Poetic Epiphany

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Not a soul in the world knows her pain,

Not a soul in the world hears her scream.

Alone is a word she is comforted by.

It’s a familiarity.

The shivers of the cold world can not be shaken.

And she doesn’t need the blanket of a lie repetitively told.

If the runaway train continues to run,

She will not chase the tracks.

And she will bury herself amongst the most

loneliest of poets.

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Suppression of the Truth

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I am oppressed by the absence of you. You are roaming around in my mind like an out of control ping-pong ball. You are stomping through my chest, ripping away at my heart. The silence is screaming in the mangled words that are forming on the paper in front of me. I can hear your voice echoing, “bye”, over and over, and the sliding of my vehicle skidding down the driveway.

We are but little blimps on the maps of this world. Given one time to try to float where we can. But selfishly, we waste it. Every one of us. We focus on things that fizzle out instead of miraculous opportunities that may be right in front of our noses.

Now, look at us, alone we sit. A very familiar place indeed. This is why the silence continues. The stubbornness of our enjoyment of loneliness. The inspiration of the sadness within it. I feel restless and incomplete. The incompetence of what people call relationships is a mystery to someone like me. For me, there’s an investment of time built around the knowledge and adventure a person can match with me. I ask nothing of them in a physical or financial sense on purpose. I want it to be an open book, not capable of resentment for miniscule things. No regrets. If it works, then a lifetime of hard-earned happiness has bred itself from a place of pure dedication and partnership. If it does not work, you move on, grateful for the company, new knowledge, and passion fueled by intrigue. You mend your broken heart over time with the same two feet you stood on, on your own. And you remember everything. Because a lesson is truly the most important tribute you can take with you throughout your entire life, even when the season with each person or adventure has passed.

Love is an equivalent to a broad-stroke of freedom from anchors in the water. The waves can break against you even while you smile with the wind in your hair. You weather through each of the rough patches, clinging to a balcony. And when you finally get still again, what remains is what is to move on to the next phase with you.

So, I’ll sit here in meditation. Pain or not. Because it’s not new to me. And when the waves are done breaking against me, and the air around me becomes still again, I will move to the next phase, whatever that may be, with what or who remains by my side. And no matter how difficult that may be or how that may look, I will be grateful for every presence that has crossed my path, and eternally grateful for the lesson that each one taught me. Because each one, uniquely woven, makes up some of the most magical notches on the most beautiful of Orion’s belts in my galaxy. And who could really frown on such a glorious sky?

Whiskey Saturdays, And No Regrets..

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Cusps of a wrist slit, and all of a sudden you meet a person who changes your mindset. Maybe you meet someone like that daily, weekly, or sometimes, it’s a once in a lifetime meet.

A somber song about whiskey blares out of another car at the pump station, and you think of the last whiskey binge you had giggling to yourself at the tripping of your feet, the way your clothes still smelled of campfire the next morning, and how you can’t quite remember how you showered before bed, but you did.

In these moments, it’s as though the hourglass flips over again to give us another go at it. Laughable and angering at times, because some of those cusps of a wrist slit moments are the only moments in your life where you were 100% decisive about something.

But no matter, because here you sit at the pump station, stealing the music notes of another, as if illegally downloading it to memory. Now, briefly cringing at the thought of understanding exactly what they are saying, and smiling at the prospect of it.

You laugh to yourself as it really hits you. No one has time for your nonsense like you have had for theirs. You recall endless phone calls, endless support on your end, seemingly withered away due to the annoyance of your constant mockery of a life and your bottomless chaos. Yet, you still see beauty in this tarnish.

You now design your brain another future night of whiskey, and you know just who it will be with. That brings a great comfort and even an excitement of what new whiskey adventures await you to piece together once they have came to pass.

You put the car in drive, roll the windows down, and secretly cheers to the silence. For the confinements of your mind, if nothing else, have gifted you the comfort of yourself.

Beautiful and raw, broken and wanting, sexy and explicitly ripped wide open, and smiling through it, even if only for these brief moments.

