I said I'd come back, and so here I am. More to myself than anyone else, but that is not the point. I know I did everything I could. No regrets. I finally, fully, and gratefully learnt that my veins are full of something pure and good.
Oh, what a beautiful place. I once told you that it was being built, do you remember? That seems so long ago now. My favourite place has been no secret, not for me at least. A lion roared and we felt so unstoppable. Being in love makes you feel like that. We'd said it was visiting hours only, but that rule doesn't seem to apply anymore.
You feel this home on your skin and in your bones, more than you can see it
with your eyes. Though I will do my best to describe it to you.
Before you, a great grand entrance. It almost does not seem in keeping, considering our sturdy foundations of our own declarations. Though the bending irons and beautiful deep woods don't seem so outlandish when you realise they have been put together with the same utmost care as we were. We did not fall together, we grew. The glass fits snugly, creating shapes and patterns that make the sunlight dance about the hallway. You'd think them heavy to open, yet they are welcoming to the lightest touch. The hinges never squeak here, no rust to challenge. Though that's only one way of entering. Other times when you want little attention there are side doors and ways only known in to those who built this place.
As you enter your favourite smells greet you. They drift in and out of the rooms, always comforting and lifting you. The walls are smooth and of many hues. There are lumps and bumps on the outer walls, but the inner heart is built on an unshakable belief. There's no doubt in here. A steady hand crafted such lovely lines; paintbrush in hand and imagination flowing freely. Windows offer wonderful natural light to flood in and endure the waking hours. The shapes of the room change accordingly. For there are times when you need to run and be silly and free, as we give chase and all that can be heard is laughter when you catch and tickle me. You see, there always has to be room for dancing in the kitchen. Other times, the rooms are cosy, they are encapsulating but never claustrophobic, allowing us warmth and comfort in the focus of only us. There is wooden furniture, adorned by the photographs of memories past, and ornaments to remind you precisely of adventures a little forgotten - there had been so many! It's resilient, a well crafted piece. Everyday they'd get attention, it keeps them shiny and new. How treasured all this is.
At Christmas time a beautiful fairy delicately sits upon her crystal throne. So light as to be atop a bubble. So magic to preserve the moment. Her hands look to move about some secret energy, a small smile traces her lips. Observing the room, she watches over. The lights twinkle, glitter sparkles. You'd once wrote to me that you couldn't discern what was going on in my
own head, right when we were starting out. So upon the walls I'd
stitched a piece that would make it clear, so you could always look to it for reassurance, that; I love you, I love you, I love you. There's an old rug on the floor that keeps its colours well, and stays warm next to the hearth. A guitar leans against a chair. The noise is of crackling embers and contented purrs. It makes for quiet comfort.
It's so easy to keep up with the housework when you are working as a team. I've done my best for the longest time. I'm not sure if you've seen that.
For you see, it's a little dusty in there now. It'll continue to gather.
Is love alive?
I do not believe the walls will come down in leaving. In truth, it is not "leaving" at all. A door shut is not a door forgotten. I've written so many hundreds of words about all this over the past four years, they likely won't stop for some time yet. This has been my home for the longest time, the decision I have been most sure about in my life, and to be wrong and now to need to go? I need to find out who I am again way from this beautiful, wonderful, home. And oh god, I am going to miss you, maybe even for the rest of my time. I'm not sure my heart can really be broken not when it has this still.
It's time to go from this place.
Is love alive?
A heart that is, always, full of love. My heart.
Monday, 19 September 2016
Tuesday, 3 May 2016
Dream Your Life Away
Sheets lay in their crumpled mess. A beautiful laziness of last night's spell not yet worn off. Bird song almost prolonging its effect, as they carefully share their news in quieter tones. Reminders within our lucid dreamings. A soft, yet bright, light spills from the window. The shadows are blurred at their edges. There is warmth. The hazy kind. Lingering. Contented. Adventure always around the bend. Back into the depths that comfort offers...
Suddenly.
Do voices die within you;
As you make your way forward.
Do they go with a fight,
Echoes screaming, on and on.
Power shook your soul,
Eyes not unseen.
Senses entangled though
- one thing you know for sure,
You've seen which way was up,
And you've not seen the sky for quite some time now.
Bed made, crisp edges tucked in. Perfect corners, sad lines. It is dull; the light that falls from the window. It does not delight the room in its presence. Coming and going. Gone. Eyes close to black film reels, as the shutter clicks over and over and over. There's an empty. Routine befits this slumber.
O, to appease this slumber's ache,
To be home, side by side
- but fighting with fire,
Reach your destination.
Discreet hands fumbling,
Moments held onto,
Clutching your chest, stop.
Stillness to desiccation of time.
Then.
Waking up to you, the bad dream fades. Breathe a sigh of relief. Yet you know I remain asleep. Reality beckoning at my wrists and ankles for me to come join your world again. It was all only a dream, only that.
You tell me I talk a lot about dreams these days. I have no reply.
I'll try Inspiration's hand again tomorrow.
Suddenly.
Do voices die within you;
As you make your way forward.
Do they go with a fight,
Echoes screaming, on and on.
Power shook your soul,
Eyes not unseen.
Senses entangled though
- one thing you know for sure,
You've seen which way was up,
And you've not seen the sky for quite some time now.
Bed made, crisp edges tucked in. Perfect corners, sad lines. It is dull; the light that falls from the window. It does not delight the room in its presence. Coming and going. Gone. Eyes close to black film reels, as the shutter clicks over and over and over. There's an empty. Routine befits this slumber.
O, to appease this slumber's ache,
To be home, side by side
- but fighting with fire,
Reach your destination.
Discreet hands fumbling,
Moments held onto,
Clutching your chest, stop.
Stillness to desiccation of time.
Then.
Waking up to you, the bad dream fades. Breathe a sigh of relief. Yet you know I remain asleep. Reality beckoning at my wrists and ankles for me to come join your world again. It was all only a dream, only that.
You tell me I talk a lot about dreams these days. I have no reply.
I'll try Inspiration's hand again tomorrow.
Sunday, 6 December 2015
Land of the Living
When you wish to forget what your waking moments and thoughts are. But you cannot? You may as well put it away elsewhere until it returns again.
For these moments are so beautiful, treasured. Tragic. Yet, they take a little piece of you away with them. Not so much as you would notice. They chisel carefully, considered, measured. Careful not to leave visible upset to those other naked eyes. Yet you, the I, is left so awares. Quite frankly, its yours.
The weight of your arms, draped around me. Like knot they twist around my waist, holding gently to my shoulder, the other to a hip. Steady breaths, a sleep that is sound and even. As you exhale, I feel the motion in my body and the air lightly dancing on my neck. A sigh of content escapes your lips. Our scents light on our skin, creating us. Home. How many mornings I had woken and looked forward to this being as many mornings as there are sunrises. Time for us. Pressed warmth fills every inch of my back. It's comfortable familiarity. It's my safety.
And then there's this moment. This pause. Where everything goes so painfully slow. I'm given that unwanted power to put it all back in its place. It's just, I have to let you go, again. Give you back. Not chase it, let you come and go as has been. I tell myself this wasn't real, this isn't living.
So you're gone. Bed empty, warmth dissipated. The sense of you lingers briefly, and yet suddenly slipped away. But there's too much that tells me, reminds me, pulls me; that lets me know it was always both of us. Never just me. Nor just you. Always tracing back to us. These moments can also give us pieces back. Albeit brief.
Undeterred...
Until whenever next time is.
For these moments are so beautiful, treasured. Tragic. Yet, they take a little piece of you away with them. Not so much as you would notice. They chisel carefully, considered, measured. Careful not to leave visible upset to those other naked eyes. Yet you, the I, is left so awares. Quite frankly, its yours.
---
The weight of your arms, draped around me. Like knot they twist around my waist, holding gently to my shoulder, the other to a hip. Steady breaths, a sleep that is sound and even. As you exhale, I feel the motion in my body and the air lightly dancing on my neck. A sigh of content escapes your lips. Our scents light on our skin, creating us. Home. How many mornings I had woken and looked forward to this being as many mornings as there are sunrises. Time for us. Pressed warmth fills every inch of my back. It's comfortable familiarity. It's my safety.
And then there's this moment. This pause. Where everything goes so painfully slow. I'm given that unwanted power to put it all back in its place. It's just, I have to let you go, again. Give you back. Not chase it, let you come and go as has been. I tell myself this wasn't real, this isn't living.
So you're gone. Bed empty, warmth dissipated. The sense of you lingers briefly, and yet suddenly slipped away. But there's too much that tells me, reminds me, pulls me; that lets me know it was always both of us. Never just me. Nor just you. Always tracing back to us. These moments can also give us pieces back. Albeit brief.
Undeterred...
Until whenever next time is.
