

“I just don’t want to assume he’s into me but really I’m just being delusional.”

“Didn’t you say he followed you.” Enid tried easing your overthinking.

“Yeah but—”

“Which means he was looking for it because he didn’t know your name before!” Enid clapped excitedly. “I love love.”

“Love makes me want to operate on myself while I’m wide awake.”

Wednesday’s comment was left uncommented on because a knock on the door interrupted the conversation.

Your stomach was in knots and Enid gave you an encouraging smile as she went to open the door. You immediately felt shy , unsure of what to do or say.

“Y/N’s already here!” She almost squealed , moving away to let them walk in.

Xavier’s eyes immediately fell onto you. You sat on Enid’s bed , with your hands in your lap for comfort. The way you looked at him made him grin , nodding up at you. “Gonna introduce me , Enid?”

Enid giggled and you stood up , smoothing down your clothes and walking up to him.

“Don’t you know her already?” Wednesday’s monotonous voice spoke up. “You followed her Instagram.” She said simply , not looking up from her place on her own bed , reading.

Xavier’s cheeks went red with embarrassment as Enid giggled and Ajax laughed. You even chuckled a bit , finding his red cheeks and the way he scratched the back of his neck endearing.

“Well yeah but—”

“I’m Y/N.” You introduced.

“So it seems.” Xavier laughed. “In the flesh.”

You were two caught up in his big green eyes to answer. His face was definitely something to look at. Every feature just fit him perfectly , his voice and demeanor. You were smitten.

“I think me and Y/N are gonna go off on our own.” Xavier told the others without looking away from you , his heart beating so fast.

“Already?” Enid whined. “You just got here.”

Xavier looked at you questionably , cocking his head to the side with a smirk.

“Yeah–” you broke the stare to glance towards Enid briefly with a sympathetic smile. “We can all meet up later?”

“God , I hate teenagers.”

[pileofmixtape]

Poems & Words

[pileofmixtape]

I think it’s time to start again

But what do we write about?

Let’s start with sunflowers.

A visual representation, a rock.

If the words don’t flow at first

Use a tool to unstick the stream.

If rocks block the flow of water, move the rocks.

Don’t just watch the water.

Move the rocks.

And if you don’t know who to be right now,

Write who you want to be. So Who do you want to be?

I want to be the stars. I want to be the hazy sunlight.

I want to be crisp like fall. Sharp like the sun.

I want to be the amber petals shining light back at you.

I want to be what I believe in.

And I want to believe again.

While words have felt like darkness

And emotions haven’t been my friends

Perhaps it’s time to mend the bridge

And start over again.

There’s only so much comfort in silence

Until it becomes deafening in itself.

Nobody blames the plants for their wintery death;

they blame the season.

So maybe stop trying

To blame the plants

And just accept

That seasons change.

[pileofmixtape]

2019 - A Year In Review

2019

January – You start the year with a promise to yourself. A sunflower on your thigh. A mural over cracked walls. You started the year by promising yourself you’d be better. You’d be kinder. You started the year holding on to hope. You found foundation in a cabin, in a rock. True words were spoken. You flew to Hawaii. You found the edge of a rope. True ties shouldn’t bind you. Let frustration be your guide.

February – You felt what the warmth of a true winter could be. Finding warmth in new places. Learning to leave certain things behind. It’s okay to be selfish. It’s okay to learn to love yourself. It’s okay to step back and breathe. In fact, it’s encouraged.

March – You found an easy solution to an old problem. A babysitter. And so began the descent down the mountain, off the cliff. You explored the countryside. You found beauty in small places. You returned to your roots and felt at home. You worked hard to be strong.

April – You explored further. You made deep connections, had deep talks. You traveled to Nashville. You began life choices. You created a family, made strides towards life.

May – A weekend trip to Utah brought on countless realizations and poetry. Understanding in life. Understanding of your wants and your needs. Knowing truly what it is you feel. Who you want to be. Who you want to be with. Who your real friends are. As stated in 2018, Amy, to be you is to be free. And no form of strangulation will survive this.

June – You moved in together. You built a home. I grew to a fully proper we. We stayed strong in your decisions. You explored the southeast. You fell in love with mountains. You thrived on adventure. You survived Lila’s suffering for a full week. Your escape is near, love. Hold tight.

