To He Who I Once Loved

Sweet Tea Time

It's the hurry up and wait that gets you

The slow turning of everyday into some day

The glacial slide of present into future as days melt together like the ice in a glass on porch on a hot summer afternoon

The heat of decision turning ice cold anticipation into chilly condensation as choices lead to consequences lead to cool reality and lukewarm peace as you sip on still sweet tea, less refreshing but still speaking of love and home on the tongue till someone else makes a decision

To put more ice in your cup

I dreamt of a Man

I dreamt of a man, with long black hair, curling and twisting like laughter down his back 

I dreamt of a man with bright blue eyes, sparkling and winking and closing at my touch 

I dreamt of a man with long thin hands, strong, graceful and grasping against my skin 

I dreamt of a man taller than I, with head thrown back and face raised high 

I dreamt of a kiss, tender and sweet 

I dreamt of a million kisses all meant for me 

I dreamt of a Man who one day, could belong 

More Beginnings

Humanity is a Poison 

Sunlight is all I know

I was born in the sun, I AM the sun, its radiant rays heralded in my birth and that memory will be with me until the death for I was born in the heat and light of the sun to be hope and peace and to combat the cold dark miseries of the world 

People don’t realize that the earth, our terra firma, is alive. Totally and completely, it breathes and cries and sings and lies. The trees are inexplicably conscious and carry dreams and messages from times long forgotten. The River is even older, it whispers to me and sends me dreams of warm afternoons gone by and of stormy seas that are yet to come. The river is the embodiment of time, it is beautiful always changing always flowing and never ever stopping, perhaps sliwed but never still 

Oblivion

there is no such thing as oblivion. We are enduring we have souls that live on after our corporeal bodies run out of reasons to endure. We are eternal. We were created, yes created; to live on forever in some form whether life or death we do endure souls are forever things not just here and now things. Oblivion is a myth. Oblivion is impossible unless you don’t exist. Because, as Newton said, every ACTION has an equal and opposite reaction; living is an action, an action that creates another action that creates another action that creates many more actions that never end unless an outside force acts upon it and an action as powerful as beginning eternity would need an action as powerful as a beginning to bring oblivion about. And besides that, we are remembered.

We are remembered by people and then when those people die we are remembered by the people who were told about us and even if we become a legend where events are altered and names are changed and no one can recall who exactly who I was the places I was will remember me. My footsteps will haunt the places I’ve walked. The mountains will remember when my eyes looked upon them. The trees will whisper to each other and say “I remember the girl who stroked our branches and caressed our leaves.” The rocks will say “I remember the girl who cried out to the creator alongside us.” The wind has memorized the shape of my face, the sky holds the color of my eyes, and the stars know the whims and whispers of my heart; the earth will remember me. The earth will remember you. Hallways know every foot that has touched them. Walls can recollect every mark made on them by hands big and small. Cars know who has been pushed up against them and kissed like their life depended on it. Bleachers know who has sat upon them and who has stood in front of them but rarely sat because they were too excited about the event happening. Every single thing you touch with your fingers you leave a piece of yourself behind when you pick your finger up.

Life is like that as well. You leave cells everywhere, you leave pieces of yourself everywhere for others to unknowingly pick up and carry with them until their days run out then someone else will pick up their cells and your cells together. You see? We have all connected through so many bonds that it is impossible to break them.  The way we talk, eat cereal, walk, read, write, type, poop, sleep, shower, love, feel. All of these things each and every person does in a perfectly unique way so if nothing else you will be remembered by the universe for being the only person to do things exactly the way you do them so that no one else will do ANYTHING exactly like you. Ever. End of story.

Have you ever watched the death of a soul? 

I’m not talking physical death, I mean knowing someone and falling madly in love with their passion and then realizing that passion has left when you see them again 

Their eyes are flat and dull 

the spark is gone

When exhaustion overcomes ingenuity 

when that which you had loved has faded 

I miss the rain

Or better, i guess i miss the way it rained there

Fat heavy drops

Not like delicate tears on your skin but so full of water you could feel the individual impacts like your grandmother's hand patting you on the head

But just like grandmother's, not all rain was soft and kind, it also raged and thundered

Loud screaming into the night and the sound of those heavy blows on the roof like rocks from the heavens

To go out, to experience the storm was to feel whole and yet also wholly small

The rain is

Quiet, here

Tamed and angry in it's taming

Anger of futility

Anger of frustration

Maybe some others would call it gentle or kind or soft

But there just isn't enough of it to be those things

Not to me

To me it's just a drizzle, never more than a pattern of calm and too still even in it's movement

The last remnants of a still dying god killed long before it's time

The rain here is dead

And so

I miss the rain

Light

I saw the light of day begin to dawn

I watched the final rays of moonlight die

I’ve seen the end of life

And birth begin

I know when my frail breath will leave my lungs

Ours

Ours is a life of certain uncertainty and frustrating simplicity

A Warning to my Future

Look at my Pinterest boards, no seriously do, 

you will find a person covered in tattoos

 upon further exploration, you'll find a transcendent nation 

of a person, or a place or a word 

you'll find quotes and myths, logic and a missing piece 

travel and a mission a need to leave and a desire to stay, 

Knowing that to complete your purpose you have to go and do and see and become before you can make life all that you wanted 

you must leave 

you’ll see recipes and plans, and gardens and the sands of time slipping around the squared edges of the screen 

you’ll see clothing I’ll never wear and ideas I’ll try to write for then lose the inspiration that comes in the night for me and only me 

Reviewing the organization (or lack thereof) you’ll realize truly that I pin what I love 

so one day, my darling I hope I’ll pin you too

Musing on “Adult Life”

The Phrase “Well that sounds like Adult Life” accompanied by the indicative chuckle as if I am nothing but a lowly child instead of a full-fledged adult who pays their own bills and holds a degree in a field you can barely pronounce, much less understand. 

You have no interest in anything except your own personal gain and whatever you are interested in that moment, which has been the same topic since you were literally 14. 

I refuse to apologize for having ambition, 

I refuse to apologize for expecting others to do their damn jobs so that I could do mine 

I refuse to apologize for being me