Love, even if it’s with your drunken body. Runs circles around the fire and all at once, jump over it. Savor a whiskey-fueled kiss with passion and smoke. Peel away your layers and dance naked and free. And cheers to you, on every whiskey Saturday.

The Mist

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The spirals of mystery in the midst of a fog.

Makes goosebumps crawl down my skin like a soft-handed man.

Clawing his way through my obstacles until sweat and fog are the same.

Unravel me in this timeless moment,

before the mist leaves us wanting.

I’ll meet you at the swamp, and there, we will find our mud.

Wading through every foot of the slump, creatures brushing our legs,

but we care not. Because the other side brings a sweet release.

The fog is yearning. It wraps me up til every inch of my skin not covered in swamp is wet

with envy.

I can bare the harsh vapor of this world no longer.

Press your lips to mine and give me sweet air.

From your lungs to mine.

Let me take it from you and I shall one day, return it in good faith.

We will share it like the last fruitful words from the trees.

And trees I know, because they told me so.

They speak to me in all of the their brown glory, shaking their leaves all around me.

The fog, it comes for them too. So now, we share in their sorrow as we sink into this swampy

abyss.

For the trees, rooted in their resting place, know that when this mist comes upon, their last

stand is literally just that.

But no matter.

You are here with me, and I with you, my soft-handed glory.

Sink into this love we are making and trust each stroke of my hair.

Roll around wet with your body pressed against mine, and when it is done,

this swamp will clear,

and we shall stand on top of clear waters…

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The War Torn Mind

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I wanna dwell in war torn streets, where my environment fits my chaos. That’s the way I see the world. Scavenging for basic necessities. Giving up on the mainstream fruits of life so the pressures of that life leave me. A dented can I feel like, kicked around as someone’s fun game, and even in that, I feel as though everything will seem like home.

I saw two dogs today, stray I suppose, playing their hearts out in the middle of nowhere. I remember saying to my daughter, “Look, even in someone’s saddest of times, and lowest of seasons, they can find a reason to be happy, even if only briefly.” I’m not sure if I believed it as I was even saying it, but I wanted to. And more than that, I wanted her to.

She told me that she didn’t know what it was, but at the beginning of fall, and the cold season, and the beginning of spring, she always felt nostalgia. As she drove us home, she asked me if I felt the same. I nodded my head as I stared at the sunset and a single tear secretly dripped down the side of my face that she could not see. I thought to myself, and then told her, “you know, I haven’t gotten to enjoy many sunsets in a long time, because it’s always me driving these roads, but it’s your turn now.” I leaned forward as much as I could, to bask in everything it had to offer. And I thought, I don’t have to pay anything for this. It’s free, and right now, it’s mine.

The pressures of making right for her seem too much at times, and yet, here I am; still dragging these heavy feet along. But I always think about it, a life without this trailer. Maybe some coffee over a fire, with the grounds still floating in it. Just the dusty streets and the forest. No sounds of cars and traffic, or people talking. Just a search for a little bit of food and water to forage, and a place to lie my head down in hopes that the next day will be just as quiet and bring blessings of portioned substance. A life that truly matches the chaos that fills my being.

Still, she pulls the car into our driveway, and we have to get out. I carry the little bit I afforded at the store, and try to smile and at least appreciate that she got the 2 yogurts she wanted, and I am sitting here now, writing, and also dreaming.

I don’t let myself dream beyond much more than these things. And it’s not that I don’t feel I deserve more. I don’t feel beyond that at all, not for myself at least. I’d be lying if I said I don’t for her though. I do. For me, I don’t allow myself to miss or envy things I’ve never experienced. What a sham that would be. I sit here now, paint severely chipped on my nails, stringy hair, and shoes on my feet that have walked many years with me. Yet, I’m content with these things for me, for now. I don’t want for more, but I never get far past the present day I sit in, and what challenges await me there. Day. By. Day. Never beyond that. If I could plan tomorrow, the seed would be empty of it, and unsafe for my focus.

