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katelenny

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If you are at first lonely, be patient. If you've not been alone much, or if when you were, you weren't okay with it, then just wait. You'll find it's fine to be alone once you're embracing it.
We could start with the acceptable places, the bathroom, the coffee shop, the library. Where you can stall and read the paper, where you can get your caffeine fix and sit and stay there. Where you can browse the stacks and smell the books. You're not supposed to talk much anyway so it's safe there.There's also the gym. If you're shy you could hang out with yourself in mirrors, you could put headphones in. And there's public transportation, because we all gotta go places. And there's prayer and meditation. No one will think less if you're hanging with your breath seeking peace and salvation.
Start simple. Things you may have previously based on your avoid being alone principals. The lunch counter. Where you will be surrounded by chow-downers. Employees who only have an hour and their spouses work across town and so they -- like you -- will be alone.
Resist the urge to hang out with your cell phone. 
When you are comfortable with eat lunch and run, take yourself out for dinner. A restaurant with linen and silverware. You're no less intriguing a person when you're eating solo dessert to cleaning the whipped cream from the dish with your finger. In fact some people at full tables will wish they were where you were.
Go to the movies. Where it is dark and soothing. Alone in your seat amidst a fleeting community. And then, take yourself out dancing to a club where no one knows you. Stand on the outside of the floor till the lights convince you more and more and the music shows you. Dance like no one's watching...because, they're probably not. And, if they are, assume it is with best of human intentions. The way bodies move genuinely to beats is, after all, gorgeous and affecting. Dance until you're sweating, and beads of perspiration remind you of life's best things, down your back like a brook of blessings.
Go to the woods alone, and the trees and squirrels will watch for you.
Go to an unfamiliar city, roam the streets, there're always statues to talk to and benches made for sitting give strangers a shared existence if only for a minute and these moments can be so uplifting and the conversations you get in by sitting alone on benches might've never happened had you not been there by yourself
Society is afraid of being alone, like lonely hearts are wasting away in basements, like people must have problems if, after a while, nobody is dating them. but lonely is a freedom that breaths easy and weightless and lonely is healing if you make it.
You could stand, swathed by groups and mobs or hold hands with your partner, look both further and farther for the endless quest for company. But no one's in your head and by the time you translate your thoughts, some essence of them may be lost or perhaps it is just kept. 
Perhaps in the interest of loving oneself, perhaps all those sappy slogans from preschool over to high school's groaning were tokens for holding the lonely at bay. Cuz if you're happy in your head than solitude is blessed and alone is okay.
It's okay if no one believes like you. All experience is unique, no one has the same synapses, can't think like you, for this be relieved, keeps things interesting lifes magic things in reach. 
And it doesn't mean you're not connected, that communitie's not present, just take the perspective you get from being one person in one head and feel the effects of it. take silence and respect it. if you have an art that needs a practice, stop neglecting it. if your family doesn't get you, or religious sect is not meant for you, don't obsess about it. 
you could be in an instant surrounded if you needed it
If your heart is bleeding make the best of it 
There is heat in freezing, be a testament.
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Because I have a wandering heart that is always three
steps in front of my head, urging it to follow.
Because I close my eyes in the shower and hear
a waterfall, an ocean, a last gasp for air.
Because I have no secrets-
just pain, categorized and filed away in alphabetical order.
Because I know the proper way to nod at a police officer
when bailing out a loved one,
how to moan in a way that both my
lovers and husbands can enjoy,
and how to convince my friends
that the gurgling in my stomach
isn't my passion berating me for wearing a mask.
Because I have a spine like a roadway,
arms like clock towers,
and fantasize about cities,
not others' arms when you hold me.
Because all anybody wants to hear is
"YOU'RE ALIVE YOU'RE ALIVE",
even if their emotionless face says otherwise while they
board the bus or pay for coffee,
and I understand this, I love them for this,
even when I am unable to love myself.
Because I have spent my life being told I am quiet,
even when I think I am doing a good job
of smiling and holding a conversation like any other
person would do.
Because when I look at my reflection,
I am either apathetic from having seen it so much,
complimentary, judgmental,
or in complete awe that I am a living breathing thing
who is able to write and talk
and cannot understand why we don't all break down
every so often and gawk at each other's
wonderful moving machinery on the sidewalk.
Because, since my childhood, I have grown
anxious and teary-eyed
just by thinking about
the whole mess of being alive
and how beautiful it is,
how strange it is,
how much it aches simply to "be."
Because I am struggling as much as you are
and know that dealing with being alive sometimes means
holding each other, falling asleep together,
showing up at your door at 1 a.m. with a bottle of wine
and plans to run through the streets,
taking trips for fun,
fucking, making love, staying up late,
or going home early,
and all of these things are
equally
necessary.
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This is for the fat girls.
This is for the little brothers.
This is for the school-yard wimps, this is for the childhood bullies who tormented them.
This is for the former prom queen, this is for the milk-crate ball players.
This is for the nighttime cereal eaters and for the retired, elderly Wal-Mart store front door greeters. Shake the dust.
This is for the benches and the people sitting upon them,
for the bus drivers driving a million broken hymns,
for the men who have to hold down three jobs simply to hold up their children,
for the nighttime schoolers and the midnight bike riders who are trying to fly. Shake the dust.
This is for the two-year-olds who cannot be understood because they speak half-English and half-god. Shake the dust.
For the girls with the brothers who are going crazy,
for those gym class wall flowers and the twelve-year-olds afraid of taking public showers,
for the kid who's always late to class because he forgets the combination to his lockers,
for the girl who loves somebody else. Shake the dust.
This is for the hard men, who want to love but know that is won't come.
For the ones who are forgotten, the ones the amendments do not stand up for.
For the ones who are told to speak only when you are spoken to and then are never spoken to. Speak every time you stand so you do not forget yourself.
Do not let a moment go by that doesn't remind you that your heart beats  100000 times a day and that there are enough gallons of blood to make you an ocean.
Do not settle for letting these waves settle and the dust to collect in your veins.
This is for the celibate pedophile who keeps on struggling,
for the poetry teachers and for the people who go on vacations alone.
For the sweat that drips off of Mick Jaggers' singing lips and for the shaking skirt on Tina Turner's shaking hips, for the heavens and for the hells through which Tina has lived.
This is for the tired and for the dreamers and for those families who'll never be like the Cleavers with perfectly made dinners and sons like Wally and the Beaver.
This is for the biggots,
this is for the sexists,
this is for the killers.
This is for the big house, pen-sentenced cats becoming redeemers and for the springtime that somehow always seems to show up after the winters.
This is for you. This is for you.
Make sure that by the time fisherman returns you are gone.
Because just like the days, I burn both ends and every time I write, every time I open my eyes I am cutting out a part of myself to give to you.
So shake the dust and take me with you when you do for none of this has never been for me.
All that pushes and pulls, pushes and pushes for you.
So grab this world by its clothespins and shake it out again and again and jump on top and take it for a spin and when you hop off ssssshhhhake it again for this is yours.
Make my words worth it, make this not just another poem that I write, not just another poem like just another night that sits heavy above us all.
Walk into it, breathe it in, let is crash through the halls of your arms at the millions of years of millions of poets coursing like blood pumping and pushing making you live, shaking the dust.
So when the world knocks at your front door, clutch the knob tightly and open on up, running forward into its widespread greeting arms with your hands in front of you, fingertips trembling though they may be.
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Featured

How To Be Alone by Tanya Davis by katelenny, journal

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Shake The Dust By Anis Mojgani by katelenny, journal