The Sheep That Cried Wolf

A dusky evening began with a brass key locking a door and a man turning his head away from a house he once called home. He entered his white carriage to drive away from his past life and current problems. The scent of luxury leather had softened and so had his demeanor. His heart was tender and torn. His lies and betrayal had become a battle where he could not prevail, for it was his own deceit that broke his castle, and now he is without queen and prince. This is no longer a fairytale.

I had met this not-so-gentleman a few times before, each time a faint memory leaving more questions to be asked for the next time we’d share the same space. Months had passed and his presence no longer was a surprise and he became a regular sight to see. Curiosity is often a force that drives us to roads we wish we never saw.

The questions I once had of him
were blown into the dust
when he spoke of his life,
with such arrogance and pride,
he gloated with his bloated ego
and his heart pushed to the side.

The more he spoke, the more I knew that I no longer wanted to know about him and became less curious of his soul underneath his skin. His life was grand yet he was not gallant, he had money but was not rich in life, and he howled of worlds and lives he lived only for a moment or in a daydream. His head was in the clouds, misted by the haze of having it all but having no one who truly knew his core. I questioned, “Do you even know yourself?”

I could not pity you because there was intent and choice behind your words when you boasted of your coins and collection of material things in your life. I saw the void in your eyes and I wondered if your vices would ever fulfill the hole you dug yourself.

There was not much of you that I knew
nor did I desire to change that for
my disappointment and displeasure of you grew
but I looked past your flaws
for even sheep need love too.

It’s easy to label someone as X, Y, and Z and be done with them, as if I truly know a person from the few and scattered interactions I have with them and even then, it begs the question of if I even have the right to pass my judgement of them as the truth? Truth and opinion are two different things and it’s easy for me to mix the two and call it my perspective.

But even then, I’ve started to grow guilty of my harsh opinions of others, an unfamiliar behavior coming from me but a genuine sign that I am maturing. I aspire to be compassionate, and to have compassion for others, there must be hope and faith in someone–especially when we feel that they don’t deserve it–because that is when they need it the most. Compassion is a gift and one that we can give to others without immense preparation or having to spend copious amounts of money.

This holiday season, I will practice compassion and work on changing my negative opinions of others–some I’ve held onto for far too long and some I’ve recently developed–to be less negative but not naively and blindly optimistic.

Happy Holidays, everyone!!! Thank you for reading.

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I see my stepdad everywhere.

I find him in people I once trusted,
once believed to be kind and sincere
with no intentions to sin.
I find him in people who wanted to fit in,
and move into the few and small available
crevices of my heart
with no true intentions of staying true to who they were
and the words they told.
I grew tired and my patience thinned,
I whispered to myself for the umpteenth time,
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I find him in people who lie.
People who want something out of me they won’t say
with their words, but
their hands and actions change with time and
the room reeks with an out-of-the-blue betrayal.
Dishonesty is a dense fog.
It fills the space between us
with disappointment and weary air,
But I
remain honest to keep my vision and morals clear.
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I find him in people who smoke and drink,
drink when there’s nothing to celebrate,
smoke like they want to die in a day.
Cigarettes and alcohol every hour,
addiction has you chained,
corrupted, grotesque, and sour,
I know you’ll never change.
How much more poison can you devour?
A stench stained in his shirt and soul,
the smell of tar and beer,
a putrid odor that signals the devil is near.
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Your touch is tainted and toxic,
desired by no human
I only hope and wish
the next person to hold your hand
is the Grim Reaper.

An attempt at poetry – I’m still new to this! Writing poetry is not my forte but on occasion, I am inspired. Thank you for reading! – Lynn

My Depression Wrote This for You

I’m not a depressed person, I have depression. My depression doesn’t own me. I have light and hope inside of me, but in between the spaces where light cannot enter, these are my somber thoughts.