July – You opened the door to film photography – a reminder to see the world in a different light. A step towards remembering the world for what it is – a neverending treasure. An art piece. The power to experience and understand lies solely within your heart. It’s your responsibility to open your eyes and see it. You thrived in the sunlight. Without even realizing, you took step one into finding your new pace. To go home. Back to Tulsa.

August – And so began the steps towards being true. Realizing fake friends. Removing facades and discarding masks. It is time to break free. Breaking free of Lila. Breaking free of Phillips. You began your search to start anew. We got a puppy. We breathed new life, new responsibility. The newest addition to your family.

September – You discovered your new home. You worked your ass off. You got your CCNA. You pushed to your fullest to get the InterWorks spot. You knew where you wanted to be, and who you wanted to be, and you became it, dammit. You fucking became it. You have the entire power of the sun behind you. You saw a sea of disfortune. A sea of unhappy people doing nothing about it and instead of joining in the woes, you fucking pushed through. You made a choice. A scary choice. And there’s power in that.

October – And you took the leap. You left your job at Phillips (to start in November.) You said goodbye to the chains and ties and moved on to the freedom. “I’m not gonna sit and wait for life to come and find me on it’s own. I’m not going to sit and wait for fire to burn a passion in my bones. I’m not gonna search for safety sitting on my hands til I am grown. If you’re looking for me, I’ll be deep in the unknown.”

November – And so the tide hit the cliffs. You moved to a new home, a new family. You found love and a sense of pride in yourself. You fully ended Lila’s strangulation. You removed Phillips’ control over you. You lost somebody very, very close to you. You watched your family struggle with grief. You yourself struggled with grief. Your grandmother meant a lot to you. And losing someone is hard. You held strong. You held your mother as she wept. You held your brother as he grieved. You powered through for the sake of your family. You held strong through it all. You are more powerful than you ever give yourself credit for.

December – And you learned to hold it true. December brought in closeness of family. Hold those you love dear. It brought neverending challenges. You held others while they grieved, but who held you. You explored the seas. Took a trip on a cruise ship and learned the lives of those around you. You showed appreciation. You brought joy.

You think 2018 tested you? Try 2019. Those seeds you planted did not grow flowers. But they held roots. They held true. And they build a strength you can lean on. And they kept you grounded. You have a strong family. You have strong self. And to think you cannot conquer anything at this point is stupid. You’re as fragile as a freight train. You’re Amy Fucking Cairns.

I saw your soul without the skin attached And you’ve got the guts of a coyote pack We’ve been kissed, we’ve been cut, but we do what needs the doing We’re just rainbows dreaming we are human.

You’re never really gonna have control of it all So you best get cool with where your chips gonna fall We are the sun and mother’s milk and cuss words and poetry.

There’s no use in running, unless you run like heck The best things we’ve learned, we learned from the wreck Jesus coming back as a woman this time Handing out hugs in the clinic line Someone tell the devil we don’t need no hell We’re all pretty good at beating up ourselves

As kids we believed that the angels talked Everything is magic, til you think it’s not It’s easy to be thankful for the things you’ve got It takes guts to give thanks for the things you’ve lost

We grew up believing good wins over bad So you gave away your heart but the wolves attacked But then a bigger heart grew back.

And 2020 will bring growth.

For I am planting seeds.

And watering what’s already mine.

[pileofmixtape]

Some Thoughts from the Nerd Lab

I didn’t like how empty this looked. So I filled it with old poetry.

Because what’s aesthetic about emptiness? Apparently, nothing. A commentary.

And what better way to start a blog than whining about the social implications of blogging. A vision of three things: 1. purpose, 2. audience, and 3. intent.

And all three can be culminated into one thing: I’m doing this for myself. My audience is no one. My intent is to clear my head.

Which is ironic because naturally I know my own intent. So stating that invalidates itself. Because if I’m sharing my intent, then I apparently think someone else is going to bother reading this. Meaning my audience is, I guess, you, my purpose is the  void, and my intent is Nietzsche rolling over in his grave. Scream away; who knows the correct usage of irony anyway?

My issue with having a blog is catering. I’m not one for the service-industry lifestyle. By assuming I have an audience, I’m naturally in a state of falsified meaning and magnified filters. Because the second someone is watching, you stop dancing. The second someone is listening, you stop singing. And the second a second opinion bounces in, you watch your words and hold your tongue. Good riddance, raw thoughts.

