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Dangerous Humans

If I were to ask you who the most dangerous type of people are, I’m guessing your answer would lie somewhere along the lines with murderers, psychopaths or possibly MI6 specially trained operates (I may have recently watched a 007 movie 🙃). Now your answers are considered correct, those are some very dangerous types of people, however, there is one other type of person that could be considered equally dangerous…

Those humans that don’t need other humans. That exclusive species that stopped needing others in there lives. They are completely stabilized and functional solo. This isn’t to say that they have no one in their lives, it is simply that those that reside in their circle are wanted not needed. See, when you eliminate needing someone in your life vs. wanting someone in your life, you eliminate the pain that normally would be inevitable if anyone should betray you or leave you.

Needing = walls down & attached strings

Wanting = guard up & no strings

This isn’t a recommended way of living life. It has been scientifically proven that we humans function and thrive better amongst each other. However, sometimes life has this not so funny way of throwing a monkey wrench into your world, ultimately breaking your world. So, sometimes the only way one can rebuild and restart is to practice the lone wolf life style. We want people in our lives, we just don’t allow ourselves to need them. Mainly due to past experiences that created new fears.

It’s just me, myself and I so I’ll ride until I die ’cause I got me for life… – G-Eazy

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Clarity within the Darkness

Tonight I want to share a piece of my existence with you. As you know I absolutely love the beach, however, that love extends beyond it just being a favorite place to visit. The beach is the only place that has ever felt like home. It’s the escape needed to find clarity amongst my cerebral thunderstorm, it’s the warm hug that washes a safe calmness over my bones. The beach has always been the only place where I felt as though I belonged.

The way in which I’d like to share my slice of heaven with you is to take you on a little journey. I want you to see the beach through my eyes, the way I saw my world back when I was sixteen, before the surgeries, before the light was reinstalled.

Now I am fully aware that your eyes need to be open in order for you to read this, so I want you to do me a favor…the next time you go to the beach I want you to close your eyes and truly see the beach through your other senses, through the darkness.

Ok so, you’re standing on the beach…now close your eyes. Take a moment to soak in your current surroundings through those four remaining senses. What do you see? Here, allow me to help.

Feel that…the cooling breeze softly brushing across your cheeks causing your goosebumps to raise into a “put your hoodie on” chain reaction. All indicating that the sun is setting. The slightly warm sand squishing in between your toes, those tiny grains softening the roughness of daily life off of those traveling feet of yours.

Taste that…the salt from the ocean intermingling with that cool breeze. That salty taste floating across your tastebuds.

Smell that…that crispness embedded in the breeze, the essence of the ocean mist calming your breathing pattern.

Hear that…the sound of the foam capped waves crashing in and out, the foam popping on the sand every time the wave returns to the ocean. The palm tree branches swaying in a swoosh formation as that cool breeze sneaks between the palm leaves.

Beautiful isn’t it.

I’ve always known what the beach felt like, but it wasn’t until after I lost my sight that I truly saw the beach.

(I’ve had surgeries to regain my vision, but every now and again I’ll close my eyes. Clarity within the darkness)

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Verbal Traffic Jam

Reason #723 why I love music…when the verbal traffic jam hits, lyrics rush in to calm the mental rush hour.

(Ok, I don’t think that I could actually ramble off 723 reasons as to why I love music, however it’s nearly 1am and the brain isn’t currently caffeinated at high enough levels to fully function. So, you’ll have to cut me a little slack. 👻)

My mind is currently feeling all of the feels, more prominently this emotion…

Wanna know where I don’t go
When it goes from OK to a oh no
When it goes from hi five to a low blow
When it goes from all five to a solo
Lemme tell you what you don’t know
I been down, so low
I was looking for something but denying that I found it
There’s an elephant sitting in the room
And I can’t find another way to tiptoe around it
I been doing greater good for a long time
But I can’t find any other way to give now
I been putting myself on the sideline
And it’s been time so I’m saying can I live now…” -Mike Shinoda

My heart continues to feel this emotion.. and it won’t stop. ( How do I make it stop?)…

You could be my someone you could be my scene
You know that I’ll protect you from all of the obscene
I wonder what you’re doing imagine where you are
There’s oceans in between us but that’s not very far…” -Puddle of Mudd

Well there it is, verbally expressed thoughts without speaking a single word.

Alright guys, I hope you have a good night or day and I’ll chat with you later. Time for a little ice cream and Netflix or Hulu…let’s see what looks good. Peace out. 🖤

I am Derra Sabo and I approve the above message 👍

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Seventeen

There you were, your motionless frame lying on the storm soaked ground. Your chest no longer breathing, your cerebral no longer pulsating, your heart no longer beating.

An unmarked body that now reveals the evidence of how the angel of death came about to kiss your forehead. In between your head and shoulder is all the proof needed, deep red life that spilled out from their veins through the small gash located on your neck.