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I’ve been wallowing in my depression. I fell into a well. It’s frigid and light is faint. I let the sadness soak into my skin and I cower at the concept of allowing anyone in. Hours after midnight, I almost always drown in my thoughts. My room is dark, but my thoughts are darker. I let the despair trickle down from my lips. It can be felt by the cold sting of the words I spew,  if only what I said to others was supple like dew.

Others watch as they stand by, if only they could know how I feel when I hide my dismay with humor. I just wish my so called “friends” would reach out sooner.

In my mind, the weather has never been gloomier. In my mind, I wish to not exist. In my mind, I wish not to be here. To escape, I sleep. I sleep to avoid the world. I sleep to avoid the pain. But, my sadness soaks into my sheets. My white bed darkens with the weight of my sorrow. When I sleep, I do not wish to see tomorrow.

It would be easy to make this all a blame game. Depression is an imbalance in the brain, so I’m chemically wired to not be sane. I grow tired of sayings such as, “Just be happy. Smile! Choose happiness.” Depression has no simple fix, it is not a situation one can quickly nix.

I push people away before they put me away. It’s not right, I know. The more I lose pieces of me, the less friends I have close to me. My fear of being alone has become reality. I question when was the exact moment I went from being a symbol of strength to a state of fragility. When my anger merged with my misery, it diminished my optimism and vivacity. I have dreams but can never seem to get out of my hole. Despite my vices, I don’t feel whole. It’s not happiness that I desire, simply not being depressed is my goal.

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Author’s note: This May is Mental Health Awareness Month. Please, take a moment out of your day and genuinely reach out to someone. You do not have to save them – we all have our own demons to conquer – but to listen and not judge, that would be immensely appreciated. Also, take time for yourself. It’s okay to seek professional help – it’s okay not to be okay – and there are trained professionals who can help. Mental health is important just as our physical health.

I have to thank the subreddit /r/depression. I’ve found solace during my darkest moments. The feeling of being alone dissipates when I find that there are others who share my sorrows. I’ve been working on this post for months and while it remains true, I hope to see the day where depression is in my past and not my present.

The Dance of Insecurity

Are you insecure? Is your body perfect? How does the unfiltered and unpainted skin of yours make you feel?

[Questions I only ask myself and no one else.]

Everyday, I paint myself a new mask, to feel at home, just to be able to get out of my house. To start off, I put on MAC foundation as I struggle to build my own. My bare skin has countless flaws I am not willing to display. I cannot bare it.

First, I layer on Urban Decay Primer Potion to hide how decayed I feel. If only there was a potion that could prime my mind into stealth. I brush on an earthy hue eyeshadow as an attempt to brush off my problems. The dust that falls out of the brush is a reminiscent disappointment. Those small specks remind me my past mistakes will follow me no matter how careful I am in the present. Is it ironic I love dark shadows because I, myself, hide within the shadows of my murky and masked feelings?

Next, I line my eyes to feel secure and set distinction. How is it that two dark lines instantly improve my confidence and mood? Also, where does one draw the line between necessity and obsession when it comes to maquillage? I’m on the fence myself with this question.

Finally, I cover my lips with an unnatural color to cover up the truth I wish to say. As I change the color of my lips, I change my clothes, too. I slip into an outfit quickly and slip out of my house into my awaiting car ride.

/ 15 minutes later /

The slightly awkward car ride between my Lyft driver and I soon comes to an end as I arrive at my destination: the town’s nightclub. Step by step, I walk up the stairs, drifting away from my daytime daze and unmaliciously morph into my nighttime muse. I link up with my girlfriends and of course, the fleet of alcohol arrives and the debauchery begins. The club’s tunes turn up and so do we. We head to the dance floor to rid of the day’s stress and forgo life’s hassles.

/ Time flies without stress under its wings /

The music is cut. That’s usually the first sign that the night and the facade of being someone I’m not is ending. The lights shock me with the reality and I am no longer who I think I am. Everyone vacates the club. I slither into a Lyft and enter my home slyly, hoping not to make a sound, and begin undressing myself. I’m no longer in a dress and my skin is covered in comfortable clothing.