And I don’t like the concept of  vapidity. I want to write whatever and however words decide to flow. I don’t want to cater. I don’t want to filter. So either I am wrong, and no one is bothering with my words, or convincing myself of lies. Which are both unfortunate. Plus, I’m just not very good at following a train of thought.

Isn’t the spotlight effect a powerful influence?

Amazing.

Let’s stop while we’re ahead.

[pileofmixtape]

A Note On Personality

When I was 16 years old I wrote a note to myself in my art workbook,

“Hello. My name is Amy. My favorite color is green. I have a lot of issues. I like to think of them as unique. They’re not.”

“I have been down and I will continue to go up.”

“I’m terrified of people, like myself.”

“I hate chocolate.”

“I sometimes fear I might be a hipster”

“My friends are figuring me out, and that terrifies me.”

“Sometimes I try to force myself to be artsy. (I often force myself to be a lot of things, but let’s not get depressing here) I then remember why that doesn’t work. Artsy Amy is also Five Year Old Amy so I say ‘be artsy’ and she says 'lol, no,’ I guess this is my rebellion.”

And if you were to hand those words to me on a paper with no given context, I could not tell you what year they were from. I just happen to know when this art book was created.

It goes on. “Sometimes I fear my friends are figuring me out. This scares me because I tend to scare myself. I’m very good at manipulating people. Simultaneously, I’m very empathetic. I am so easily struck by guilt. There’s a part of me that IS a terrible person. I like to look like I have my shit together and can definitely see how much I do not.”

“My life is nowhere near as interesting as I tend to think.”

I hit a plateau in personality in High School.

Time is a flat circle is an understatement in my life.

I tend to live in an endless circle of the same mistakes and same doubts while simultaneously noting that my overall foundation hasn’t changed in over ten years.

And now that I’m technically an adult by my own standards, I can’t help but ask when the fuck that circle quits.

Is this reality? Is this growing up?

And in a growth spurt, we relapse

And in a cycle, we spin

And spin

And we stop and gather our senses

And take the bottles off the shelves

And relive past existences

And realize that they’re the same

And we shoot the stars and curse the moon

And tell ourselves this time we’ve learned

And yet the confidence cracks

And we shoot through the ground

And sink and swim and sink and swim

And never realize that at some point

It has to stop.

At some point you have to breathe

You have to take a moment

To appreciate the tulips

A new flower in my metaphors

An area for growth and beauty

To consider what you haven’t touched

Foundation lays deep

Cracks that can catch you

An interwoven net of past mistakes and current thoughts

That are all the same Venn Diagram

of nonsense you’ve convinced yourself

Until you’re breathing seaweed and burping daisies

Until the earth has woven you in

Until you stop to breathe the ivy

And your lungs give way to spring

Your brain stops thinking

And that’s when colors come

And in a roundabout moment of eyes closed vision

The same feeling of being grounded

And returning to your roots

Edelweiss, edelweiss

Every morning you meet me

Small and white

Clean and bright

You look happy to greet me.

[pileofmixtape]

The Problem With Metaphors

…is that even I lose track of what I’m trying to convey with them.

There’s some multi-tiered story to be told on guilt, emotional manipulation, and confirmation bias. And how when you take those ingredients and bundle them up into a story you get today’s society in a goddamn nutshell.

Everybody is a bowl of cookie dough just waiting to be shaped and prepared for it’s various stages of existence. You’ve got the initial mixture of ingredients – the formative years, the development of personality, the life experiences that will enchant and haunt for decades, etc. You’ve got everyone’s cracked eggs. Their ¾ cup of sugar. Their salt. Their builder-uppers, baking powder.  Their flour. You’ve got their laughs. Their tears. Their foundation. And you take that and you mix it up into a conglomeration of dissonance and feeling.

And then you take that batter and you squish it. And you roll it. And you work out the chunks. And you get it smoothed out and hope for the best. You spread it out, flour the cookie cutters, and begin to shape it. And that shape is your choice. Today a square. Tomorrow a circle. Or we release the choice and just stick balls on a hot tray and let them melt how they’re gonna. It’s a personal decision.

And then you stick those in an oven and that’s when the real existence comes to play. Are the cookies going to meld together? Are they gonna rise? Melt? Is the correct ingredient combination going to result in the perfect golden-crisp delicacy? And how long to cook them? When do you take them out to share with the world?