My daughter teared up talking to me today. She told me her boyfriend was off shopping, spending $500 gifted to him by family. She was heartbroken that she herself, could not be afforded days like that, and never really has. Trust me, she has been gifted many things on Christmas and birthdays, for years to count. However, I knew what she meant. I couldn’t even buy her a thrift store shirt right now if I wanted to. My contentment for myself, is not the same as my contentment for her. I, in the face of her 15 years, have failed her greatly. I haven’t given up, but I say it out loud because I accept it. My hope is that someday, she could find a way to be proud of me for something. I hope I accomplish that in my lifetime. It’s on the top of a very short list of things I want.

I feel that one should dream the dreams of the kind of spirit your mind connects with. It may not be fancy things, or a lavish lifestyle. Maybe it’s just simply dreaming that one day, you’ll just simply be…okay. And that will be a freedom that will be more than this world could ever offer in things.

Awaken

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Lay yourself open to the winds of change.

Step outside and give your hair a slow flip.

You are a beautiful cicada shedding your shell,

leaving an empty past in your wake.

Even a sideways smile could change your day.

Drag those anchors around your ankles one step at a time,

and fight.

Fight through this world.

Fight through each trial.

Flick your cigarette, and don’t pick up the butt.

Be unapologetic about every truth you stand in.

They can’t tarnish, what they can’t touch.

Run your hands through your hair,

embrace the sexy of your skin.

Memorize your favorite kiss,

and ignore that annoying bird squawking at midnight.

Continue to hate the sun,

and relish in the sensual feeling you feel when the moon bathes your skin

like a warm milk bath.

You don’t have to be normal,

and you don’t have to give a shit about what anyone thinks about that.

Drink every drop that you want,

and stay up all night.

Dry those tears,

just for today.

And write every word you’re thinking.

Get it out of you.

Smile for the dumping of this torture.

And shake the hand of closure.

Take one breath in, and one breath out.

And don’t you dare look back.

You are a fierce bitch of a woman,

and all life is waiting for…

is for you to see it too…..

The Way Back

hand touching glass
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She waits…

Lips scorched from burning coffee..

Eyes like poisoned hypnotism.

She spits sadness from her lonesome tongue.

And her hair wraps like a trap you can’t escape.

Her tears like iron weights,

rolling down her face like a rock slide.

Her heart swelling to the size of this tarnished

planet she waits on.

But she waits…

 

More filled with hope, than ever before.

Marry your heart to hers.

For she would wait a thousand lifetimes again,

just to touch the tip of your fingers.

 

She loves you for her first,

and she will only love you

as her last,

First real kiss…

Last real kiss…

Wet her lips with the moisture of an

anticipated rainstorm in the desert.

Find her in this forbidden forest….

For, she waits…

There.

Here.

Everywhere.

 

She sits in meditation.

In a frozen state, where you left her.

Still looking out a locked window…

Dancing around in her mind to the most beautiful of songs.

 

Empty hand held out for no one to touch,

except you.

For in you, she will always find herself,

And in herself,

she will always find you.

 

Oh my love,

I lost my way all the way to you,

And in you,

I found my way, all the way

back to me.

Waiting for You…

photo of person holding alarm clock
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My heart is a tumbling stone,

rolling fast towards you.

I wind the clocks forward by hand,

hoping time favors us,

and our time is due.

 

My blood trickles thick through my veins,

like sap from a tree.

And I’d let you cut me open,

so it could flow freely,

right out of me.

 

Roll around in baby’s breath,

and feel your hands claw down me.

The imprints of your lips, tattooed inside my body.

 

Battles here,

Battles there….

I’d probably love you through a hurricane,

And this country’s greatest of wars.

 

I’d crawl to you bleeding,

And still give a smile as my last task.

Ask you do you need anything,

And kiss your lips the last.

 

I’d sell it all,

move anywhere,

follow you to the ends of this sad planet..

To only find out,

you left the day before,

and my wait would go on,

But I would wonder….

Can it?

 

I’ll free myself from ties,

give you what you’re asking.

But then…

You give your love to me in full,

and that’s where the waiting dies.

 

Finally then will you spend your life with me,

hold my hand the whole way through?

