Meet you in the kitchen,
Where hands are busy,
But heads are turning,
Trying their best to
Wander into dancing;
Hands slip on hips,
And we lose the world
To be at once found
While letting go that
Which keeps us held.
So many days finding myself
Against your wishes, giving in
To the dreams had while ‘wake,
Folding in two at the sight of
You, but how odd the two of
Us to think the taut matters
When we would rather unravel
And feel the thread got’ wet.
Try not to be
Worried about what is outside of you.
Try to remember
Who you are when you are alone.
Try being better
When you could be much worse.
Try finding
Where you hide within yourself.
Give up on finding fame. It’s worth being mediocre, so you can live a life worth living rather than worth seeing/seeking/being unhappy. Select all of your old works and be proud of them and that you can’t remember your craft, so you never have to worry about repeating much more than a few lines. Be careful of looking back; if you do, know that apologizing is always worth its wait.
So much time to be sad, but I’d rather be happy and warm beside you. So much time to be mad, but I’d rather be happy and warm beside you. So much time to sleep, and I want to be happy and warm beside you.
Dreams are a way to be and be forgotten.
How many sit/stand/crawl and realize who they want to be is attainable, but life has a funny way of changing our minds?
Found another way to be happy. Found it without trying to be. Found another way to be happy. Found it hidden behind dreams let roam too far out of the mind.
Now, don’t get me wrong, hard work or chance play as much a part in who we are as any part of our lives, but there’s a reason viewers outnumber the viewed and we should be OK with those odds. Makes it worth it, don’t you think?
We hold tight to ideals and understandings that are not offered, no, but placed before us as proofs of a grand scheme, wherein we, the sapient few, know what more there is beyond sight, in emotion, that most worldly and yet intangible of the uncounted senses. Perhaps we would be better served by holding away from us most ideals and understandings, until time when we, grown and lived, can find and touch in thought what makes us important, where we see we will be. Or, perhaps, we should be satiated by the prospect of returning, physically, to our makeshift world, this most beautiful abnormality and its hangers-on.
That may be mean to say, but I mean to say it.
“Come in backwards, so you can already be on your way out.” – Ontario Hallman
You can’t claim autonomy and depend on conversation to survive.
Don’t get too deep into your own shit that you forget to flush.
Early enough to be dangerous, late enough to not be tired.
Behind every gracious defeat is a pained heart.
Guiding yourself through life with laughter and kindness often leaves you seeming weak and immature, no matter the sophistication you display along with them.
We live, we exist, we feel, we focus, yet we rarely just be. Laying, standing, sitting still and gathering the senses describing the world around us can be rewarding if we choose clarity over movement of the mind or body.
What use is a light in the twisting tunnels of thought, they which constrict and constrain focus to be pointed, not broad?
The mistakes we allow residence in our lives are the successes we have yet to create.
Greeting a friend, coworker, family member, or animal is not as stressful as greeting a stranger. Not because of first impressions or assumed reactions, but because of acknowledgement and acceptance of another into your collection of thoughts. Imagine not knowing someone, yet feeling connected to them, if not because of fleeting introductions, but because of recurring expectations.
Humanity is a disease who knows they can change, but chooses to continue to remain the same.
When awe gives way to understanding.
“It is a soft touch which takes you down, sir, not a strong arm.” – Candi
In the fold, but on his own.
Perception is the cage of the mind.
Perceptions are the hands which carve away at the world, leaving but an image of what was once immeasurable possibilities.
The best people are too humble to know they are.
Empathy, and acting on empathy, are the most important ingredients for life. They conquer fight or flight.
Not everyone on a boat is sailing the ship.
She is the softest blade.
She
She brings me joy in the form of
Smiles, glimpses into
Innocence surrounded by
Years of who we are.
We silly billions
We risk what makes us human,
Squeezed and squeezing what contains us,
Spinning, forcing us to be what mold we remain in,
Giving in at first but changing
Based on feeling different when we are but all
These silly billions, flashes and reflections
On the stream, forming in swift current
Around the rocks left standing
As we push and bubble upward,
Into the air and where our source,
Of whom we are but mirrored,
Guides us outward,
Pointing us by darkness’
Great clarities toward where we come from.
And yet we remain these children,
Craving our motions made in moments
When time was but this allotment we could fill
With what we wanted, not what haunts us
I grew up with you in my eyes,
Holding life ahead to hope
The days would waste away without
Really being used by
All of those mentions of something more,
What when I know now I could have
Had more time with you.