And everyone has a different consistency. Everyone has a different origin story. Everyone works and functions and grows differently. Some cookies came in a pre-made dough container. Some were built through love and effort. Some were thrown together in seconds, with no real measure of ingredients. Some cookie dough is frozen, and the baking process is postponed. Some never get to baking. Some burn in the oven. Some come out fine. The cookies on the plate, waiting to be eaten. Welcome to adulthood.

The eagle-eye view of it all is that there is no correct way to exist. But everyone can agree that some cookies taste good, and others taste bad. Some cookies aren’t one persons taste, and others are their favorite. You will never find a cookie that will satiate the needs of every person in existence.

But every cookie is a cookie. And every cookie needs a reminder of that sometimes.

And here’s my current dilemma. If the dough needs flour, adding salt won’t do the trick. If the dough needs baking powder, adding sugar won’t do the trick. A lacking ingredient isn’t an excuse for substitution and experimentation. Add the damn ingredient. Recipes exist for a reason. You can add or subtract certain ingredients as you wish, but the base level idea stays consistent.

And when you’re inexperienced in baking, it can be hard to recognize what ingredient is missing. Why is the dough coating my hands? Why is the dough so clingy? Adding sugar will just granulate the mixture. What it needs is flour. It DEFINITELY doesn’t need additional salt.

Sometimes cookies are soft. And sometimes cookies are hard. There isn’t an issue with either option – it’s just their nature. Sometimes a cookie crumbles under pressure. Or as an act of rebellion. Sometimes a cookie crumbles as a statement which just proves to everyone else that the missing ingredient was, in fact, not sugar. But flour.

And sometimes you have to let the cookie experience this for itself. Sometimes you have to step back and let the cookie rise and fall and know what to change in the future. We are all both the baker and the cookie.

It’s not always apparent what the correct methodology for cookies is. And there is not correct cookie recipe. There will never be a 100% perfection cookie recipe. It’s all trial and error.

I guess my point is that everybody has their flaws and their pros and their existence. And it’s nearly impossible to perceive interpersonal interactions without dousing everything in confirmation bias or guilt. Your cookie preference. Your recipe ideas. What you think is right, what you think is wrong. What you add to your cookies. And at what point do you listen to your head over your gut? At what point is something truly a fault. And at what point are you just placing unnecessary amounts of blame on yourself for something that you feel? While forgiveness and understanding are necessary parts of day to day interactions, there are still things that you’re allowed to focus in on. You don’t have to overlook everything, you don’t have to forget everything. Forgiveness isn’t tied exclusively to forgetting. Dough is dough, but some mistakes are easy to avoid. Some mistakes don’t have to be forgiven. Some recipes aren’t for everyone. But that doesn’t mean you have to ignore them. If you’ve eaten a cookie with ¾ cup of salt instead of sugar, you’re not going to want that cookie twice. You’ve seen the recipe. You know it’s game.

And you can’t protect people from the cookies. Because they’re going to see the outside, and if they never truly take a bite, they’ll never truly know. Be true to your recipe. And know your truths. Through it all, a cookie is always going to just be a cookie.

See? I’ve lost track of where I’m going with this.

That’s the problem with metaphors. Even I lose track of what I’m saying.

[pileofmixtape]

A Notion of Slime

The value of a thought comes from the effort in achieving it.

There’s no glory in plagiarism, there’s no honor in handouts.

What’s that got to do with slime?

Some notes about slime. It oozes. It creeps. It coats.

And it’s interesting to me how some people are just okay with that. They’re okay with the slime. Some people don’t see the slime. They’re just absorbed in it. They’re slimebodies. And some people bring the slime.

Sometimes the slime oozes itself in between the cracks. It seeps itself in deep. It settles in. It likes the view. You’ve got yourself a slime. You might not even notice the slime – it’s not necessarily opaque. You could see through it. Not notice it. Clear.

Slime, in this case, is my metaphor.

Slime’s a scary concept to me. To do something and not notice. To bring something and share something and spread it without notice. The effects of your actions reach significantly farther than your efforts in doing them. You ever leave a situation and just feel slimy? You ever meet someone and just… feel slimy? I think countless situations exist where slime is the perfect metaphor. It just feels gross. It just sounds gross. It just IS gross.