Thursday, 3 September 2015
Keep No Score
Many a check point is crossed off during time apart and away. Visiting new and unusual places, full of excitement and a longing ache in heart. You are always on my mind. There are so many sights I know you'd have loved to see, but why speak in past tense? You'll see them, unlikely at this point with me. Blinding determination says otherwise, and who's to argue with a heart that doesn't know any better than to stick by what it truly believes in. Optimism? Deep set beliefs? We're not ones for crushing hopes and dreams after all. Right? The reality hits on the daily, but it is not enough to deter hope, to smite out wishing. It is not for others to determine the thoughts and feelings of one individual, but remember that it can be their place to step in and be your guide. "When all lights are out." Until you cannot see your hands in front of your face, feel the pain in your feet from walking along this seemingly never ending path - they urge you, you dig deep into your resolve, and you keep walking. It's taken me this long to realise that the direction doesn't matter, because though you can retrace old steps, you aren't re-walking them. Not really. You are a different, experienced walker now in comparison to then. You step over rocks that previously tripped you, you fall into rabbit holes you previously sidestepped, you find a beautiful bloom to gaze upon and find new terrains to conquer. Even though it is that same path. The thudding heart drum beat kicks in now and you plod along rhythmically to it. Progress. Now what next? I promise you that you meet some of the same faces and catch the attention of other, entirely new ones. Scars, pimples, dimples, and smirkers alike. The self awareness makes things lighter. Enables you to see, don't be too obvious about it being in the traditional sense. We do not receive trophy achievements in life for playing the game by the great designer's rules. Too much mess, too many people pulling out the 'life is so unfair' card for that to be a truth. Instead, prepare for the ceremony well. Keep yourself "healthy", they say. Not necessarily the big reality when life and mental health have differing ideals on how existence works. Breaking hearts to keep safety is an under contested subject, though I am unsure if I could objective contribute to the debate. We're the unsure poster children belonging to a generation that is one challenge after the next. Drag your warpainted fingers cross your cheeks and set your grimace ready to face what uncertainties await you. Only those (blindly, misguidedly) clever among us seem to truly believe you can plan mystery and practise presenting futures. Perhaps that is their determination showing.
Will it take a map to help us trace our steps together again?
There are jobs to be done, tasks to be fulfilled. Truths to be told.
This "pause" feels like a giant intake and held breath.
Having not yet become blue in the face, I look to the day when I get to exhale.
How I wish you were around.
Oh wonderful one,
We will be okay.
Will it take a map to help us trace our steps together again?
There are jobs to be done, tasks to be fulfilled. Truths to be told.
This "pause" feels like a giant intake and held breath.
Having not yet become blue in the face, I look to the day when I get to exhale.
How I wish you were around.
Oh wonderful one,
We will be okay.
Tuesday, 4 August 2015
Usual Tragedy
Quick, quick away with you,
Gone in a flash -
A Moment overdue.
This learning game; a cruel one, because when and how do we decide that we have moved from the right fight to the never ending punishment? A sincere commitment, a brutal endurance.
The circus there one moment, yet gone the next. Just like your head on the pillow.
When will the joy in my heart not bear you? Wise was it to learn that joy is not held in arms. It is contained in a far greater existence. The something more.
Though I should be certain, you'd never left me. Surely?
Time gives me the strength to perhaps reconsider this, and to equally quash it. Our own figure eight. Only, with you gone in that somewhere more, I am left to paint it with fingers in sand of one size. My size only.
Figuring it out. I see stars and ache knowing you are someone looking at them too.
Gone in a flash -
A Moment overdue.
This learning game; a cruel one, because when and how do we decide that we have moved from the right fight to the never ending punishment? A sincere commitment, a brutal endurance.
The circus there one moment, yet gone the next. Just like your head on the pillow.
When will the joy in my heart not bear you? Wise was it to learn that joy is not held in arms. It is contained in a far greater existence. The something more.
Though I should be certain, you'd never left me. Surely?
Time gives me the strength to perhaps reconsider this, and to equally quash it. Our own figure eight. Only, with you gone in that somewhere more, I am left to paint it with fingers in sand of one size. My size only.
Figuring it out. I see stars and ache knowing you are someone looking at them too.
Sunday, 12 April 2015
Dust On The Ground
Where has the quiet gone? The contented silence of hours and hours.
I made a claim, laughed at by those having their way. I am no longer home with you.
Though, admittedly, this has been the case for quite some time.
The pain has never really left, you see. I know you hoped it would.
Yes, I have slept a little better. I have learnt that there is a way to manage what others look and point at as an 'impossible' situation. If you were to ask me, I could not tell you how.
The dust has been stirred and settled, but does not cover those still here.
I was quiet, but never blind.
Perhaps it is when romantics die that the stars shine a little brighter, welcoming the weary to gleam out in their final explosion of radiance. Though I believe this to be untrue, that is in our life they sparkle most. For we are to see their cheer only then, only alive. For loves of lives and lives of love exist in the now. So we must strive to live to see them through. We must continue on.
Nothing tempts me away. I have spent much time in a different kind of lonely from you.
Scaling mountains, crossing seas and tramping through forests has not been necessary here. No adventures, no great distance to reach a final destination in journey. Holding on is a different kind of travel. Yet, I have walked some kind of path. I have roamed and returned. Always the same. A look in the mirror never the same.
"Because I'm searching for something I hope in my heart I will find,
And though it's testing my patience away I'll be biding my time."
Is this all a test? The greatest test of my life?
What is strong? What keeps me hanging on here?
"Your mess is mine."
I know it has been a while, yet again. Just please know you are so loved.
I made a claim, laughed at by those having their way. I am no longer home with you.
Though, admittedly, this has been the case for quite some time.
The pain has never really left, you see. I know you hoped it would.
Yes, I have slept a little better. I have learnt that there is a way to manage what others look and point at as an 'impossible' situation. If you were to ask me, I could not tell you how.
The dust has been stirred and settled, but does not cover those still here.
I was quiet, but never blind.
Perhaps it is when romantics die that the stars shine a little brighter, welcoming the weary to gleam out in their final explosion of radiance. Though I believe this to be untrue, that is in our life they sparkle most. For we are to see their cheer only then, only alive. For loves of lives and lives of love exist in the now. So we must strive to live to see them through. We must continue on.
Nothing tempts me away. I have spent much time in a different kind of lonely from you.
Scaling mountains, crossing seas and tramping through forests has not been necessary here. No adventures, no great distance to reach a final destination in journey. Holding on is a different kind of travel. Yet, I have walked some kind of path. I have roamed and returned. Always the same. A look in the mirror never the same.
"Because I'm searching for something I hope in my heart I will find,
And though it's testing my patience away I'll be biding my time."
Is this all a test? The greatest test of my life?
What is strong? What keeps me hanging on here?
"Your mess is mine."
I know it has been a while, yet again. Just please know you are so loved.
Sunday, 25 January 2015
I Bet My Life
Pendulum swing, swing. Up, down and round.
Rusty machines, oil us up and watch the mechanisms whir once more. Are you deaf, dumb or blind did you forget we chimed before? That's an insult. It's a new age though and we're updated on such a basis you'd assume it was just outdated. Political correctness gone, forgiven for ignorance (because isn't it bliss - the oldnew drug). Out of mind, bent out of shape. The system works doesn't it? So, no fuck you.
Card house built so high with your skills that make you heavenly. They translate in all parts of your life. Does that make you so much better? A kingdom for you to rule upon high. Happiness is happy, as long as you are happy with it. It's the last call and pushed people go through the door, downing their tomorrows from the glass as they go. One look and it tumbles down and down and down and down. Clumsy are these cards, indeed.
Broke literary power rules, now its lost the control over the reader, anarchy taking baby steps. Irony.
Run aways!
Told us we're gonna die anyway, but starting to think we should enjoy it before the forever ends is a new concept - one that takes some getting used to at times. Nightmares don't disappear over-day.
Black glitters. So bound by the night and only love the morning dusk a little. Air is so very vital, has anyone told that to the noose? Little owl, wise as you are, tell me what to do.
You don't even want to know what I see behind closed eyes.
----
Written, the above, quite some time ago, let us see what the new year has to offer:
So you shall see.
Quite some time passes. Calendars are replaced and new days greet you with the sense of before. You've lived this day, but at a different time, a moment unparallel to the right now. It is gripped tightly in your fingers, though no tension exists. Palms upturn and it hops lightly onto your shoulders, where it comfortably sits, cradling your neck. A warmth that serves purpose, only when decided upon. We can call some moments comforting. At the same time in a late time, we may see it as stifling. In this way, do we choose our own oppressions? What we make of them?
"Yeah, I said forever."
That friend of ours is becoming no more as they change beyond recognition. Are we to fight the freshly unfamiliar departure or let them be? Is it responsibility until we name it that? We have our familiars and those we must guard as we are entrusted to keep them unharmed. We cannot understand, we cannot, just can't - this is LOUD, this is REPEATED, this is CONSUMING.
A fundamental difference between hoping and expectation. What you called concrete, I called potential. What you called a fixed sinking sand, I called the chance for all kinds of adventure. What you called wrong, we called love. Dear you, you are so lost on goodness and selflessness. He cannot make good, for reasons beyond control.
And so, you shall hopefully, optimistically, see.
I love, and this is life in return?
Rusty machines, oil us up and watch the mechanisms whir once more. Are you deaf, dumb or blind did you forget we chimed before? That's an insult. It's a new age though and we're updated on such a basis you'd assume it was just outdated. Political correctness gone, forgiven for ignorance (because isn't it bliss - the oldnew drug). Out of mind, bent out of shape. The system works doesn't it? So, no fuck you.
Card house built so high with your skills that make you heavenly. They translate in all parts of your life. Does that make you so much better? A kingdom for you to rule upon high. Happiness is happy, as long as you are happy with it. It's the last call and pushed people go through the door, downing their tomorrows from the glass as they go. One look and it tumbles down and down and down and down. Clumsy are these cards, indeed.
Broke literary power rules, now its lost the control over the reader, anarchy taking baby steps. Irony.
Run aways!
Told us we're gonna die anyway, but starting to think we should enjoy it before the forever ends is a new concept - one that takes some getting used to at times. Nightmares don't disappear over-day.
Black glitters. So bound by the night and only love the morning dusk a little. Air is so very vital, has anyone told that to the noose? Little owl, wise as you are, tell me what to do.
You don't even want to know what I see behind closed eyes.
----
Written, the above, quite some time ago, let us see what the new year has to offer:
So you shall see.