Then, I move onto my skincare routine. As I wipe off ‘my face’, I become ‘undone’ but I feel settled as the makeup is taken off. The more raw skin I see, the more relieved I am. Next, I brush my teeth to brush away the taste of the night’s lingering liquor. At last, I slip into bed and drift away into my dreams.

Author's Note: This post is an updated and revised version of a 
private Tumblr post.

Sheep in Wolf’s Clothing

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Arrogance seeks competition in order to win and rise to the top while Confidence knows she does not have to beat the rest in order to be the best. She just has to be herself and only herself. Arrogance constantly compares and is only ever satisfied when she boasts.

Arrogance believes she knows the universe and its entirety. It conveys in the way that the likelihood of her ever being wrong is slim to none – at least, that’s what she thinks. She believes in her own false facts. Confidence does not mind being corrected and embraces mistakes as lessons. Arrogance views others as opponents and not comrades while Confidence knows not to challenge others. In all actuality, Confidence’s only challenge is herself, to be better than who she was before, and not to be better than all of those who share the same space as her.

Arrogance drinks an elixir each day to diminish any sense of being level-headed. She covers up her humility and replaces it with hostility. Confidence clothes herself with the security of knowing being genuine is enough. Arrogance is genuine at times because she is genuinely shameless about her superiority.

But… her arrogance is just an armor. Underneath it all, when Arrogance takes off her mask, the mask which shields her true self, she reveals herself to be… Insecure.

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Author’s Note: I wrote this because like a journal, this blog is a time capsule of memories, epiphanies, the news of my life, and my blog also captures the moments my emotions run wild. This post represents a flash that went off in my head and now the idea of only having sincere, trustworthy, and bona-fide friends is an established amendment in my book. Trust is the defining factor of whether I let someone in my life or not.

Lastly, but not least, this post is dedicated to my great friend, Allie, because she is the definition of a genuine friend. Allie is THE woman who inspired me to write about the woman named Confidence, because a confident friend does not compete with you – she inspires you and makes you better as a person. Allie taught me what’s needed to be done in order to be a proper friend the moment she saw me as a true friend. Thank you, Allie, your presence on this planet is a gift itself. Happy Birthday!

I appreciate you beyond measure and love you to forever.

My Anxiety is My Enemy

There’s a floating answer to a question I seek but cannot obtain. Why does my own mind go against me? There are days where I wish to be a part of something, but something in my head goes off, and says, “No.”

My anxiety is talking to me. My anxiety wants to talk for me. Sometimes, it does. It feels like a voice that wants to become my sole voice. Having two anxiety attacks this year wasn’t exactly what I planned as my New Year’s Resolution. Now, if it were only so simple to find a solution and have it expedited. My anxiety is everything I wish not to be.

Harsh words spewed at those who don’t deserve it,
Regrets chained me as I was the one who served it.
Was it me? Was it, without a fear of doubt, me? Or was it my anxiety?
I’m the one who said what I said but those thoughts –
they do not belong in my head.
Anxious thoughts have taken residency inside my mind,
now my genuine intuition is a lost find.
Impulsive and irrational decisions based on racing emotions,
my heart rate is speeding in a race I know I won’t win –
my hope and faith is running thin.
All I want to do is run away.
/ To escape it all /

It’s conflicting because I want to run away from… myself. I cannot handle my thoughts and refuse to take ownership of them because of how dark they are – this ship of mine has crashed.

violent thoughts collide with terrible endings
I see my future without a future
it starts with d and ends with h
spiraling down into a chaotic state of mind
where my head hurts just as much as my heart
I’m becoming a monster because I don’t feel human.

I don’t feel like myself.
I am scared of myself.
Is this me? Truly?

