I feel bound within this fear
Of moments drifting like a song carried far away along a breeze
Powerless to hear a calling
A purpose behind daily actions that remain hidden inside of waking dreams
A cloud carrying no rain
Unsure of how to quench this thirst
Energy sapped by uncertainty
Joy quietly held by the thistles in a garden of wonder
Is this a pause or a slide down the slope of not enough
Time is there to gather reminders
Love is near and here.
Your definition of God?
Like a song you hear in another room and you think, "boy, that sounds beautiful but I can only hear a little bit." So you start opening doors and rearranging furniture because you have to get in that room and hear that song and when you get in, you find the knobs and you turn them all the way to the right because you think, "I have to hear more of that." And then you open the windows because you want the people in the next houses to hear.
Right here in the safety of your thoughts
What would it mean to let go?
Are you dressed?
Are you running?
Are you going somewhere specific?
Are you singing/ dancing/ acting out of normal composed character?
Are you kissing, being kissed?
Undressing strangers or someone special?
For me.. letting go right here in the safety of my thoughts..
To write a decent poem :)
Ice cream or sherbet?
A phrase to awaken the steely eyed zealots lulled to a hibernation deep in the cave of “Please don’t awaken, I have a date in 10 minutes”, ever mindful in their zombie like, never die, state of wait, to turn the eagerness of your now faltering smile into a slideshow of past disappointments, till the shouting of “We win again” echoes faintly against the fading footfalls of your retreating almost love.
Better to fuck myself with a family sized bag of M&M’s, only pausing long enough to recall if the Red ones were to be avoided after all.
Love myself because no one else will.
This disjointed bag of bones that doesn’t quite fit in this skin that is so thin that it no longer waits for another to pierce it, but does the job quite nicely from behind this very lens.
Love myself seems to be an only choice, and not as a means to push this heavier than thou rock up the rough terrain of self image, but as another distraction on the way to the throne of unlovable.
Excuse me, but thinking you misunderstood…Love Thyself..
Yours is not a burden to turn the imperfections to unnoticeable, your history into consolation prizes and your self vision into “Mirror, mirror on the wall”..
It is for you to feel the laughter when your graceful swan lands full upon your cheeks, when ‘haminas’ replace your words of eloquence, when your nose invades your face, when your shyness is again in place.
It is forgiving that which you now hold as less, for enjoying the entirety of the irreplaceable you that still dances behind closed doors when a song is loved. No-one will ever be that you ever again, for all the walls that have enjoyed your bounces, for all the hugs given or never gotten…
We who love you, smile warmly. We who have yet to witness your magic, begin to fall. But do it for you to enjoy your time with you. Yes, that would be loving thyself to bits.. of unsurpassed joy.
It is often granted that it is our brains that distinguish our species from the rest of the animal kingdom, but I say..Nay
Fingers To That.
It is these hands that speak to you now, that wipe the fevered brow, that bathe the wounded souls, capable of laying waste, creating heavy tolls
Hands dextrosely smooth, agile in their use
Pulling our tethered brains, inadvertently obtuse
To sense creation in these fingertips
As well as the touch from the dew of a rising dawn
Equal to the soft kiss from that of our very own parted lips
Fingertip and palm caresses
Pre-dated words bestowed on pretty dresses