Quite some time passes. Calendars are replaced and new days greet you with the sense of before. You've lived this day, but at a different time, a moment unparallel to the right now. It is gripped tightly in your fingers, though no tension exists. Palms upturn and it hops lightly onto your shoulders, where it comfortably sits, cradling your neck. A warmth that serves purpose, only when decided upon. We can call some moments comforting. At the same time in a late time, we may see it as stifling. In this way, do we choose our own oppressions? What we make of them?
"Yeah, I said forever."
That friend of ours is becoming no more as they change beyond recognition. Are we to fight the freshly unfamiliar departure or let them be? Is it responsibility until we name it that? We have our familiars and those we must guard as we are entrusted to keep them unharmed. We cannot understand, we cannot, just can't - this is LOUD, this is REPEATED, this is CONSUMING.
A fundamental difference between hoping and expectation. What you called concrete, I called potential. What you called a fixed sinking sand, I called the chance for all kinds of adventure. What you called wrong, we called love. Dear you, you are so lost on goodness and selflessness. He cannot make good, for reasons beyond control.
And so, you shall hopefully, optimistically, see.
I love, and this is life in return?
Wednesday, 24 September 2014
The Hidden Shades
Tipping stars into your glass, let's see you fill up with cheer and good feeling.
God only knows you've been looking for a change of the scenery. You can grab a paint brush and start with the ceiling. Brush out the cobwebs, let's get the view back in our lives. It might cost spoons, but elbow grease is a free commodity otherwise. Before we do the next room, we'll smash everything. Did you hear that it's therapeutic? Here's a bottle I filled with a societal oppression, whilst you may wish to really break this one into a million tiny pieces, could you possibly do it outside? We'll have none of that in here. But that's the bloody point, down and it comes hissing as the glass splinters and wisps of a quiet rage seep into all the hidden corners you never quite uncover.
Heaven, are you happier now? Excuse the backwards reference, you don't have to get them right to remind people of their significance. Maybe it's just trying to avoid the crippling economics of your lawsuit over mine in this cathedral of "laws and justice" who so rightfully uphold the peace and order. The claims court will have you for this. You shouldn't have let slip that you knew society was fucked. All you had to do was tap each clone on the shoulder, you'll know how awake they are instantly. How and not whether because we're creating a culture of many believing they practice what they preach when they remain so uninformed and refusing to open their open-closed eyes. Free your mind!
Still, you look at the case and say to your lawyer, financially a mess - soulfully more intact than ever.
She's the mean scene queen, downing the pills and taking another swig from the bottle. Her laughter is her riff, whilst it shudders others about her wake. To give her credit, she at least speaks in absolutes where the rest of her life is a chaos of mystery. Rolling out the carpet, Entropy Queen, welcome home. She burnt black forevermore it - dropping a lit match, she never cared for that celebrity red anyway. The runway was set. Take off with no scheduled landing. This is how you go off the grid.
Can we ever escape this human condition?
Can we ever escape the mess we have made?
We continue to make.
A pause in this life!
What have we done? What have we done? What have we
This is so reminiscent of a breakdown.
Species: human, let me check you in. Your stay will be a minimum of 72 hours and whilst you are here you will be allowed no communications with any persons outside of our facility unless permitted by our head of staff. This will not happen. It has been brought to our attention that you are posing a danger to yourself, we'll take good care of you and ensure nothing happens. First swallow this -- what is it? Do not concern yourself, you will feel much more relaxed, that is once the nausea has worn off and you might go a little hazy. There you go, very good. Ah yes there you
And suddenly the camera is rolling again,
yesterday's news no longer relevant
that death no longer significant
we can try try try to make it
already moving on to the next injustice
we are so flawed
are we so flawed
do we so choose this
did the flaws pick us
maybe that's God's design
how about that
what do you make of this
lets be angry
lets br
Turn that fucking camera off the air n-..........................
Is it so tiring to be in and out of confusion. To tumble and not understand. To have to deal with every life event that presents itself to you.
I once heard a great writer's quote about the human condition which was along the lines of if there is one thing us humans surely are, we are truly resilient. We just survive in ways that surprise even ourselves. Despite everything that happens.
Still, are you not left wondering how true this statement is? What drives us forward? Selfishness, willing, kindness, rage or mindlessness. A many possibility belies this question. There is no answer. Not a singular one. We're too messy to be that organised. Surely.
I find myself more and more worried about the state of things. Things that are so much bigger. It pulls me into a deep sorrow that I do not shrug off, I don't know how to. I'm so sorry, there was such a determination to right something happy and it just descended into this. One last attempt to make you smile before the long walk home. Wear mittens, scarves and hats - you mustn't catch a cold. I will ask you no questions, nor you to me. Your sad ways are understood and no need to explain, just come bundle yourself here, we'll put warmth in those bones yet.
Let us just kiss like all those people do and forget ourselves a little longer.
Fill yourself with the stars you are missing, feel more whole, perhaps.
Remember too, there is always goodness still.
Wherein love remains.
God only knows you've been looking for a change of the scenery. You can grab a paint brush and start with the ceiling. Brush out the cobwebs, let's get the view back in our lives. It might cost spoons, but elbow grease is a free commodity otherwise. Before we do the next room, we'll smash everything. Did you hear that it's therapeutic? Here's a bottle I filled with a societal oppression, whilst you may wish to really break this one into a million tiny pieces, could you possibly do it outside? We'll have none of that in here. But that's the bloody point, down and it comes hissing as the glass splinters and wisps of a quiet rage seep into all the hidden corners you never quite uncover.
Heaven, are you happier now? Excuse the backwards reference, you don't have to get them right to remind people of their significance. Maybe it's just trying to avoid the crippling economics of your lawsuit over mine in this cathedral of "laws and justice" who so rightfully uphold the peace and order. The claims court will have you for this. You shouldn't have let slip that you knew society was fucked. All you had to do was tap each clone on the shoulder, you'll know how awake they are instantly. How and not whether because we're creating a culture of many believing they practice what they preach when they remain so uninformed and refusing to open their open-closed eyes. Free your mind!
Still, you look at the case and say to your lawyer, financially a mess - soulfully more intact than ever.
She's the mean scene queen, downing the pills and taking another swig from the bottle. Her laughter is her riff, whilst it shudders others about her wake. To give her credit, she at least speaks in absolutes where the rest of her life is a chaos of mystery. Rolling out the carpet, Entropy Queen, welcome home. She burnt black forevermore it - dropping a lit match, she never cared for that celebrity red anyway. The runway was set. Take off with no scheduled landing. This is how you go off the grid.
Can we ever escape this human condition?
Can we ever escape the mess we have made?
We continue to make.
A pause in this life!
What have we done? What have we done? What have we
This is so reminiscent of a breakdown.
Species: human, let me check you in. Your stay will be a minimum of 72 hours and whilst you are here you will be allowed no communications with any persons outside of our facility unless permitted by our head of staff. This will not happen. It has been brought to our attention that you are posing a danger to yourself, we'll take good care of you and ensure nothing happens. First swallow this -- what is it? Do not concern yourself, you will feel much more relaxed, that is once the nausea has worn off and you might go a little hazy. There you go, very good. Ah yes there you
And suddenly the camera is rolling again,
yesterday's news no longer relevant
that death no longer significant
we can try try try to make it
already moving on to the next injustice
we are so flawed
are we so flawed
do we so choose this
did the flaws pick us
maybe that's God's design
how about that
what do you make of this
lets be angry
lets br
Turn that fucking camera off the air n-..........................
Is it so tiring to be in and out of confusion. To tumble and not understand. To have to deal with every life event that presents itself to you.
I once heard a great writer's quote about the human condition which was along the lines of if there is one thing us humans surely are, we are truly resilient. We just survive in ways that surprise even ourselves. Despite everything that happens.
Still, are you not left wondering how true this statement is? What drives us forward? Selfishness, willing, kindness, rage or mindlessness. A many possibility belies this question. There is no answer. Not a singular one. We're too messy to be that organised. Surely.
I find myself more and more worried about the state of things. Things that are so much bigger. It pulls me into a deep sorrow that I do not shrug off, I don't know how to. I'm so sorry, there was such a determination to right something happy and it just descended into this. One last attempt to make you smile before the long walk home. Wear mittens, scarves and hats - you mustn't catch a cold. I will ask you no questions, nor you to me. Your sad ways are understood and no need to explain, just come bundle yourself here, we'll put warmth in those bones yet.
Let us just kiss like all those people do and forget ourselves a little longer.
Fill yourself with the stars you are missing, feel more whole, perhaps.
Remember too, there is always goodness still.
Wherein love remains.
Friday, 5 September 2014
Cuttings
Anhedonia has overtaken. Old friend, supposedly. In love with our sadness, aren't we the sickos. Love let go, we told you so. Becoming pathetic, and we know it.
Take it all away. Take it.
Had it twisted, a mangled truth. That's not who I am. I damn the wish that I'd met you first.
Get to know me.
Do not become another person I have to censor my life to. There is joy in this. It starts with your arms. Come so close.
There should be more moments in which we feel so limitless. Ones where the world rushes by, even as you are standing still. How they will lift you up and your eyes swiftly roll back. You are lost and present in one small second. Sometimes it lasts longer. Oh, sensation! Your fingers are so light, soon realising that a tingling has spread all the way to the underside of your toes. Head spinning, pleasant syns. To be so supreme. Unending, the story goes on.