Eyes closed, lips shaded a frozen purple and your pale flesh now corpse like blue. You exhaled your last breath much too soon. A dizzying question fills my eyes with tears. Did this mortal warrior fight with every ounce, a battle well fought to the inevitable end or did the warrior that now lays on the ground enter into a suicide mission?

Externally I shed a few respectful tears before doing what needs to be done. Internally I’m shouting to the point of combustion, feeling angry that you’re gone. Angry with the nearing realization that you may have simply given up. My six and a half sized feet want to run off the stabbing emotions, my mouth wants to swear. But, I can’t. Now is not the time and even if a few selected moments were awarded to do so, I don’t deserve them.

Because the black truth is that I know why you met with your demise. I know who sliced your neck. Unfortunately it is not Saturday night and we are not playing a game. This is not a case of Who Done It or speculating that the murderer is Colonel Mustard in the library with a knife.

The person with the knife, the one whos hands are now eternally stained with your blood, the murderer… it’s me.

You died because of me… because I left you to fight a battle that you were unprepared for, a battle that you were unequipped to fight. Blinded by the tough smile that you were born with, I pridefully figured that you could handle life and what it threw your way. My clouded assumptions distracted my clarity. Only after your final cry for help escaped into the skies did I pay attention. However, a final cry it was not. By the time I reached the battlefield the war was over, the rain began pouring and you were laying inside the inviable chalk outline. Every broken piece, every internal gash, every external wound… all marking every time a single S.O.S was shouted. And I selfishly ignored them.

Time to finish what you started. With a shovel in hand the dirt is dug up. Seven feet below is where I lay you to rest. This silver I.D. bracelet is what I place upon this fresh grave. A moment of silent apologies and a promise that my sole mission in life is to carry out your legacy. Ensure that every scar was well-earned and that your story protects, possibly even saves fellow souls sending out their S.O.S.

Years have blinked by, but your memory lives deeply. I, present, lay here in the dark feeling sadly nostalgic. I’ll never forget you 17.

Save your razorblades now, not yet….we’ll win, but not everyone will get out…. -Twenty One Pilots

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Words vs Actions vs Art

Sometimes…

Sometimes words don’t posses the capability to show a person’s heart, mind or soul…

Sometimes actions truly do speak volumes louder than the written language…

Sometimes a physical photo, a captured moment can assist in expressing what one’s mind, heart or soul looks like…a person’s interior, when all you see is the exterior…

My mind…

My heart…

My soul…

You don’t know my brain the way you know my name…you don’t my heart the way you know my face… -Twenty One Pilots

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D’s Writing Process

We all have our way of doing things in life, our own processes. When it comes to jotting down my spiraling thoughts, the process is a bit crazy. One page looks elegantly written out while others are more sporadically doodled. I thought I’d share a few snapshots of what my notebooks look like.

What’s your writing process? Are you a neat nerd or a crazy creator? Or a magic concoction of both?

In her heart there’s a hole, there’s a black mark on her soul…. -Bryce Fox

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The Death of Cupid

Hey guys, hope you’re doing well. Tonight I thought I’d share a piece I wrote a few years back. No one has seen this until now, I hope you enjoy this little creative writing piece….

I dreamt of you once again, a bittersweet sub-conscious reunion as it always is. You starred at me with that piercing glance, causing every dark thought to commence in a never ending game of tag.

The all too common small talk is exchanged as if we were awkward strangers exchanging pleasant introductions. My mind pondering the equation, searching for a solution as to why we continue this dull dance every time we meet in this fogged place. This is becoming beyond my understanding, but spin and swirl I will, just to toy with you.

Perhaps this dance of ours is our twisted way of suffocating the obvious. Perhaps it is just the two of us stupidly playing chicken. Unnoticably, a comforting conversation on a deeper level forms and that all too uneasy feeling numbs my mind, for only you have been the one who knows how to crack my shell and visa-versa.

These dreams of you, of us, have been the most challenging to murder. As much as I love these sub-conscious visits and seeing your calming presence, these dreams need to stop, now. I need these dreams to quit playing during my stolen hours and I mean stop in a big bad way. These dreams are hurting my core, these dreams are causing me to hope for wishes that will never come true.

You and I were never meant to be in reality, no matter the feelings that lay on the table. Why my sub-conscious can’t copy and paste this information is beginning to frustrate. My minds rambunctious thoughts need to let this theory go, if not for their own sanity then for mine.

Tonight this static fantasy will end. Tonight I will allow myself to sleep so that the demons can come out and play. I will raise my hands in the air as the darkness recites me my rights. I will deny any representation and allow those playful demons to press the suicide button.

“Do not look for my heart anymore, the beasts have eaten it”. – Charles Baudelaire