Sometimes the slime is extraordinarily sticky. And it gets on you. And you don’t realize it. So you touch someone else. You interact elsewhere. They get that slime on them. Then you rub your head, and you didn’t see the slime, and now it’s in two places. And slowly you’re covered in this slime and you look to all sources wondering how you got this absorbed and how you drowned so quickly without ever noticing that in the end you were doing it to yourself the whole time.

You were bringing the slime.

And you step back.

And you notice.

And you acknowledge the slime. And the source.

And you grab a towel and wipe it off. And you move forwards. And with that experience under your belt, you’ve learned to see slime. You know it’s flaws. You see it’s moves. You know it’s game.

Because isn’t that all that this is? A game?

And there are winners. And there are losers.

And there is always slime.

[pileofmixtape]

Whoops

How To Process Anger

By: Anyone But Me

Flitter bird lost it’s feathers

And it hops from tree to tree.

Have you ever felt the sorrow

of a downed bird?

In you I see a splinter

A fragment of a tree.

When jointed, tall, majestic

But you?

Under my skin

Watch me break.

And with a break

I catch a break

I catch a breath

Finally, a breath.

For how hard it is to breathe

Under constant pressure and surveillance.

Ew.

———–

Thorns

To Friendship – an ocean of thorns

When humans feel like boas

and viney snake binds

Constrictive, controlling

And as they press tighter – a question

Is a security blanket protecting

or wrapping tighter

is suffocation welcome only

through the drugged lack of oxygen?

What a fun game, small child.

The dirt so cooling as I get pushed deeper

until the sun is covered

Oh? By the clouds!

Look at that smile!

View innocence rise!

and dry

and realize

This is only a game

To one of you

While the other

is buried alive.

[pileofmixtape]

Something borrowed

Something blue

An accidental association

A reminder of you.

Morning glories awake

When the sun rises up

And with them comes warmth

And softness

And love.

And I said no meaning

Or cliche taboo.

But on a drunken stroll

All I thought of was you.

Soft cresting waves,

Sun sets, mesas, sand

Relaxation in the moment

And a chance to understand

A dangerous sport

A calming view

But permanence isn’t scary

Together old

Forever new.

———–

Untitled No. 2

I think I’m ready

Tall - a daffodil to an ant

With revere pigments dance

A golden yellow true

And with waves of amber pulsing

Through air, through skin

When warmth generates from inside

See, as I sit collecting dew

All I can process

Is the shape of you.

The world is filled

With smoke and fire

Destroying and warming

Destruction comes to those who wait

So join hands with me

Dear sunlight

As we walk through the fraed

The remnants of our beings

Look forward, unafraid.

To look back in anger

Is to look back at all

And to carry all that baggage

Is begging yourself to crawl

So take my hand

Dear sunlight

As we process who we’ve made

And I promise, come morning

We’ll never wish we stayed

Walk softly through the embers

Foundations of what made you

Regret is self suffocation

So ask - you breathe for who?

So together we stand, dear sunlight

Screaming softly to the moon

And we’ll build our cities, starlight

Through love and hope and soon.

[pileofmixtape]

Letting Go

I’ve been thinking about this a lot recently.

And I’ve been awful at writing recently.

So here we go.

I think letting go is a bigger mountain than most people think.

Not letting go of a lost loved one. Or letting go of sadness from a breakup. I’m talking about letting go in terms of anger.

It’s addicting.

Think about a gnat. A small, tiny gnat. And it wants to be in your face and in your business and your food and it’s just going to keep buzzing around at you until you remove it’s ability to do so.

Now think about what human that relates to in your life.

You’re letting that person win. This resentment – letting them have any damn control of your being at all – you’re letting them win.

So how about you be better than the gnat? And let it die forgotten. What better insult than to die insignificant.

And the magician waves his wand

And two fingers enter

And from your throat comes a ribbon

And it pulls, and pulls, and pulls

And within this magic trick, a thought

That’s not where ribbons are stored.