I want to discuss the world and the way there are so many problems. What are your solutions? Are you a fighter? Or do you not care that much? Where do you stand on the death of innocents by gunfire, is it who pulls the trigger or the weapon itself? I want to find out when sadness makes you tick. What it makes you feel. Not how or why. No one ever has to answer those, always a choice. Remind me of all the times we have walked hand in hand. Did you ever once regret it? Are you a believer in the fireworks that can erupt during kissing. Are you a believer in the magic of bonfire night itself, I ask myself if I could be with someone who didn't understand in my belief of that magic. Do you do everything with your whole being? Or would you believe that's living too much? Or not really living at all... I wonder at night the thoughts you think before you fall asleep. Do you go over just the past week or the whole year? Longer than that too, perhaps. Reminded of things you don't even remember living, not really. Do you believe that some nights can last forever? Have you ever thought about your dying, the thought of you not existing - not just for how that would be for others, but for yourself. Can you see the selfishness from both party lines? The city or great outdoors? Memories to me, apparent moments to you. Do you always want to stay the same or are you one to embrace change? If so, are you ever afraid you will change so much you aren't the same person you were happy with being. Or become a person you aren't proud of. Do you realise the importance of the person you love, being proud of you. And on that note what makes you proud of you. Is it the actions you do, your beliefs and opinions or the people you surround yourself with. Are you equally as proud as those around you, and are you sure that those people hold just as much love in their hearts? I like your thirst for knowledge. It seems to radiate from you, but so much so that I fall dumb when you ask me to pick your brain. I'm no vulture. I really have a thousand questions for you, they change all the time. So never worry, I won't run out. Just always answer yes, when I ask if you care. Because this, this is my ultimate saviour. Can you ever tell me that won't change? Would you tell me there were times when you would have truly believed that but no longer feel you can. Are you standing fast against the storm, determined anyway?
"..made from the sun you are, oh what a star you are.."
No longer the voice remains, fragments of laughter and snippets of words. I cannot make out the sound of your voice on our treasured 'three little words'. It is gone. Collapsing smiles from half moments linger. Have you chosen to release me without my own consent? To just no longer exist. Nothing dramatic you see, just a disappearance. To you, to everyone. You are fading, you are.
I suppose find peace, my love. Off to sleep now, dear heart, the stars are calling you home.
Take it all away. Take it.
Had it twisted, a mangled truth. That's not who I am. I damn the wish that I'd met you first.
Get to know me.
Do not become another person I have to censor my life to. There is joy in this. It starts with your arms. Come so close.
There should be more moments in which we feel so limitless. Ones where the world rushes by, even as you are standing still. How they will lift you up and your eyes swiftly roll back. You are lost and present in one small second. Sometimes it lasts longer. Oh, sensation! Your fingers are so light, soon realising that a tingling has spread all the way to the underside of your toes. Head spinning, pleasant syns. To be so supreme. Unending, the story goes on.
I want to discuss the world and the way there are so many problems. What are your solutions? Are you a fighter? Or do you not care that much? Where do you stand on the death of innocents by gunfire, is it who pulls the trigger or the weapon itself? I want to find out when sadness makes you tick. What it makes you feel. Not how or why. No one ever has to answer those, always a choice. Remind me of all the times we have walked hand in hand. Did you ever once regret it? Are you a believer in the fireworks that can erupt during kissing. Are you a believer in the magic of bonfire night itself, I ask myself if I could be with someone who didn't understand in my belief of that magic. Do you do everything with your whole being? Or would you believe that's living too much? Or not really living at all... I wonder at night the thoughts you think before you fall asleep. Do you go over just the past week or the whole year? Longer than that too, perhaps. Reminded of things you don't even remember living, not really. Do you believe that some nights can last forever? Have you ever thought about your dying, the thought of you not existing - not just for how that would be for others, but for yourself. Can you see the selfishness from both party lines? The city or great outdoors? Memories to me, apparent moments to you. Do you always want to stay the same or are you one to embrace change? If so, are you ever afraid you will change so much you aren't the same person you were happy with being. Or become a person you aren't proud of. Do you realise the importance of the person you love, being proud of you. And on that note what makes you proud of you. Is it the actions you do, your beliefs and opinions or the people you surround yourself with. Are you equally as proud as those around you, and are you sure that those people hold just as much love in their hearts? I like your thirst for knowledge. It seems to radiate from you, but so much so that I fall dumb when you ask me to pick your brain. I'm no vulture. I really have a thousand questions for you, they change all the time. So never worry, I won't run out. Just always answer yes, when I ask if you care. Because this, this is my ultimate saviour. Can you ever tell me that won't change? Would you tell me there were times when you would have truly believed that but no longer feel you can. Are you standing fast against the storm, determined anyway?
"..made from the sun you are, oh what a star you are.."
No longer the voice remains, fragments of laughter and snippets of words. I cannot make out the sound of your voice on our treasured 'three little words'. It is gone. Collapsing smiles from half moments linger. Have you chosen to release me without my own consent? To just no longer exist. Nothing dramatic you see, just a disappearance. To you, to everyone. You are fading, you are.
I suppose find peace, my love. Off to sleep now, dear heart, the stars are calling you home.
Monday, 26 May 2014
Late Night Tales
A confusion. But a word of advice;
It is often best to question the way a question is asking itself to be revealed, against fears of misinterpreting its meaning, especially without intonation for clarity.
Shall we begin?
"I guess it's not like they'd come up in everyday conversation/are known about. For that I am glad."
It's that music, 3:03 minutes of heaven and hell all mixed into one. Instantly buzzed, this synesthesia both seductress and enemy. I am addicted to that feeling. To the tequila nights. To the ones no one really understands but me. Give me your spectrum, colouring it right. Wearing our warpaint, smeared cheeks rouge.
"I guess it's very twisted. There are certainly blocks in my mind. They are so strong I can't sometimes believe that what I know is real."
That strange girl who is quiet in the day and louder in the night. Kissing girls on balconies, as she kisses my neck I see the stars floating down in the gutter. Every building clad in silks of all colours, even the ones that you don't know exist - quintalca my favourite. Screwing up her life as she pulls the gruff and scratchy face of her superior closer to look him in the eyes. Returning the kiss that tasted as foul as its morality, and as bad as if he'd never done it before.
"I'm scared in some respects that it isn't, because what kind of person would make up shit like that/this? And if that was me, then who the hell am I/what am I?"
My body becomes not my own. I am finally in rhythm. I am so in sync. I am that extra one (five) shot. Make it good, make it count. I am your godly queen, terrifying and amazing for those felt hours. Under or between the sheets? Deciding positionality is always part of a much deeper game. We sleep in hiding and comfort, a rest bite for the hours that will shortly present themselves. Unwelcome gifts, but you are amongst the land of the living. 3:34 minutes for the mission to last another night.
Where sleep should find you the rebound of sound does. An internal scream that lasts and lasts. Ear to ear. Back and forth. And so they can't possibly. I am in the corner, mine sweeping and blinded by the strobes. Pushed against the wall and ferocious. The name of the last drink forgotten. Last guy that grabbed me, blood on hand, must've not agreed with the advance of that walk of life. Words in ear. The slow motion of the friend that uses her fists where statements can't be heard over the deafening vacuum around us. Grabbed hands and dancing in hell's heels.
There's so much new stuff to do. So much crazy shit. I can't wait. And so sometimes I need this back in my life so desperately.
"That alone makes me not think about this much at all. Not fear that it would happen again."
Months on.
"Things are no good still, I am no good of late. In spite of this I have not felt like writing here - somewhat deliberately.
However, what inspired me to write today was a chance peace in my view of the full moon over a rooftop - cloudy sky, except for that one path of my vision to its light. How magnificent it looked. How deep its shadowed surface. How radiant it stands amidst a blackened sky. Swallowed whole and refusing to move all at once.
It gave me briefly, but whole minutes (of two), to just be in awe of its beauty and there was nothing else.
To think that it is a rock, in space, so far away. That has been travelled to and marvelled at by millions and millions at some point or any other. I share that sky with him. How lucky am I?"
It is often best to question the way a question is asking itself to be revealed, against fears of misinterpreting its meaning, especially without intonation for clarity.
Shall we begin?
"I guess it's not like they'd come up in everyday conversation/are known about. For that I am glad."
It's that music, 3:03 minutes of heaven and hell all mixed into one. Instantly buzzed, this synesthesia both seductress and enemy. I am addicted to that feeling. To the tequila nights. To the ones no one really understands but me. Give me your spectrum, colouring it right. Wearing our warpaint, smeared cheeks rouge.
"I guess it's very twisted. There are certainly blocks in my mind. They are so strong I can't sometimes believe that what I know is real."
That strange girl who is quiet in the day and louder in the night. Kissing girls on balconies, as she kisses my neck I see the stars floating down in the gutter. Every building clad in silks of all colours, even the ones that you don't know exist - quintalca my favourite. Screwing up her life as she pulls the gruff and scratchy face of her superior closer to look him in the eyes. Returning the kiss that tasted as foul as its morality, and as bad as if he'd never done it before.
"I'm scared in some respects that it isn't, because what kind of person would make up shit like that/this? And if that was me, then who the hell am I/what am I?"
My body becomes not my own. I am finally in rhythm. I am so in sync. I am that extra one (five) shot. Make it good, make it count. I am your godly queen, terrifying and amazing for those felt hours. Under or between the sheets? Deciding positionality is always part of a much deeper game. We sleep in hiding and comfort, a rest bite for the hours that will shortly present themselves. Unwelcome gifts, but you are amongst the land of the living. 3:34 minutes for the mission to last another night.
Where sleep should find you the rebound of sound does. An internal scream that lasts and lasts. Ear to ear. Back and forth. And so they can't possibly. I am in the corner, mine sweeping and blinded by the strobes. Pushed against the wall and ferocious. The name of the last drink forgotten. Last guy that grabbed me, blood on hand, must've not agreed with the advance of that walk of life. Words in ear. The slow motion of the friend that uses her fists where statements can't be heard over the deafening vacuum around us. Grabbed hands and dancing in hell's heels.
