College life.

This post is more of an announcement than anything but I wanted to let you guys know that there may be some slight changes to 1withthepen. I’m starting college classes here this week and until I get into my new schedule I can’t tell you how often I will be posting. My hope is that I will be able to post just as much as usual if not everyday at least with scheduled posts but I can make no promises. What I do want you to know is 1withthepen has grown with me through these past two years and I intended to have it grow with me even more all the way through and beyond my college years. Here is to 1withthepen and college life!

– Eva M.M.

Love to all my readers and ink angels.

Roots

Home

at last

beneath 

the blue and white

are my roots,

green as the youth

I have lost.

-Eva M.M.

Rebuttle

You say he will save me from my storm.

You forget, I grew up in these waters.

For eighteen years I have fallen asleep to the wailing wind,

the lamentation of a dying world.

You are right

the world has fallen

into despair

and everywhere I look I see shards of dreams that were left to collect dust.

I too smell the putrid odor of greed

and freedom does not feel very free anymore.

We have forgotten to read the fine print.

We have forgotten that boldness and easy come at a price

and now we realize our bank accounts are empty

and still we leave our hearts closed.

What of it?

I see it all more clearly than most

and sometimes I think I myself am the raging wind.

What of it though?

You think that feeling threatened and baring my teeth will solve the problem!

You think loving only when authority tells you to is real love?

Love is blood stained hands from cradling your dying child hit by concrete after an exsplosion.

Love is dragging a unconsious stranger from a burning car.

Love is

surviving the storm because of love.

You tell me love is folded hands and bent knees.

You tell me he can save me from my storm.

I ask you:

How can anyone save you from yourself?

-Eva M.M.

Thanks for stopping by my lovely ink angels. I love hearing from you and hope you enjoyed this post.

FTM

They say a lot of things

but they won’t say ‘He’.

I say,  “Ashes to ashes

dust to dust.

I will see you when I’m free.”

– Eva M.M.

Thanks for reading and stopping by. Hope you enjoyed this post and let me know if you have any comments or questions.

“Me and the pen, we are one. If it’s ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”

Idle versus alone time

The other day I was having a conversation with a friend of mine about being  introverted and lazy. For the longest time though I had not put down in words the distinction between needing idle time and needing alone time, their realtionship and how one can balance the amount of these different needs out with what their personality needs.

As an introvert I often hear from non-introverts or even from less introverted people that I am lazy. Don’t get me wrong. I am lazy but I don’t like staying idle very long. I don’t mind work. In fact when I don’t put in a good day of work in one form or another I grow lathargic and bored. I need to keep busy. Sometimes what is hard for extroverts to understand about this is that I like to keep busy alone. Meaning I require a extremely high amount of alone time to function but very little idle time. However, if I don’t get enough alone time I grow tired and therefore require more idle time. As well as the less alone time I get the less productive my work is and it would be more useful to me if I spent that time in idleness. 

In another post I would love to clarify more about what I mean by idle time but for now I think you get the general idea of what I am saying. I do want to talk a little about people in general since I was focusing more on myself to start. In general wheather introverted or extroverted or on the boarder line , I think people need a lot more alone time than we get. I want to be a advocate for us introvertes and say we suffer the most because we never can get enough time alone and people just never understand. I know that isn’t completely true though. In fact, extroverts need a good deal of alone time as well but might not be aware that they do or rarely want that alone time because they grow weary alone and therefore they can easily grow deficient in their alone time. It is the old paradox that people have been trying to figure out for a long time. To complicate things even further we throw in idle time. It can sometimes be easy to get these confused as I stated in my opening paragraphs. With introverted people we often are given idle time but not alone time or people tell us we are lazy because we want alone time, yet again, a confusion and misinterpretation of two different things.

Why does this even matter though? Why have I been so concerned about this and dedicated an entire post to talking about it? 

I think it really matters because

1. I am fed up of hearing people misinterpret others needs/ I need to be more aware of how I myself intpret other people’s needs.
2.  People need to self reflection more on what they truly do need to distinguish if they need more idle or down time or if they just need more time to be alone and reflect about it and chances are if you are unsure than you need the latter to figure it out.

An idle mind isn’t meant to be fruitful. An idle mind is meant to prepare you for being fruitful and working hard. An alone mind is the most fruitful of minds in that it shows you who you are and what you need to work on.

– Eva M.M.

