My Legacy

Men are my weakness.

I feel it in my deepest of my emotions

That I need you,

But no, I don’t.

So I sit and see,

See where I’ve been and why

That you seem to be my resolution

To who I am.

Comfort of the soft couch cushion

Lied beneath me as I lay

And fell asleep.

Music of your band that blared in

My ears and I rested like a baby wrapped in 100% cotton.

Because you’re my dad and I look

Up to who you are to shape my life.

Now I talk,

And talk is cheap,

To these men that I feel can heal me

Of the revelry that you faced,

As you stared straight at a life predicament

Of following your dreams

Or flourishing a family.

It’s okay, I never understood

As I was the third child.

But I felt the vibrant hand you wielded

As you strummed your guitar.

Sitting tapping rhythms to your drum,

Your hand spun the stories I wanted to hear,

Fingers that picked at emotions that

I always wanted to know,

Because honesty was what I wanted.

But now I look again,

And it’s at the heart’s impulsive whim.

And I wonder when it ends.

Music is in my bloodstream

And I don’t know where it ends.

It’s a sickness of emotion I can’t understand.

I hear your voice sing through

The chords of my throat,

Because it never reached heights that it wanted,

And now I feel responsible.

Conversations With Herself

I see her walking down the street,

Rambling on of how she has no shower now

That ‘he’ once let her use.

Carrying a metal rod I

Can only assume why

With this imagination,

That could be anything.

But that is not what matters

As I watch her walk in haste,

Down the street lit by the lamps,

So dim

And at her wits end.

Insane it seems

But I see freedom in her bones

As she breaks free

To a cycle she has yet to face.

Where will she go? I wonder.

And I envy the steps she takes.

Impulses And My Sanity

I don’t want to write for just anyone.

But yet I want everyone to see.

My writings are unique to me,

Not made for cliche publicity.

But as I move on and spread the ink across these pages,

I want to make a difference

And create a life that brings in wealth

And a stable way of being.

I say I buy my “last” pack of cigarettes,

But are they?

So much regret,

As I light the tip

Of what I thought was at its end.

Hiding in the corner

Where not one person can find,

With my thoughts that are only to my detriment.

‘Don’t tell me what I already know.’

But the knowing is what eats me alive.

Let’s Get Down To The Truth

You ever just feel the judgements present from others? Does it irk you, because you feel it is unjust? Even if what you’re doing is blasphemous to yourself, you wonder why it matters so much to others who stay contemplatively silent near you, knowing, feeling what they are thinking toward you? You start to begin wondering if it is your own guilt. And that is completely true, it could be you. But do you ever take a second to recognize if your gut is true, and you feel certain inklings for a reason?

It’s completely relevant these feelings we get, because we are all connected. We all judge people, our passerby’s, whether we know it or not. Through our own experience and whole life in this time through programming of “right and wrong.” Why it matters so much to others around us of our well being, and why we depend so much on that opinion is the case. Why?

Because like I said, we all ARE connected. We ARE here to depend upon each other for support. We’re not meant for personal isolation like we have been taught. We’re not meant to fear rejection or judgement from those around us. And that’s where lies the problem. We are so afraid of being hurt. And all we want as human beings is to be understood. And in that lies the answer of how we should start being vulnerable. Not because we can possibly get hurt, but that we can persevere through all the programmed bullshit of this global isolation that has been ingrained in our beings.

We encounter others in this life for a reason, and it is beautiful. But it’s time to start questioning, why? Of how we can break down the truth of why, and how, and where- for the reason simply to evolve in harmony. Not alone.

This is the time to be set free of everything that has been said to be, and live truly to how we feel inside. No one can tell you who you are and who you’re meant to be. That is fact. And that fact is yours. We aren’t alone. But we ARE uniquely in sync.

Ones’ Own Thought

Yes, I drink for the hard days.

I smoke through the delusion of

Daily programmed thoughts,

Because I know there is more.

Even if you say it,

And I know what is good for me,

There is something unfolding beneath

That no one could possibly know

But me.

The main thing that matters

Is the art that is formed through revelation

That only I can experience,

And that you relate to through your own suffering.

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Elusive Love Notes

I feel all of you slip away.

All that I feel so deeply for.

I love you.

And it always will be this way.

I love you as deeply as my bones

Are dense.

Tingling through

To the aches of the winter’s lonely chill,

To the warm embracing sun.

It was never all for not.

And though I chose to be where I am

I hope not to lose you.

But if I do l, I know,

The times we danced were of great significance.

The gift I received

Was seeing your beautiful smile.

Teeth poking through your lips

That press together a lot.

It played music in my eyes,

Even now,

And it was real.

The Writer

I’ve spent 27 years collecting

Little notes,

And held them tightly to my chest.