There's so much new stuff to do. So much crazy shit. I can't wait. And so sometimes I need this back in my life so desperately.
"That alone makes me not think about this much at all. Not fear that it would happen again."
Months on.
"Things are no good still, I am no good of late. In spite of this I have not felt like writing here - somewhat deliberately.
However, what inspired me to write today was a chance peace in my view of the full moon over a rooftop - cloudy sky, except for that one path of my vision to its light. How magnificent it looked. How deep its shadowed surface. How radiant it stands amidst a blackened sky. Swallowed whole and refusing to move all at once.
It gave me briefly, but whole minutes (of two), to just be in awe of its beauty and there was nothing else.
To think that it is a rock, in space, so far away. That has been travelled to and marvelled at by millions and millions at some point or any other. I share that sky with him. How lucky am I?"
Friday, 25 April 2014
No Light
There seems to be a theme in many stories that you don't turn around, don't look back, keep on walking. Especially near the ending, when the ends are being tied up and presented as neat little bows to the reader. It's the story's end after all, not a dress rehearsal. I want someone to walk away and then turn around, expecting to see me standing and watching, only to see I'm walking the opposite direction. Far away, each step, I go. They want to say a final finality. And just when they blink, or open their lips, suddenly I'm gone. Vanished.
But the sad truth is I don't believe that there is any place I could go to escape this. No place where I won't carry my stories with me. Often I am comfortable with that, sometimes I'd even go as far to say I was comforted by it. What made me, melded me, sculpted me, carried upon my shoulders. But that is not now.
I feel tired.
I feel haunted.
I feel frightened by happiness, and its side effects.
There is no love in the rain that falls from the skies today, when it used to be my favourite reminder.
Is there sun after the rain? Perhaps. But the thunder is more troublesome thereafter.
There are wisps of steam rising from houses and, watching I see, it throws itself so carelessly out into the wind. Like jumping onto moving carriages. All too quickly it has disappeared. Swallowed up into something greater. Ended.
But there is still a clinging hope. That won't let go.
Another truth? Some of the time, I let myself kind of wish it would. That honesty with myself, it stops me indulging it.
But the sad truth is I don't believe that there is any place I could go to escape this. No place where I won't carry my stories with me. Often I am comfortable with that, sometimes I'd even go as far to say I was comforted by it. What made me, melded me, sculpted me, carried upon my shoulders. But that is not now.
I feel tired.
I feel haunted.
I feel frightened by happiness, and its side effects.
There is no love in the rain that falls from the skies today, when it used to be my favourite reminder.
Is there sun after the rain? Perhaps. But the thunder is more troublesome thereafter.
There are wisps of steam rising from houses and, watching I see, it throws itself so carelessly out into the wind. Like jumping onto moving carriages. All too quickly it has disappeared. Swallowed up into something greater. Ended.
But there is still a clinging hope. That won't let go.
Another truth? Some of the time, I let myself kind of wish it would. That honesty with myself, it stops me indulging it.
Sunday, 30 March 2014
Threads
Air of mystery clings to the greying fog that clouds your view on life perspectives. So, it is surely time to transport ourselves away from this colourless scene and to jump into something so warm and different. Away from the ominous HP Lovecraft. We'll say 'hip-hooray' for all the newness that is to follow. Where are we off to first my adventurous companion, there's far too much choice but we have to start somewhere.
First, let's set the table to the music of our hearts, a harmonica and a good beat that my fingers could never keep up for long. That's what friends are for, to keep the drum drumming when you have lost sense of the world around you. Is that a simple change of heart? Whatever the weather you'll be there, truer than ever. I can hear your constant strumming and as I close my eyes it soothes me in a way that I've not felt for a while. I can hear some laughter already, it looks to be a great time. Clattering of wooden chairs and the soft thud of cushions and floor rugs. There's a consistency in the blending of these sounds that is so marvellous it cannot be truly put into words, though any reader will know immediately what the writer is trying (badly but without a care!) to get at.
Now! Let us transform the weather. Whilst mystery can be exciting and snow can be fabulous and rain can fall fantastic (only to rehash one of my favourite lines). There is something about a warm, glowing hidden sunshine that is of a comfort so tender to our bodies and minds. It is too early to light the candles, but we will, we will get to that later I promise! I'm noticing all of you arriving, we're in our everyday lives and this is our time.
There's a lot of swirling around and a floppy hat obscuring vision as it swerves in time with the motion. A flash of red florals here and there. Flashes of golden enigma. Maybe a small caught corner smile. Catch her and kiss her, feel the softness of her lips and the taste of love that fills you up and sets you ready to go back on the road again. You don't have to go anywhere, but with her holding your hand you are unstoppable and more ready than before. This is no lust or greed, this is a breath of fresh air. Drink in deep and close your eyes as a clarity descends you that you didn't know you needed. Open up and the first thing that greets you, a smile. A good way to start the day.
I know I'm not supposed to indulge these maladaptions, but sometimes there is a beauty that is better than the present reality of life's is. "It's going to be just fine." I don't know how many hundreds of times I have said that to myself in the past few weeks. I think there's a power in the words not growing threadbare and loosing their potency. I want to go out and lie down, watching the stars with you. Just like you asked so very long ago, you said that's the best way to see them. Will you wake up to the sound of a beating heart? There's a closed book and an endless fountain of questioning cases, though let's keep the interrogation out of it. No 3rd degree required. We're not talking as much but I can still hear you. One of a few lights in the darkness of this lonely journey. Finding myself a little more, who am I.
I've spent a lot of time considering how painful I find the many outlooks on love that are laid out in front of me. I let them wash over me, because I could not ever disagree so fervently about anything. There is a lot about being and a lot about seeing, even a lot about the self. My tales of daring and danger, they are not as dangerous as some of the hardship these other loves seems to bring. Perhaps it has a lot to do with contentment, not settling but just flowing like a breeze lifting the flowers heads in a gentle summertime transition. There is a real ethereal nature to my love, that is also so tangible and rock solid. Transcend this realm, taking my hand we will leave this place a little long while and be kept carefully in an expanse of inclined enchantment. Yes, it really is that easy. The threads of you are so beautiful. We are our own pattern. Interwoven and connected.
Because love like this lasts more than forever. In knowing that I am home, still.
First, let's set the table to the music of our hearts, a harmonica and a good beat that my fingers could never keep up for long. That's what friends are for, to keep the drum drumming when you have lost sense of the world around you. Is that a simple change of heart? Whatever the weather you'll be there, truer than ever. I can hear your constant strumming and as I close my eyes it soothes me in a way that I've not felt for a while. I can hear some laughter already, it looks to be a great time. Clattering of wooden chairs and the soft thud of cushions and floor rugs. There's a consistency in the blending of these sounds that is so marvellous it cannot be truly put into words, though any reader will know immediately what the writer is trying (badly but without a care!) to get at.
Now! Let us transform the weather. Whilst mystery can be exciting and snow can be fabulous and rain can fall fantastic (only to rehash one of my favourite lines). There is something about a warm, glowing hidden sunshine that is of a comfort so tender to our bodies and minds. It is too early to light the candles, but we will, we will get to that later I promise! I'm noticing all of you arriving, we're in our everyday lives and this is our time.
There's a lot of swirling around and a floppy hat obscuring vision as it swerves in time with the motion. A flash of red florals here and there. Flashes of golden enigma. Maybe a small caught corner smile. Catch her and kiss her, feel the softness of her lips and the taste of love that fills you up and sets you ready to go back on the road again. You don't have to go anywhere, but with her holding your hand you are unstoppable and more ready than before. This is no lust or greed, this is a breath of fresh air. Drink in deep and close your eyes as a clarity descends you that you didn't know you needed. Open up and the first thing that greets you, a smile. A good way to start the day.
I know I'm not supposed to indulge these maladaptions, but sometimes there is a beauty that is better than the present reality of life's is. "It's going to be just fine." I don't know how many hundreds of times I have said that to myself in the past few weeks. I think there's a power in the words not growing threadbare and loosing their potency. I want to go out and lie down, watching the stars with you. Just like you asked so very long ago, you said that's the best way to see them. Will you wake up to the sound of a beating heart? There's a closed book and an endless fountain of questioning cases, though let's keep the interrogation out of it. No 3rd degree required. We're not talking as much but I can still hear you. One of a few lights in the darkness of this lonely journey. Finding myself a little more, who am I.
I've spent a lot of time considering how painful I find the many outlooks on love that are laid out in front of me. I let them wash over me, because I could not ever disagree so fervently about anything. There is a lot about being and a lot about seeing, even a lot about the self. My tales of daring and danger, they are not as dangerous as some of the hardship these other loves seems to bring. Perhaps it has a lot to do with contentment, not settling but just flowing like a breeze lifting the flowers heads in a gentle summertime transition. There is a real ethereal nature to my love, that is also so tangible and rock solid. Transcend this realm, taking my hand we will leave this place a little long while and be kept carefully in an expanse of inclined enchantment. Yes, it really is that easy. The threads of you are so beautiful. We are our own pattern. Interwoven and connected.
Because love like this lasts more than forever. In knowing that I am home, still.
Wednesday, 19 March 2014
In the Silence
I am snapped telephone lines, cut by the storm. Threatened by lightning and the outcome of disobedience.
I am the train pelting through the tunnel at one-hundred-miles-per-hour. No stops for anyone, the passengers learn to wait.
I am darkness in the night sky. Aided by the electronic sky line. Pollution to remind you that the stars are too good for what lurks here.
