Storytelling is important sometimes because…

Stones,

I feel as though storytelling is for the masses.  Certain stories just have a way of resonating with people in a way that benefits them. This is not a happy story.  It doesn’t have a happy ending. It has an ending that is typical because life is typical. Although every story is unique, no story is special in the sense of tragedies. Everyone goes through them. Everyone suffers.

“Life’s a bitch, and then you die.”

-Narrorator of 1000 Ways to Die

Being homeless in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania was an adventure, to say the least. I wouldn’t dare use any word synonymous with “enjoyable” nor would I recommend this experience to anyone. It’s almost like going to prison, an experience you would exchange for just about else.

I was one of the lucky ones. I never completely got engrossed in the lifestyle. I had a job, had meager funds to buy things, and wasn’t active in my drug addiction  (over 2 years clean and sober!)

There’s so much to know about being homeless. So many unspoken rules to follow. So many secrets you need to know.

Like I mention before, I had a job.  So I’d wake up, go to work and endure the nonsense of earning a paycheck. I loved my job. It was a break from all the craziness and the politics of being outside.

On days, when I didn’t work, I’d go to the local homeless shelter where you could sleep and eat lunch a noon.  It was like being in school. There were rules that had to be followed and monitored very carefully by staff. There were all sorts of things you could do there. Like take a shower, get clean clothes, get mail, get your hair cut, it was a homeless paradise.  There was also tones of trouble you could get into to, so they kicked us out at.

Then it was back to killing time til Dinner time.

There were always people coming to feed the homeless. Some people were forced to but the majority were just decent people. They’d bring huge spreads with a variety of foods for us too. Granted with the amount of us it wouldn’t last but it was, it was still delicious. After dinner, all there was left to do was kill time until nightfall. And nightfall was when all the drama began.

Nightfall was when the drugs and alcohol came out. It was when all the drama started. There was no shelter to it. The best you could do was stay out of it.  It helped to stay with people who had a sense of immunity to it. Or at least people who favored you enough to keep you out of it. I was lucky.  I ran with people who had jobs as well. People who could separate themselves from the drama. People who took care of themselves. When you are homeless, it’s important to remember to put yourself first and not get absorbed into the world around you.  Always remember, that you don’t want to make this temporary situation a permanent one.

Mine was temporary. After about 3 months, my father invited me to stay with him. Things worked out for a while, but not permanently. My point is every situation, however good or bad is not permanent. Things change in the blink of an eye. Stay ready, and be prepared.

Until next we meet

Breath and Exist,

S. Hollisway

Pick up Scarred and Faceless Here

Because sometimes Odes are due….(Part 1)

Stones,

This is a poem I wrote for my son.

Until next we meet

Bleed and Exist,

S.Hollisway

Ode to Mommy’s Monster
For you, I’ll face a thousand demons
Battle any inconvenience
Rip apart
Every wound and scar
Because it’s you that owns Mommy’s heart
And I hate to see you cry
It rips me in two
There’s nothing I wouldn’t do
To shield you from my regrets and mistakes
Because the path you’ll take
Is filled with your own
I wish I would guard you against them
But that’s a battle you’ll never face alone
So I say
Be brave
And keep that smile upon your brilliant face
You’ve always made mommy proud
Without trying
And Now
It’s time for Mommy to return the favor
And join you
For Mommy knows you were born for greatness
But Mommy can’t set the path for you
It’s for you to choose
To be a champion in your own right
Painful it might
Be
But for me
I’m proudest when watching you fly
And when you’re designing your blueprint at night
With your dreams
Not mine
To My Child
With a mile long smile
I, your mommy
Will always be proud

 

Scarred and Faceless

Because sometimes passions fall short…(Breathe)

Stones,

So, I’m working on my second book. And it’s…draining, to say the least. When creating something, you put a piece of yourself inside of your work. Whether you are a photographer, painter, drawer, dancer, singer, writer, etc, we are all artist. Putting yourself out there is so ridiculously scary.  It’s like putting yourself on display for everyone to see. Because that’s exactly what we’re doing. It’s horrifying letting people in like that because who wants to be that vulnerable ever?

So why do we do it?

There is this thing inside of me,  inside of all of us. Our need to create. Our need to explore. Our need to test boundaries and open ourselves up to exposure and criticism. It’s doesn’t come from a sane place. It comes from a place of chaos and need that is suppose to make us sane. Or keep us that way, or something resembling sanity.

So, I will continue to write. Whether or not I place myself on display will still be up for debate. Or should I say whenever I decide to put myself back on display, is up for debate.  There’s still this need in me to express myself in a way that invites people to take pieces of me to examine. But the sooner this story is out of me, it will no longer “threatening the life it belongs to” (Anna Nalick, Breathe (2 am)).

So many cool points if you got that reference.

Until next we meet

Bleed and Exist,

S. Hollisway

Click here to pick up Scarred and Faceless

Previous Blog Post

Broken Hearted Girl Chronicles Part 1

Stones,

So much has been going on lately. I’ve been absent, indifferent, and unmotivated. But just recently I was hit with a spark of inspiration and post a poem that’s been eating away at me for a while. It’s been so long since I’ve written anything. Let me know what you think.

 

Not My Place

It’s not my place

To ask you to stay

I mean

What can I really say?

Fact is

I’m not your actual kid

And what you did

And have already done

Is more than enough

A battle you’ve won

That wasn’t yours to fight

What she’s doing isn’t right

And it’s your right

To walk away

But I’m pleading with you

Dad
Please Stay

 

Until we speak again

Bleed and exist,

S. Hollisway