Strangulation comes in many forms

Silence your screams or get off the ride

Any form of actuality is a disgrace

Superficiality is fine – don’t you dare get deep

You shove those ribbons back down

And it’s only once they are removed

That you feel a true empty

No – not hollow, not cold, not barren

But blank, for art

Room for growth and expansion and life

Roots for plants and blooms for vases

And you talk, clink, like shackles

But the tingling wrists of freedom

Walking away from a situation

Swatting the gnat

Removing insignificance

Leaves room to finally be free

[pileofmixtape]

The Soliloquy of the Victim

The Soliloquy of the Victim

Go back and reread your own message and tell me what part of that is caring about my perspective. Genuinely caring for my needs or wants. Tell me where in that entire sob-novel you sent me do you give a damn about anything other than your own emotions.

And then consider the fact that you had the audacity to send that to me on my last day. The day of saying goodbye to my friends. To saying goodbye to what has been a home for so long. You knew it was my final hours and your response was to make it about yourself.

That is how this has been for a long, long time.

That was a monologue “woe is me.”

I could use closure. I did everything I could to fix this and you let it die. And I will not let this die.

Your words reek of your parents. The manipulation and control are so ingrained in your circuits that you won’t ever see the truth within them.

The soliloquy of the victim.

——————

But First … It’s Only Fair To Get It Out

Recently, a psychology podcast I’ve been listening to talks about how venting and complaining doesn’t actually accomplish anything because you’re not releasing the steam, metaphorically. Rather, you’re replaying the event over and over again and re-engaging the emotions attached to it.

Which is reasonable and sound advice.

So naturally, I’m going to ignore it.

Title: A Rant

Oil on Canvas

To topple a statue

To ash through fire

To stomp backwards

You suffocating cardiac arrest

You controlling, manipulative jackass

You poison ivy in the fence

On the surface, the loch seems calm

But underneath, a swirl of unrest

And even a comparison to the loch

Is too high quality for this

An ode to the lichen of society

A parasitic brute with the backbone of a sneeze

With strings tighter than an orchestra

Intertwining and twisting and forcing and straining

Pulling from the depths such deep cracks

And to soothe those cracks - a medicine

Self importance

Definition: perceived, falsely represented

The insignificance of a gnat

For when people swat, reactionary

It doesn’t even get the neurons going

There is no thought or consideration

To something as small and insignificant as you

And you wouldn’t be small or insignificant

If your ego hadn’t enveloped the sun.

But with society around you in shambles

You had to take the sun away

You had to protect it

You put it in your castle

and exposed to those that worshipped

You let the rays touch those you deemed

Because you are the decider

The important

You are the needed

Because that’s all you ever wanted, wasn’t it?

To be needed?

So you took the strings attached and you knotted them

And held in your eyes the only key to unlock

But the fun trick of knots?

If you rub them the wrong way

They untangle themselves

And leave you with a pile of unattached strings

And that still empty void

Because your choice in fixing yourself

Is to fix those around you

To mold them into what you want

Shape and shape and shape

Smooth with water until each bump of clay fades

Submerge

Drown

Drown in water until the clay crumples

Destroy it, and start anew.

Drown the clay, set it aside, let it dry

and then you can play.

Your superficial beliefs in yourself

Are unfounded

unwarranted

and rather unforgivable.

Maybe if you’d grown up, people would’ve liked you

Maybe if you’d let go, people would be themselves

It’s all just a matter of how long it takes until they see through your facade.

Oh, and woe, what then will you have?

When you take out the bottom layer

You have no foundation

You never bothered to build one

Why need a foundation when you can just claim others as yours?

Take their work, and pretend it’s yours

While scathing sharp tongues about the victim you are

While perpetuating and mocking abuse to seem interesting

Pity parties are only fun for one person

And the rest get real tired

What will you do when you’re left alone with the mirror?

This is no fun house

There aren’t multiple reflections anymore

It’s just you

And damn, is that plain

A cracked face with multiple personalities

All tidbits of other people you took

and you strangled

And you used to seem cool

And how you desperately want to fool in

To fit in

To fool to fit

What does it matter to you?

When you look in the mirror with ten eyes staring back

All the people you used

all the people you fooled

Controlling. Manipulative.

And damn is it subtle.

You’re the fuse replacement on the gaslight

Never let that go out, they might start to notice

Oh, how -we- do this

Oh, how -we- do that

Oh how forcefully you involve

Because nothing can exist without your input

Control is a snakes game

Congratulations, you have them fooled.

Play your flute, oh charmer

It’s all just a matter of how long it takes until they see through your facade.

I did.