I am the sound in the wind, longing for you to listen. The silent scream that you convince yourself you 'didn't' hear.
I am the trap that lies in wait. Silent and deadly, tread lightly where you fall. I take prisoners with little mercy. I should tighten as you struggle to be free.
I am the ground that awaits and awakens the flash flood. Waiting for the rains to fall, ready to fulfil my natural purpose. Torrent released by the most innocent act of falling raindrops. I couldn't warn you beforehand, not that I tried.
I am the melting glacier. Falling apart for no apparent reasons, other than the ones staring you in the face. The facade of glitter blinding you to all that is twisted beneath; 'symptoms of soullessness'.
I am the red pen. The one that tells you, you are no good. You've failed. Try harder, though there is no promise of a next time.
I am the shadow that will always follow you. I will stand by whatever happens, bad or good. I have no judgement but also no conscious morality. Watching you will never and always be alone.
I am the nuee ardente. I will glow and shoot up to fine fascination. But I am deadly to all that I touch.
I am lost hope. I am no sun on a dark day.
I am nobody. I am the somebody stranger. The one you feel an unease around as soon as you arrive, but "who's going to believe you?"
I am the voice that keeps you up at night. Storing memories that are better left unsaid, but I load them and point them directly at your head.
I am the burning wreckage atop the mountain, or smashed into a million tiny pieces and sinking deeper, deeper to the bottom of the water. Graves that have no graces. No songs will be sung of honour and remembrance in this place.
I am the trees in the forest, who scare you, but I cannot help it. Misconstrued scarily, beautiful features are what set me apart from the ordinary of my competition. I cure your disease but only so few should bother to look at me twice.
I should choose to do nothing about the nothing that I can do. I cannot lead you astray, nor the right way. Will you forgive me, eternally so?
Waiting, just left here waiting in a silence so cold. Seasons will pass, leaves falling yet I will remain the same. Sat withered underneath. Should you choose to take up your promise and show me to love again, pick them off carefully by hand. One by one, we shall find our way back to before and the now.
I am the train pelting through the tunnel at one-hundred-miles-per-hour. No stops for anyone, the passengers learn to wait.
I am darkness in the night sky. Aided by the electronic sky line. Pollution to remind you that the stars are too good for what lurks here.
I am the sound in the wind, longing for you to listen. The silent scream that you convince yourself you 'didn't' hear.
I am the trap that lies in wait. Silent and deadly, tread lightly where you fall. I take prisoners with little mercy. I should tighten as you struggle to be free.
I am the ground that awaits and awakens the flash flood. Waiting for the rains to fall, ready to fulfil my natural purpose. Torrent released by the most innocent act of falling raindrops. I couldn't warn you beforehand, not that I tried.
I am the melting glacier. Falling apart for no apparent reasons, other than the ones staring you in the face. The facade of glitter blinding you to all that is twisted beneath; 'symptoms of soullessness'.
I am the red pen. The one that tells you, you are no good. You've failed. Try harder, though there is no promise of a next time.
I am the shadow that will always follow you. I will stand by whatever happens, bad or good. I have no judgement but also no conscious morality. Watching you will never and always be alone.
I am the nuee ardente. I will glow and shoot up to fine fascination. But I am deadly to all that I touch.
I am lost hope. I am no sun on a dark day.
I am nobody. I am the somebody stranger. The one you feel an unease around as soon as you arrive, but "who's going to believe you?"
I am the voice that keeps you up at night. Storing memories that are better left unsaid, but I load them and point them directly at your head.
I am the burning wreckage atop the mountain, or smashed into a million tiny pieces and sinking deeper, deeper to the bottom of the water. Graves that have no graces. No songs will be sung of honour and remembrance in this place.
I am the trees in the forest, who scare you, but I cannot help it. Misconstrued scarily, beautiful features are what set me apart from the ordinary of my competition. I cure your disease but only so few should bother to look at me twice.
I should choose to do nothing about the nothing that I can do. I cannot lead you astray, nor the right way. Will you forgive me, eternally so?
Waiting, just left here waiting in a silence so cold. Seasons will pass, leaves falling yet I will remain the same. Sat withered underneath. Should you choose to take up your promise and show me to love again, pick them off carefully by hand. One by one, we shall find our way back to before and the now.
Monday, 10 March 2014
If You Wait
To spindly legs, tip tapping, down a very long road - seeming at times to be the longest road in the world with all those houses (all 44 of them). Balmy air (our favourite) that fills the evening, the smell you can't find a name for but it is softly pleasant and fits the tone of what is ahead well. The canvas above us has not yet faded from the blue of the day, transporting us back to the beauty of the west and the excitement that can be in store for this evening sunset.
You're both a little nervous, it has been a while. A while from this. Months of crossing little violet X's on the calendar. They stood out in a way that was not as final as the black or red markers that decide fate and future. Of course, only if you believe in that kind of thing. Go through your whole life holding little mantras - make one of them that actions don't necessarily have to define who you are, not for you, not ever.
Waiting so patiently and the occasional small smile. The evening began the moment it was planned, but it is only now that it feels real. As hands fumble and that is okay, finally. Arrive at old places that seem new. Night fading in from evening, you stop to watch it together, the sun waving you good lucks and smiling because he knows it will all be okay. She does too. It's just where to start. Both so comfortable in silence that it is hard to break the comfortable spell it casts. Sat so calmly, peacefully. Fancy dinners not really our scene but every so often it is so wonderful to find a space so unfamiliar but welcoming.
Candle set in place, perfectly in the middle. Move it aside and make space for the hands and focused eyes. Lit from the side by an unflickering, unfaultering interest. No need for flowers when we are growing so neatly together, woven stems and leaves straining towards the brightest light. One that was shut out for quite some time. Smiling turns into talking, the conversation so smooth and so easily - filling up glasses so neatly. Trickling laughter, turning radiant and natural. Hearts glowing, warm and beating red. The wine in our glasses barely drunk as the topics are too interesting to have time to swallow. Back and forth, then pause as we soak up the moment and order. Only realised now how ravenous our appetites. Not eaten this well for months and so enjoy every minute as much as every mouthful. Soul fed, body warmed, heart beating, butterflies flutter. Firework fuse to be lit - they say don't run with fire but the man with the burning torch is hurting towards that string, unable to wait for one moment longer.
There's a determination that set both hearts a light again. Sometimes no ignition is required it just happens again and we are reminded of why love is so intrinsic, powerful, kind. Just gone elsewhere for a while, a necessity that whilst painful is a means for growth and even greater trust to blossom. Spring is coming soon, look for those cherry trees, soft pinks and whites that gently remind us of the beauty that we are to become. So much more is a head, we are golden. This was meant to be part of our journey. Of course, that is if you wait and want this too. I am so sure of you, of us.
My Mother bought me a calendar that offers one piece of advice for each day of the year. How fitting it is that today's should read this:
You're both a little nervous, it has been a while. A while from this. Months of crossing little violet X's on the calendar. They stood out in a way that was not as final as the black or red markers that decide fate and future. Of course, only if you believe in that kind of thing. Go through your whole life holding little mantras - make one of them that actions don't necessarily have to define who you are, not for you, not ever.
Waiting so patiently and the occasional small smile. The evening began the moment it was planned, but it is only now that it feels real. As hands fumble and that is okay, finally. Arrive at old places that seem new. Night fading in from evening, you stop to watch it together, the sun waving you good lucks and smiling because he knows it will all be okay. She does too. It's just where to start. Both so comfortable in silence that it is hard to break the comfortable spell it casts. Sat so calmly, peacefully. Fancy dinners not really our scene but every so often it is so wonderful to find a space so unfamiliar but welcoming.
Candle set in place, perfectly in the middle. Move it aside and make space for the hands and focused eyes. Lit from the side by an unflickering, unfaultering interest. No need for flowers when we are growing so neatly together, woven stems and leaves straining towards the brightest light. One that was shut out for quite some time. Smiling turns into talking, the conversation so smooth and so easily - filling up glasses so neatly. Trickling laughter, turning radiant and natural. Hearts glowing, warm and beating red. The wine in our glasses barely drunk as the topics are too interesting to have time to swallow. Back and forth, then pause as we soak up the moment and order. Only realised now how ravenous our appetites. Not eaten this well for months and so enjoy every minute as much as every mouthful. Soul fed, body warmed, heart beating, butterflies flutter. Firework fuse to be lit - they say don't run with fire but the man with the burning torch is hurting towards that string, unable to wait for one moment longer.
There's a determination that set both hearts a light again. Sometimes no ignition is required it just happens again and we are reminded of why love is so intrinsic, powerful, kind. Just gone elsewhere for a while, a necessity that whilst painful is a means for growth and even greater trust to blossom. Spring is coming soon, look for those cherry trees, soft pinks and whites that gently remind us of the beauty that we are to become. So much more is a head, we are golden. This was meant to be part of our journey. Of course, that is if you wait and want this too. I am so sure of you, of us.
My Mother bought me a calendar that offers one piece of advice for each day of the year. How fitting it is that today's should read this:
"Give your sweetheart a kiss that lasts a week."
I will endeavour to do more than that, I want to give you a lifetime, not just one week. This year is not our year, I can wait even with the brimming excitement. The pain comes and goes, but it is slowly fading and I am slowly sleeping a little better. It just takes time. Time that I do have to give to you. Let's not get a head of ourselves, that is what I remind myself of, we have a ways to go yet. We are miles away from the scene above. I will trust in time that we will meet again. Crossing those days off, an end for one and our rebirth. Nevertheless, you are my sweetheart in my own heart, and so Happy Birthday for today, you are so very loved X
Sunday, 23 February 2014
Get Along
I always preferred the darkness to the light. Maybe that is why I always liked winter more than summer.