I sense steps coming forth my way with a shadow I’ve seen before. It is familiar but in a chilling manner. It reminds me of an icy winter where I am once again unprepared and warmth becomes a scarcity and is almost prohibited to encounter and grasp. I seek refuge, a place to hide, because I am now an animal who’s ashamed of her own hide –

my skin feels alien-like
if you compared who I was last week to who I was last night
we are nothing alike.
speaking of feel,
I seek to feel something, anything,
than what I’m feeling now.
It doesn’t matter how.

I don’t feel like myself.

When I was young, I used to fear the monsters under my bed in the dark, but now I fear the monster I lay in bed with every night – my mind. Writing this post was daunting to me because these are the unadulterated words spinning around in my head. I fear not the judgement of these lines, but the consequences. I ask the universe, in this moment, is there yet another battle I must conquer again? I must ask, is my depression coming back?

There Is A Light…

But with light, there is a shadow.

Speaking from personal experience, I’ve found that no matter how full of light my life is, I always feel my shadow creeping up on me. I never not notice the dark trail behind me.

My shadow embodies my fears, insecurities, doubts, anger, and so much more.

Perhaps, it is due to the series of adversaries that has occurred in my life that I can’t seem to believe in the good anymore. In the words of Drake, “trust issues” would describe me perfectly. It’s not that I don’t believe in good people, I just don’t believe that good things could ever happen to me.

Sometimes, when something seems too good to be true, in case of Lynn Ly, it is. I thought my mom would marry someone great – and at first, he was great – but then his true colors came out. Now, my home back in Sacramento feels like a grey storm with no sun in sight. It’s quite the twisted situation, if you ask me.

With a shadow that will forever endlessly chase me, I have this vision of myself constantly running away but in the end, my shadow will catch up to me regardless of the distance. No matter how good my life is, my insecurities always seem to take over and I can’t seem to grasp the fact that there are actually genuine-hearted people attempting to be in my life.

I’ve concluded that this shadow will forever be a part of me and is not something that I will ever lose. This shadow of mine is not a stranger or evil spirit following me. This shadow of mine is actually me, not all of me, just half of me. My shadow will always be there, just like my anxiety and woes will always be there, but it doesn’t mean I should let the shadows take over.

Life is about balance.

We need the dark to know what is light. When shrouded by massive amounts of darkness, it becomes easier to find the sliver of hope. I, like everyone, hold darkness but I also hold light within me. So, what’s my light? I have a core made up of so much goodness that’s occurred in my life. I hold many remnants of good memories contained inside: acts of kindness by strangers and friends, genuine words of appreciation, elated memories where I had pure fun, days where I felt loved, and the times when I realized that life is worth living.

Now, I welcome the darkness because I have an inner and outer glow to keep the gloom at bay.

Haunted

Ghosts can appear for a swift moment, they come and go, and they’re quick remnants of your past that show up to remind you why the pain is still there.

A flashback of what used to be and what isn’t there anymore. They’re not bad, they’re just random thoughts that don’t really upset you and sometimes you just forget about it, anyway.

But then there are moments where those thoughts and feelings of the past intensify and get more scary and slowly, these ghosts become demons.

Demons pop up to let you know that some things never change, some people never change, and it hurts because it’s the truth.These demons of your past are sometimes very powerful and even more scary – they hurt you more than seeing the ghost.

And sometimes it hurts unexpectedly because this demon is a false allusion. It creates nostalgia for the good history left behind and clouds the reason why the past should be left in the past. This demon makes you want it all back: the good, the bad, the feeling of being comfortable and the toxic person, too.

While I have my own skeletons in the closet, as everyone else, that closet is a door I know not to open. But what do we do when that door opens by itself? The past can haunt you. For me, some days my past scares me but makes me appreciate the present. Other times, it’ll be make me regret a lot of words that I’ve spewed out and my actions when I was careless. Perhaps the closet door opens to remind me to close the past, not to be who I was, and work on who I need to be: a better me.