Words ( for Bri.)

Your words

covering mine,

vapor in the air.

Our love,

light between pale leaves,

translucent skin,

wilted roses pressed between pallid parchment.

In my eternal frost

I would give it all

just to feel the burn,

the scalding imprint of

you upon me

as I lay intertwined

in my safe haven,

my secret nook.

In your arms

I am beautiful.

– Eva M.M.

Thank you for reading and stopping by. Let me know your thoughts and any questions you have about me, this poem or 1withthepen in general.

“Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”

A letter to Spencer

We talked a lot about life.

How life is kind of a bitch

and how I thought you had grown to despise me

and love,

we talked about love,

teapots and paying the rent

because

Everything Has Changed.

We are not who we used to be,

young girls forced to live in World,

forced to grow up,

once a year learning we weren’t alone.

Everything Has Changed.

Now you are the young man that you always were

and I am the wilted flower I always will be

but we are still the same.

Somewhere in between breaths

and running across parking lots;

Somewhere between work, school and dreaming;

Somewhere between Worlds,

you and I  

lost track of

you and I;

I blinked and I told myself

Everything Had Changes

but nothing has my 2.a.m, milking parlor friend.

The truth is

all we have ever done

is grow

into growing

towards growing

into growing —

separately inseperble

and

P.s. you were right,

blood has nothing to do with it.
– Eva M.M.

Stay strong buddy. I love you.

Assesorie to murder.

I was talking to you

while they died

and freedom vaporized.

Tattered skirts

and

tattered morals.

god shed his grace on us,

love sick, 

as there blood was shed.

We dress our parts well

with the glimmer of

our assesorie to murder.
– Eva M.M.

” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow “

The irony (Confession)

The migraine pressed against my skull, slanting thought upon layered thought, together, as the wheels glide over the slick pavement. The sharp echo of road bladed against my suspended pain– I close my eyes only to open them to the jungle of civilization. Concrete buildings and the jumbled flood of that great migration, rush hour downtown, minds bustling and bumping about, pockets full of and hearts hollow.

I see.

We arrive. I stand in awe of man’s belief built, bound, contained, tainted by the firmness of stone.The chill of shy spring caresses my legs. Crossing into the haven, I dust of the cold from my chest. We sit. I study the grain of wood the knows. I glaze my eyes with the blue serenity of sacred glass.I defrost my heart with the radiance of painted purity. I do not feel the divine here– here is only respect for the divine. Bodies that stand, move down the line and settle back into the upholding bench of self-scrutiny, reflections on the muddled murk of morality. One kneels. The stifling whisper of a page being turned, divides. We move further down the line. Here, inwardly, I replay all — and

I see.

The confessional door opens. An elderly man hobbles out renewed, a fresh flower among wilted roses. I enter the booth and tentatively kneel.

” Bless me father for I am sin.”

I stare through the screen in front of me trying to puzzle together the mysterious face that calmly tells me to take my time and list my crimes.

• Humanity
• falling into my all consuming void
• knowing
• fear and cowardice
• hatred
• tainted love

and

• breathing.

My mind wanders to the drive there; To my mother turning the steering wheel in her jerky, fast-paced life style and a man sitting on the side of the road with nothing more than time on his hands.

‘Help. Anything helps. Hungry. Homeless.’

The agonizing moment of noticing poverty before you can ignore it. We have somewhere to be. We hunger for god. He hungers…

I see.

” I absolve you of your sins in the name of the father the son and the Hol- ”

-iness is just an illusion.

I emerge from the booth heavier than when I entered.

We kneel.

We stand.

We walk.

We fail to see

that love isn’t love without loving.

She drive. I open my mouth. Tell her to stop. We must have something to give, even just words, they help, but we have somewhere to be.

We hunger…

He hungers for love.

Blind.

I fall asleep thinking one day I will be brave enough to tell her,

” Practice what you Preach.”

 

We arrive

home,

pockets full

and

hearts hollow.

 

-Eva M.M.

Thank you for stopping by and reading, commenting, giving me your thoughts and feed back. Love you all, my little ink angels.

” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”

 

Cries …subdued.

We cry

because

We care

because

We love

because

We exist

because

Of love,

because

They cared

–cries heard in the dismal night,

subdued by soft lips.
-Eva M.M.

” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”

Thanks again for stopping by. Hope you enjoyed this poem.