It's like I can feel little pieces of myself chipping away. And it's so odd because I'm sure it was you that so carefully glued them back. Was this always going to happen? You said you were going to protect me, always.
I love you, and you love me too (whether or not you can feel it or even bring yourself to say it right now), I'm believing for the both of us.
I hope you never forget me.
Apparently it is an entrenched part of the human condition that we must:
"to find real joy, must so too find real sorrow"
Without one, the other cannot truly exist. I believe there is maybe some small truth in this - for those that do truly believe to first acknowledge and then progressively accept this, maybe it is those of us that are broken that can believe that.
For many though I believe this is not to speak so true. Not all of us look so deep inside ourselves (and if possible in our souls), not all of us choose to dwell on pondering that fated state that it is to be living in the true human condition. We are ill from the day we are born, we will all die.
There are those that live in an ignorance, for it is not so pleasurable denial, believing that they can have one without the other - but where is their true measure? Do they believe empathy and a real education through social participation is enough?
Surely you would only be working from half the book - no final chapter? So, instead I have been living with the constant need to consider 'spoon theory'. The sadness of its accuracy, but should marvel at its ability to make others understand, somewhat.
How do we do this each day?
We just seem to.
I can't finish this in all the ways that my head is playing out the scenarios for me, there are too many and they are too fast. Some of them end too abruptly and some of them seem to tail off into nothing. You once said to me 'if you ever lose your tail you're done for', so what am I doing right now then without it?
"Everything in my body says no"
I am so against this, it's not just mentally, but physically manifested itself. Thought we'd already faced enough and now we were settled but at least together. This is going to be one long year.
I hope you never forget me.
Never do.
It's like I can feel little pieces of myself chipping away. And it's so odd because I'm sure it was you that so carefully glued them back. Was this always going to happen? You said you were going to protect me, always.
I love you, and you love me too (whether or not you can feel it or even bring yourself to say it right now), I'm believing for the both of us.
I hope you never forget me.
Apparently it is an entrenched part of the human condition that we must:
"to find real joy, must so too find real sorrow"
Without one, the other cannot truly exist. I believe there is maybe some small truth in this - for those that do truly believe to first acknowledge and then progressively accept this, maybe it is those of us that are broken that can believe that.
For many though I believe this is not to speak so true. Not all of us look so deep inside ourselves (and if possible in our souls), not all of us choose to dwell on pondering that fated state that it is to be living in the true human condition. We are ill from the day we are born, we will all die.
There are those that live in an ignorance, for it is not so pleasurable denial, believing that they can have one without the other - but where is their true measure? Do they believe empathy and a real education through social participation is enough?
Surely you would only be working from half the book - no final chapter? So, instead I have been living with the constant need to consider 'spoon theory'. The sadness of its accuracy, but should marvel at its ability to make others understand, somewhat.
How do we do this each day?
We just seem to.
I can't finish this in all the ways that my head is playing out the scenarios for me, there are too many and they are too fast. Some of them end too abruptly and some of them seem to tail off into nothing. You once said to me 'if you ever lose your tail you're done for', so what am I doing right now then without it?
"Everything in my body says no"
I am so against this, it's not just mentally, but physically manifested itself. Thought we'd already faced enough and now we were settled but at least together. This is going to be one long year.
I hope you never forget me.
Never do.
Monday, 3 February 2014
Battle For The Sun
Usually I have a place for things like this. They stay hidden away in my thought log (diary wouldn't be accurate as half the time I'm not sure I remember writing the stuff in it). It's not really hidden. I don't care so much if anyone should read it; but saying that there is this lingering dread that they'd feel the need to act, rather than simply listen. Which is sometimes the most powerful thing in the world that you can do. Be careful if you tread further.
I wrote this months ago, I've never needed to read my own words in this way before.
I've been talking to you again, so much and you need to get out of my life. I hate that I can't get rid of you. I will find a way to get you out. You've only come back because things have been harder. You've only come back because you lodged yourself so deeply that my brain now uses you as a psychological weapon of mass destruction against me. Because that's the funny thing about mental illness. It's that whilst everything is overwhelming and happening at once, it's as though you tell yourself that nothing is happening. You're okay enough to get through it. Sometimes that is enough, but you evil piece of scum (especially you among the other wrong-doers), you need to get out now.
I feel fairly horrendous that I can think of so many ways in which this can be taken. I'm also 99% certain most (read: near all) others would not jump to some of those conclusions. I also dislike that while I spent the initial few seconds on hearing this thinking it was a lovely sentiment that it was so quickly twisted. I then reminded that it was not the first time I'd heard it therefore it wasn't as new. But you know what, fuck you brain. I literally couldn't give two fucks about what you're trying to do with this because the FACT IS I thought of something positive first. You of all will understand how indescribable that is, a rare occasion indeed. I'm winning this inside, you cannot take that away from me. Even if it's not showing on the outside for Sam or anyone else to see I am winning so that's a big fuck you. Stop playing the game and get on board that we're living not just surviving and observing anymore. There are reasons to partake now, and I'm getting to this point where I can say that I feel safe and okay and consistent and loved and happy. I will refuse to be your dolly of tricks, I've been her for not just you but others and now I know what I want and it's not that or this. It's my life. I might not know where I am going and I may also not handle things well sometimes and I might be a complete pain-in-the-ass more often than desired but I am so happy.
I don't need sex to make things okay no matter what you think. I don't need to be alone to run away, I have someone that comes with me and gets it. I don't believe that I'm a bad person under it all. I have spent so much of my life trying to be not only enough but more than that. Kinder, generous, calmer, diplomatic, charismatic, clever, well read, nicer, happier and better. Always better. But the funny thing is I realise that actually while we can all always do better, we're already doing enough. Most of the time anyway. Enough to be considered a decent human being who deserves to find out and share in love and smile freely and not be trapped in a body that focuses only on breathing day to day.
There are any number of reasons that could pin down or accumulate to why I have been as I have but I'm really realising how little that is going to matter to me for moving on right now. I don't need to know because I know some terrible things have happened. I lived through them, I felt the emotions they created and the aftermath of each. I might have not stepped up and stopped things before I did but I'm not the first to do that and it doesn't make me a worse person for doing something later rather than sooner. The important thing is knowing how I feel right now is so very far away from then, it's amazing and if I'm honest, dizzying - I've sat and thought I'd never make it out from under there.
I may not be the most independent person, but from outside turns of events I am unable to say that while things have not been always brilliant, they have also sometimes been my fault. For which I accept responsibility, fully.
All in all I am aware that while this stuff may make me feel less fantastical sometimes, that's okay because I know you are losing and I am winning. Overall, I will win my happy ending and that is what keeps me going.
p.s. to me for later: it feels weird writing stuff like this on here please please please remember your thought log next time."
I also found this:
"Falling.
Falling.
Falling.
For a very long time.
Keep telling yourself it's not happening all over again. But it's that time of year and the water is so near.
"Keep me awake, I've been loosing myself, I've been lost in the dark, is there anybody else?""
Every year, this comes back, fresh into my mind. I don't know if it will ever fade completely. Sometimes it's further away, less real and more memory.
To the abusers that seemingly change you, you will always be better than them. You are so much stronger than you even realise, I promise that to you.
It's taken me years to realise that, but I do now. And I will fight this every minute I can muster the strength to do so. I have a wonderful friend that always tells me I'm the most selfless person she knows. Now it is time for me to be able to work on myself.
Sunday, 5 January 2014
Dear Lamp, Love Moth
Born with a weak heart?
Not wanting of much, but thrust into other responsibilities.
But nothing's wrong.
Left wanting.
Dear sir/madam,
A recipe for future wellness, a bit dusty and worn but y'know it's the basics that really get you going. And arriving at, what must be, the place! Adults now, no longer children. 'It's time to' embrace that. Taken by the scruff and dragged along, but not for long, pace set and hands held instead, sometimes even pulled along - but never too impatient. Otherwise that's when the darkness descends and the journey must halt, camp set up, fires for warmth, resting weary bones and back on booted soles first thing in the morn - crack of dawn, okay for you?
Many number of sights will be checked off your bucket. Mountains, deserts, grasses and waters. Where there is nothing and everything. Constant chatter and eerie peace. Is that the roads of nowhere or the path that gets your soul back on track? Make you feel alive in life again. I didn't forget what you said (how could I ever?).
Those we pass by in trees and far away (not really minature) houses, wave and (assumingly returned) smile. Days go on and continue. All part of the human experience, we guess. Don't worry there's only a 0.00001% we're actually right about anything. It's all guesswork and doesn't have to be concrete. But some hardened facts can be told to you, if stability is what you need right now - or at any moment really. Reply whenever. Externalise sometimes - but don't leave all of us in the dark always.
Whether that travel is just to warmer shores for your imagination to bathe in and restore beauty, or actual path bashing and tramping. Wait and word when necessary. Stand and, don't deliver, but receive gratefully when offered. They'll tell you you've got 'one chance' and 'don't screw this up' - but really that's only one thought and method of motivation. It's not necessarily true, rather one path you could follow. Know to take all the "time" in the world and carefully unwind that spring. Finally awoken. Feeling pleasant, calm smiles that are like ocean waves lapping upon soft sands. Gentle, like the brightness of stars even through your telescope. Even up close, you are ever more perfectly composed to me. Gloves that match and fit and sometimes can get a bit lost from each other for a bit but are always found again together - after all, they come in pairs.