[pileofmixtape]

Year in Review

2018 Year in Review

January: You opened the year with renewal. You kept yourself under lock and key until you felt like you’d regained balance. But you’d reached comfort. In regard to letting yourself dream, you had found a doorway. And to have that shut in your face – necessary, but rough. Still you looked forward in optimism.

February: Your excuses were gone. One year, one year! A frivilous excuse to not face the hole. You’d refilled it. You’d rebuilt. But testing the structure wouldn’t come easily. It’s not you, Amy. Vulnerability just isn’t you. But no more excuses.

March: The beginning of feeling like you belong where you are. The attack of the vulnerability. Proving yourself to your peers. To you. Backing down from a challenge isn’t in your DNA. You were peaking. Strong. Invincible. And then that night at Solo happened. And memphis - a renewal of clarity. And then?

April: You cannot fault yourself for trying. If anything, you be fucking proud for opening up. So, you knew it was wrong. So, you knew it wasn’t what you wanted. You still have to try. You got hurt. Grow. Forgive.

May: You got a chance to prove your worth. To add value. You were trusted with an intern. With reputation at stake. And you cared. Oh, how you cared. An immediate connection – you were going to keep this intern safe and welcome and successful.

June: You opened your doors. You took people in. You held them near your heart. You cared so deeply. Despite your self-assured whispers, and internal cold monologue, you love so hard. You felt so hard.

July: And then you fell so hard. We’ll get to that though. First, on that rooftop in Boston, you remembered. Black soled and barefoot and tequila-laden whispers – pre-regret, you had a moment of clarity. To fall in love with the world. To be Amy is to be free. To two-step with an Irishman and to breath the summer winds of believing in the world and creating a life that you want to tell the world about. To live your life is to roam with the butterflies and whisper with the stars until your ears bleed amber sunflower petals and feet grow roots of green. To be Amy is to shoot beams of sunlight and drive through sweet prairies and to stop the noise and learn to paint charcoal silence. To be you is to be free. To shoot like stars through oceans of fate and to climb through pressure like the world is holding its breath in a promise of something more. And on a rooftop, too drunk., you remember that the world exists for you to paint in your heart. And to never forget that. Ever.

And to come home

And to love.

August: And to begin each morning with a smile. And to settle into the routine of stormcloud footsteps that step to my heartbeart as I stifle my smile and shuffle my nerves. As I sit at a concert hearing no less the bass than my own palpitations as I wait for one more answer. And peaking true clarity whilst drowning in reality as I know what you say and you mean but not where to step without minesweeping us out of reality.

And then, ethereally, reality matches up.

Ethereal, an exuberant smile.

Ethereal, an elevated truth.

Ethereal, deliverance of mead.

Ethereal, an Outpost walk.

Ethereal, escaped surroundings.

Ethereal, two hands intertwine.

Two hearts intertwine.

Two hearts combine.

And 2018 hands me strength for what’s to face. Our hands. Yours.

And a 3am call to not faze you.

And an arm to hold my fear.

A strength to deal.

With hospitalization. With Scotland.

September: I went away. I hiked distant lands. I tried distant foods. We realized our own strength. We yearned for home. For each other.

October: We began the trek to normal. We intertwined lives. We loved a new family. We grew deeper understanding. We were busy as the falling leaves.

November: We faced death. And with that slumber arose silenced demons. How to mourn the dreaded. How to care for your family. Healing, hurting, pain.

December: Now you sit at the edge of your rope. You’re very strong. But you can’t keep running so thin.

You’re a beacon of strength, but what pride do you muster when the beacon burns out. Care and love and don’t forget.

2018 proved that you can take a beating. But it proved that you are strong. You have strong support. You’d be as lost without them as they’d be without you.

So welcome 2019 with refresh. With open arms. And it will bring flowers.

For we continue to plant seeds.

[pileofmixtape]

2018

I. January: Sometimes extremeties are golden treasures; tear shrouds or not.

II. February: No more hiding behind your excuses. Turn and face the world.

III. March: Life is a continuous battle between fear and control. No matter, just trust.

IV. April: Some experiences aren’t going to go your way. Learn to forgive.

V. May: The good is in front of you. You wont see it in the clouds.

VI. June: Keep gems close. Others see good where you turn blind.

VII. July: Overworking yourself can only distract for so long. Face the flowers. Who are you protecting?

VIII. August: Some goodbyes turn into rainbows. Leap freely.

IX. September: Don’t forget your roots. Don’t stop the climb. Don’t stop looking inwards.

X. October: Whirlwinds are your defining life. Live your spiral, but stay afloat.

XI. November: The world will test you. But keep faith in the universe. All paths hit the sun.

XII. December: You have limits, Amy. Don’t let them drown you.

[pileofmixtape]

I’ve yet to find a rhythm

Skipping, over-beat

The explosions

The earthquakes

The flames within me.