Proud of who I was and

The new I always become.

Even as I lay on the ground

Where the debris of stones I stacked

To rebuild again a home,

Crushed me into the earth

That broke again like the

First time I ruffled its soil.

The smile I had then as the sun warmed

My vibrant cheeks,

Now a gaping mouth choking on tears.

I cannot move to find the paper

Written all through time.

The sacred parchments of my heart,

I left to waste and blow away from this

Repeated crash of fate,

Not able to face their glowing light

That turned to failure after time.

My heart aches and I have empty hands.

Totems everywhere, I fear to reach

That I may rip open the cage

In which protects my heart,

As boulders lie atop me.

One Last Cigarette

I feel my hands this eve,

As they in the past

Have labored many loves.

Loves I thought,

At the time,

Could heal and mend me from all forms of captivity.

Captivity I fear,

And free is where I dream to be.

That dream that has pulled me in,

Time and time again-

But now, on only my two feet I stand,

Young mouths I nurture and bleed to feed,

With no love there anymore to take me in between.

I see the rippling change ,

And clarity of where healing truly lies.

It was never “him,”

But always me.

He that was there,

But I, only to take then and chew,

And spit out in the mouths of little babes.

Alas, now, I know this isn’t me.

Nor who I was ever meant to be.

This clarity that ruthlessly unfolds,

To show certain vision in my eye

And plunge me further to my destiny.

‘Tis now a reminder

Of day to day, I cling,

A symbol I drew of independence,

A plea of what I want so desperately.

I wished, but now I see,

Whilst inhaling this cigarette,

Of countless turns, this one that cannot

Be numbered from its many draws-

The hundreds of its multicolored nights.

Drawing in the cycles of its many men

And bringing only recolection of

Familiar suffering.

-To now, I see

The thing I must let go,

The dog’s tail of this chapter’s close.

These fingers shake as they tighten grasp

Of the cigarette that never was the lie,

But the lie I imbued upon the tip

Of its lightened end.

The red eye I spun a fiction,

Of a man that could fill my integrity.

But alas, I know,

And now I do let go.

This one thing that can free me

From my ultimate captivity-

The invigorating smoke I take

Was not a man, but a yearning for

A chance to see,

And break through to my infinite strength

I always wished to seek.

Person and the Staff

I wear the expression of silly. Silly is who I seem to be. Yet also sweet, serious, curious compassionate, frightfully untamable and even filled with rage. A great woman who enjoys the deepest parts of how to feel. I’ve climbed to the depths of where emotions are born. Maybe that seems passionate and driven for a purpose to fulfill. Or maybe it seems scared, afraid to numb the parts that make me human, if I haven’t done that already. I understand the aspect of neutrality. It’s powerful, balanced and holds the wisest understanding. A woman standing in all of her power. It would be the healthiest and most uplifting way to lead her life- lead life with her fellow people and the two children at her side.

I crave the understanding of pain, of happiness and the way a person thinks. To play out their emotions as they experience them, embracing all aspects of the human consciousness, our human day to day lives. I pierce the veil where delusion lies to pull the fellow friend out from the ashes. I love the suffering as if it were my own. I crave to feel the life we live, and maybe it’s because I don’t know how to live my own. I hold a torch to draw moth to the flame, and when they ask me where I stand my response always lies, with them. Maybe I’m afraid to be this person, as real as life ever is for all of us.

“Don’t worry about me.” A woman with rods stacked on her back, to feel the reality she lacks. Maybe I’m afraid of power, a rippling fear of eternal life’s spring in my gut. A fear of being brave enough to grip the staff that wields my magic and hold all of my self up, to face the treacherous and magnificent life we all endure.

I always craved the roots that others bear. They wear their badges to show their individuality no matter what the cost. And they own their choice no matter where their morals lie, they honor who they are. Even if who they are is always changing, perfecting old badges and adding some new ones throughout their time. Always owning up to the journey of the unfoldment in their lives.

I feel the clock of our time here click, it ticks along as skin grows thin. As the wrinkles tell of life that fades and so much more to understand. But as the tables turn, as they always do and spin around, they move to destinations where mystery is always met and found with every emotion I crave to feel. But precise measure of the clock that ticks, it is mine- the staff I’ve laden in your hands for almost all my life.

Reality seems so treacherous- the logic and reasoning of the inevitable “fate and demise,” but sadly of what I, what we’ve created. What I’d give to feel that staff and I intertwined. Let this insanity be mine. It makes the most sense, and I, my world with me, are mine. I twirl and sing along, my “wicked” song with the wind, a crazy, blasphemous tale I spin. But I seek to find the answers that are always there in plain sight, readily there and always told. Ready, if I let them in.