As we've been on this road together awhile now, it seems so appropriate (and impossible to not) asking if you are taking the safe trip home or the one that looks a little rough around the edges? There's that one with thorns and foul airs, but I would rather assume that you wouldn't chose that, though if you do, I have a light and red string that I will bravely venture forth with. I'll keep them close, and come after you. Find you in the dark. Like in a fire, I'll wrap my cloak on your beaten body and extinguish the flames that tried to bleed you. It's a maze once you're in there and I know all too well. Luckily, both an entrance and an exit exist and we'll find one of those. Start again or start new, we'll take each as they come. We're not really going backwards that way!
Words have new sounds and tenderness has different meaning when held tight. Close and safe. Reasoning is not so necessary at this point. Close to that one. Does it ever make sense to leave then? Being away from them, of course we cannot break this earthly fabric of physics webs and be all there at all once (but that's another matter of discussion that requires a late night of unseeming prospects turned on their heads - a night that turns out to be so much more, ending in the incredible. And those, my friend, they don't happen as often as we hope). We act as though we are leading the mute, blind and deaf when we break down barriers and let someone knew into our own little worlds. We are scared (any extent, different per person), vulnerable, cared for and carried. Some say this is when the little castle of ice melts and the heart is able to beat warm and strong. I'm not sure I'd agree with this image. But images are so subjective that I am rather pleased to find others disagreeing with me.
Not sure what you are seeing - the induced illusions, patterns, colours, figures. Sometimes there are those that see them without that extra help and sometimes others forget this. Even those that surprise you in their forgetful state. Close your eyes next me, and remember - for one day that's all I will have left you with (not strictly true, I'll still be there over your shoulder and whispering silly comments). But I will be sincere and I will always be on your side - unless you need reminding of those sometimes others. Lilting and soulful, an imprinted kiss upon your forehead. It'll last a lifetime, but I'll sing of it love and make it last longer. And they'll talk of smiling photographs that make the stars seem less far away and possibility that little bit more, well possible.
So whether you do it or not, a step up will be taken. Responsibility accepted, grown up for that time has come. Before you know it the next time to grow again will come, but it's not yet. Holes will be sewn and patched. Little heart, you will be healed. You will feel alive again. You will beat and passionately live. So until you realise that you're extraordinary without needing to really try, we'll do the things we normally do.
Born strong heart my dear,
Cherished - held so very close,
I will always love.
Thursday, 12 December 2013
A Foot in the Door
Something plaguing me.
Picking away at my mind. Eating and gnawing, licking any little crumbs away. Makes the smoke look merciful as tingling skin and hazed thoughts are soft and relaxing. Unlike the crispness of the attitudes we wade in the colder north. A chill in the air. Runs down my spine. I am constantly falling in walking, I see it all the time. One step forward is the hardest meeting for the pavement to soft steps.
In darker times, I believed the world around me formed in a way that scared me. That when I turned my back nothing would exist. But I could never catch it out, for it was always two steps ahead. Turn around; the floor, ceiling, stairs, wallpaper, paint, door handles, marble fireplace, rug just off centre, carpet dirty cream, book hanging off the desk's edge, cup half empty but still warm, candle burning - room hazy glow, untidy magazine rack that wasn't filled with magazines, flowers past their beauty's best but still so lovely to me. They were all in view. Turn around the door before me all I see, but behind gone - fallen away. Anticipate every move. Can't outwit it. Only in dreams that continue seconds after waking, do we catch a glimpse of this hidden law. It was scary, but also okay. I didn't question it, it was accepted and that was all I knew.
That I walk on a gravity that colouring in with texture, shade, tone, definition and detail - all before I should notice or be aware. So noted when travelling as the ability to see the beautiful lines revealing laughter and the twinkle in your eyes, even the curves of lips (hidden by those disastrous frowns, you'd only need look up to catch a smile from across the space-time compression in which you experience, ever in past). This ability, it fades. More than fades, it is sudden. Snap of fingers, it is different. A something change. As I panic at not seeing it, those faces - all the
Gone.
I've always been a fan of theoretical conceptualisation. Area of interest. Research and study. I should theorise that I never used to feel like I had much to lose, so very selfish in that respect. So unthoughtful. Study those beautiful minds.
And now the fear sets in. For I consider it further and I wonder, does my love disappear in that moment? Not in heart, for there it shall live so cosily and happily from now. But that those I treasure disappear in their entirety and that I need think them constantly back to being. Do I disappear when not in their view? I should never want to lose all this. And so this construction leaves me fearful and I need constantly reminding. Til I can settle this howling. A pain that I quiet with soothing words and gentle, lilting melody. I should choose a cup half filled to warm my hands. You'll never leave me, thank you for making me know you exist always.
This is not enough, this is not what I meant.
These dreams are spoiling my thoughts, and these endless notes are swimming in my vision. But not the way those raindrops are falling backwards, and the snakes in the carpet, the screaming of the walls that have heard too much heartbreak and secrecy...
Leap from the edge, jump.
I need your arms, your blanketing words. I am so glad there is not long now.
Picking away at my mind. Eating and gnawing, licking any little crumbs away. Makes the smoke look merciful as tingling skin and hazed thoughts are soft and relaxing. Unlike the crispness of the attitudes we wade in the colder north. A chill in the air. Runs down my spine. I am constantly falling in walking, I see it all the time. One step forward is the hardest meeting for the pavement to soft steps.
In darker times, I believed the world around me formed in a way that scared me. That when I turned my back nothing would exist. But I could never catch it out, for it was always two steps ahead. Turn around; the floor, ceiling, stairs, wallpaper, paint, door handles, marble fireplace, rug just off centre, carpet dirty cream, book hanging off the desk's edge, cup half empty but still warm, candle burning - room hazy glow, untidy magazine rack that wasn't filled with magazines, flowers past their beauty's best but still so lovely to me. They were all in view. Turn around the door before me all I see, but behind gone - fallen away. Anticipate every move. Can't outwit it. Only in dreams that continue seconds after waking, do we catch a glimpse of this hidden law. It was scary, but also okay. I didn't question it, it was accepted and that was all I knew.
That I walk on a gravity that colouring in with texture, shade, tone, definition and detail - all before I should notice or be aware. So noted when travelling as the ability to see the beautiful lines revealing laughter and the twinkle in your eyes, even the curves of lips (hidden by those disastrous frowns, you'd only need look up to catch a smile from across the space-time compression in which you experience, ever in past). This ability, it fades. More than fades, it is sudden. Snap of fingers, it is different. A something change. As I panic at not seeing it, those faces - all the
Gone.
I've always been a fan of theoretical conceptualisation. Area of interest. Research and study. I should theorise that I never used to feel like I had much to lose, so very selfish in that respect. So unthoughtful. Study those beautiful minds.
And now the fear sets in. For I consider it further and I wonder, does my love disappear in that moment? Not in heart, for there it shall live so cosily and happily from now. But that those I treasure disappear in their entirety and that I need think them constantly back to being. Do I disappear when not in their view? I should never want to lose all this. And so this construction leaves me fearful and I need constantly reminding. Til I can settle this howling. A pain that I quiet with soothing words and gentle, lilting melody. I should choose a cup half filled to warm my hands. You'll never leave me, thank you for making me know you exist always.
This is not enough, this is not what I meant.
These dreams are spoiling my thoughts, and these endless notes are swimming in my vision. But not the way those raindrops are falling backwards, and the snakes in the carpet, the screaming of the walls that have heard too much heartbreak and secrecy...
Leap from the edge, jump.
I need your arms, your blanketing words. I am so glad there is not long now.
Wednesday, 4 September 2013
Until The Colours Run
All this electricity in the air. Finally finding the beautiful energy (no darkness) and taking it home. Opening palms and facing them - asking humbly, politely, hoping for anything offered from life. Not anything more. Not believing in books and words of old but the lessons of which we have grown from and the love that carries us forward.
We are forever.
A swelling of goodness, a way to tell you 'there is always more'. The reality check cleared: 'okay' because you can reach that point of ecstasy again. Over and over.
Different for always.
Messages sent and heart hammerings embraced. Smear the red lipstick, smooth the curls and walk out with eyes smiling. And as we walk away from the scene it gracefully falls to the floor. Shedding the dead skins that meant hiding, covering, falsities. Fresh faced, anew walk with the air and finally feel the rush against uncovered masks. There is always a one, maybe not an only for some, but whoever that maybe I hope you find them. Find your joyus soul, rejocing in ways you will not fully understand but try to feel anyway. Experiencing soul life in body form was always a nonstarter. We must close our eyes to open them.
There is more than just this.
Giving you all and at first hoping it was enough. Worried that it couldn't be. Lost at sea. Seen the boat. Climbed aboard and saw the face of truth that of course it's more than enough. All you can give is an amazing gift. It is enough. Be content. Watch the ocean waves slow and calm their thunder. The sun on the horizon, kind and fading. Back soon, back soon, back soon. 'Start again' on many tomorrows, which is okay too. You are not consumed. You are just vulnerable and trying to leave it that way. Growing yourself, you have become the most beautiful tree I've ever seen. Tall, strong, natural carving, wondrous colour and stimulative scents. Safe, sheltering home. Climb a little higher and see the meadows of all your life before you, roam them another day. Adventure awaits those that would walk its paths.
Promised. Kept. Smiling.
Tuesday, 14 May 2013
Wash the Sins Not Only the Face
Stolen time made for one another,
all that was needed.
A future to tend for,
like garden roses -
sometimes there are thorns.
But so beautiful the flowers,
that should grow,
we take the risk,
for the sweet nectar.
I'm so used to seeing things, that feeling them is somewhat different. I don't know if that's what I want - but a new experience should always be welcome. And there will be so many.
"A new kind of daring; the danger over and so far away. (It will take new forms but that is okay)."
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