Her hands rush to his,
A shock/she must have
Snuck that static ‘fore
They touched, but,
Her hands rush to his,
Her eye locks on
Those unanswered
Potentials asked of
Him, he who falls
Shoulders in her sight,
Likening to the marionette
Let control himself– how
Foolish to think him capable,
Though all can learn like
You taught me to be better
Than who I had been, who
I wanted to be but couldn’t see
Without you to walk with me
To where life would lead, obviously
A place much more welcome than
Where we had come from, where
These blinking cen-ti-se-con-ds count
Down to revolving doors coming
Back around, letting us be found
And falling down like marionettes
Let control themselves– how
Foolish to think us capable.
Love is
Everything that’s been said
And so much yet to be.
Love is
Giving up and knowing
They’re not ready to.
Love is
Following her widened lips
Against the brightness of
Those teeth, eating me
With every glimpse and
Wide laughter, shattering
Those frozen restraints, and
I let go the pearls she
So often catches me clutching
When I had a better thing to grab.
Love is
Unfinished
gave this a lot of thought
(ok, a little bit):
are we
where we want to be,
or where
we’ve ended up be-
ing?
see, i know
we have a hist-or-y,
but maybe
know-ing there’s somewhere
we’d rather be would
bring us clari-ty.
scrunched up beside you,
only wanting an arm
or leg to be
warmed by
the skin
i miss through clothes
and sheets
and
space
and
the day;
but,
at night,
i know
you’ll
be still
and i can
hold on
or rest on
or be
rested up-on.
crazy
the amount
of time between
seeing you and
being me, who
i am when
only you’re around.
when
tick-ing-s
of a clock
become mile markers,
telling us
we’re growing further
’til we’re growing closer,
and i don’t know the difference
when kept so far for so long.
up-side-down, we’d
work above and below and
just reach out hands
to steady ourselves, but
we’re forced
in this gravity
to be distanced
differently.
so, you say
your day was rough,
mine was, too,
and we could eat
our breathing
to feed,
but
routines maintain
their grasp on us
and chores go by,
being left for
other days,
just as our
desires do,
but
then you look to
me
and i’m fallen
again, find-ing
no-thing to prop
myself on but
your gaze, smile,
bit-lip smile,
slight nod,
and i’m fallen
again, find-ing
no-thing to prop
myself on but
your gaze, smile,
bit-lip smile,
slight nod,
and i’m fallen
a-gain.
confusion reigns for
as long as clarity squats
in recesses, calmly holding
on to knowledge while
trying to close eyes
being kept open by
beating veins unseen,
but known by caricature.
and each tremor shakes
confidence, laid flat
with arms spread wide
and legs lending no
helping hand to holding
on to a floor worn by
pacings of patience, they
who know nothing more than
presence, yet are fine
with that; smile forms,
and all is twisted
slightly as the light
comes in to welcome
inner world to outside.
and pain digs in, trying
hard to find a place to
surround itself with
walls and keep itself
away from out there, where
laughing, that most violent
of actions, comes and hastens
the burying.
now, clarity stands to
walk away the reasons and excuses
creeping in and throwing
dirt on top of pain, hoping
to hide happenings underfoot,
but walking on is not walking away.
now, clarity speaks to
clear the cavern of the hollowed feelings
wrapped around themselves, and knowledge
chases away confusion, swatting
at the reasons and excuses, growing
at its taile as feet bound feet to keep
the foolery at bay.
and my head swivels under water,
trying to find the sky, but the
sand looks so comfortable,
sweet bed of ships & fairy tales,
incubator of necessity,
but the sky is calling back its breath,
and i can’t forget my family,
though they may appreciate the
work my toes have done to make lines
and holes in the softest ground
hope can be just as bad as anger
regret, that
sticky treat let
build on teeth,
holds firm against
the tongue, the
champion of clean
and consumption.
There,
Against the wall
With paint lightened
By the oil of her face,
She laughed,
And her toes curled.
Her
Teeth, white, tried
To hold in the noise,
Failing, though
She didn’t really care
And she kept scrolling.
Life
Seemed to stay
In each frame she saw,
While, falling, the
Stars stayed outside
And her eyes closed.
Took
A second to lose
Thoughts of there, to
Replace them with flying,
But she did,
And she became weightless.
On
Remembering gravity,
Sand filled her shoulders,
Though her head floated,
Bobbing to the laughter,
And reality left her.
Another
Breath awoke her to
A moment in the present,
Passed as quickly from
Her as the second,
And she continued in the loop.