Tell me that I’m beautiful,

while I take care of you?

 

I’ll always love you more each second,

I promise, never less.

As long as at the end of this,

We will, together, take our last breaths.

A Perspective of Love (Jan 31, 2020)

kissing man and woman statue
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( A story of our love from each perspective)

Her love for him

Our love is a night hawk,

wings piercing the

starlight sky.

Our love is a raging fire,

Twisting heat cyclones,

raging so high.

Our love is an

undiscoverable mystery,

people search lifetimes to find.

Our love can withstand

the greatest of pains,

distance, and time.

Our love is a great sadness,

you look forward to shedding.

Our love is the greatest nature hike,

you prepare thoroughly for before treading.

Our love is an obstacle,

of the greatest proportions,

Our love is full of adventures,

And many complications distortions.

Our love shows a triumph,

in the hardest of seasons.

Our love motivates us,

and gives our battle many reasons.

Our love is a forever,

worth fighting for every second, of every day.

Our love is still raging and lasting,

no matter the miles away.

His love for her

This love is a morning song bird’s call,

melodic notes carried on the winds.

This love is a cool breeze,

To lift perspiration from the heated flesh.

This love is a forgotten fable,

That has waited to be lived anew.

This love can endure

the loss, tribulations, and the yesterdays.

This love is the most anxious of waiting,

as we wait for the next embrace.

This love is the simplest of strolls,

as we walk hand in hand chatting.

This love is a stumbling block,

and an intervention to freedom.

This love is the adventure,

and an epic story of many volumes.

This love is a fresh planted garden awaiting,

The filling of the cornucopia.

This love keeps us strong,

and the scars we bare remind us.

This love is a life living to the fullest,

to leave a story worthy of the histories.

This love is compassionate and growing,

distances matter not.

This love, is our love.

There Is A Girl (9-26-18)

journey overlookThere is a girl

Every daydream leads her to a forest.

A forest that she has never seen.

A forest that she has never stepped a single toe in.

This girl, but a fleeting breeze of wind in this forest.

She walks, her footsteps echoing through the trees. All the shimmers of light seemingly slowing down to a slow motion, as if stopping time, just for her.

This girl, doesn’t know where she is walking to, only that every time she is here, something pulls her.

One day, in this daydream, she finally walks enough to a place where she can see the most beautiful bluff ledge up ahead.

There are the most beautiful butterflies, birds, and creatures she does not recognize flying above it.

She begins to get the sudden urge to run towards it.

So, run she does.

While running, she is filled with thoughts of everything she has ever wanted to escape from and decides that when she gets to this ledge, she will not stop, but instead jump and finally be free from all that has chased her there.

Oh this girl, she has foreseen many ways that her time would come to pass, but never

one so beautiful as the final jump she would take.

As she runs, she feels a sort of spiritual weight begin to melt off of her. Almost faster than the sweat that now poured down her brow.

Tears begin to trickle down her face. She’s never been in so much pain, and yet, so much bliss at the same time.

Her end was nearing closer, and she couldn’t help but feel so at peace with it. It was a miraculous feeling to finally feel so free from the chains that had long rusted around her ankles, and shackles that had long caused the trimmers in her hands.

She began to feel this overwhelming anticipation that something magnificent was waiting for her in the unknown of her jump.

As if when she leapt, there would be no bottom to land.

Only a new beginning that she couldn’t explain, and an ending to everything she had known.
The ledge was within feet of her.

She said a final prayer, and a goodbye she’d hoped would find its way to those she’d cared for on the wings of these mysterious butterflies that had pulled her here.

This was it. It was time. She threw her arms open wide, a final tear streamed down her face, she exhaled one last time, and with a final smile, she leapt.

She leapt as high as the wind would carry her, soared, freedom was bliss, and…….
There is a girl.

Every daydream leads her to a forest.

A forest that she has never seen.

A forest that she has never stepped a single toe in.

This girl, but a fleeting breeze of wind in this forest.
She is sure, she will be back here tomorrow.
And the forest, it will be waiting…….