I long to find a rhythm

Circles overlap, on beat

The mountains

The rivers

The scenery you create in me.

I thought I’d found a rhythm?

But then I saw your heart

The floodplains pushed me in

Tangled, swallowed, released joy

And each time those deep brown spotlights

Sparkle in tune, catch my eye

I find myself not breathing

And it’s goodbye rhythm, bye.

Each day I do start over

Hoping to conquer something new

But damn I lose it all

To the greatest scene, just you.

But what’s a rhythm to a critic

Something seen before

Something repetitive

Something misconstrued.

I don’t want to find a rhythm.

Let my words clash, cacophonous.

I’ll take the waterfalls

Of excitement at your sight.

Bring on the thalassaphobia

Of diving into your mind

Show me explosions

Because nothing is as spectacular

Magnificent

Inspiring

Everything

As you.

So, fuck rhythm, dumb beast.

And may I lose my words

In the depths of your laugh

In the care of your heart

In the euphoria of a sunny day, you.

In the breeze of a dry heat, you.

In the peak of a mountain, you.

Strong.

In the castle of your arms

In the ocean of your thoughts.

May my metaphors clue as little

As my sensibility and cares

For I am falling freely

Hot air, off and away

To the rhythm of nothing.

To the beat of everything.

To my new favorite song, you.

[pileofmixtape]

It was quick

And its fantastic

And how whole I feel

With you

And how alive I feel

With you

And how complete this world

Together

Can I fall for the world?

With you, I, combined?

How empty I’ve felt

How hidden I’ve kept

This side you bring out

Warm

Sunny

Okay.

Taste the breeze

Love the clouds

And realize that maybe

Maybe this choice

Is the right choice.

And maybe you let the flames warm you

And maybe the stars shoot from you

And maybe the universe will collide

And maybe

Just maybe

This one will mean something.

At the end of the day

I love myself

And I can say that

Feeling complete

And maybe the sky a radiant blue

And maybe the grass, green, is ready.

And maybe the autumn breeze

The crackling fire

The passing of time, as an old friend

Will show you home.

Maybe the hillsides call me

But so do the stars

The constellations forming

Bursting at discovery

Seasoned veterans of feeling

Aged, with knowing eyes

They’ll guide you with a smile

Come on

Come all

And at the end of it all

This isn’t yours to choose

You’ve fallen; hope lost

It’s who you are

And you can’t stray from emotion

You can’t contain you.

And the world has grown to love it

See your flower garden, bloomed

See, the summer sun doesn’t flow solid

It comes around

To share your nourishment

To balance anew.

Build this city, teamwork.

Intertwining stems and leaves

Each moment a creation

Each memory a treasure

For the adventure awaiting

A plethora of new content.

Because nobody

And yes, really nobody

Deserves to tie you down.

And that’s not a notion

Nor a considered stone.

This new dawn encourages the sun

Shadow overthrown.

For these wildflowers bloom swiftly

And their colors now make sense

Winding roads, dragonflies

A never-ending metaphor

An unexplained phenomenon

A roundabout methodology

Of paraphrased “same’s”

And maybe

Just maybe

It’s the right path to take.

[pileofmixtape]

I want to thread the droplets of rain

Into a melody fit for the stars.

And I want to properly convey

How the light shimmers from the shutters

When I look into your eyes.

And as words fall like petals

From my heart to my hands

Ideally and unrealistically, better,

A water slide, lacking control

Slamming, ungracefully, into the water below.

Because that’s where emotion comes from

That’s where heart slips in

It’s not a dancing flare, nor a butterfly,

nor any metaphor you want to pin down.

And I can’t push art from dust

And I can’t force depth on rocks

And I can’t share words of wisdom

With my skates slipping across the ice.

I want to thread a melody

For you to hear the soft tune upon first gaze

And I want to properly convey

How you make me feel

And yet, here we are.