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musings & scribbles

OK

I recently found that I was using the improper, “okay,” when the correct spelling is, “OK.”  I would go back and update my prior works to the correct spelling, but I would rather be reminded of my ignorance.

From this point forward, please know that I will correctly use, “OK.”  If you see something with, “okay,” you can correctly assume it’s an old work, or I was tired.

That said, I try to be grammatically correct and use correct spelling with most of what I do.  It’s hard in the land of poetry and creative writing, because there is so much pleasure to be had from confusing the audience or being ambiguous, and grammar, punctuation, and spelling tend to make being ambiguous a difficult task.  However, I certainly won’t use what is universally thought of as correct grammar, punctuation, or spelling if it clashes with my own beliefs. See, “till,” versus, “’til.”

Also, I do not like run-on sentences; I use coordinating conjunctions and punctuation, where appropriate.  I am a student of stream of consciousness.

a million times ago

a million times ago,
i looked to you and saw
my equal, the one who
would be a better half/
the only half that matters;
a million times ago,
i looked to you and breathed
in your smell, the one which
wakens me from rest of this world;
a million times ago,
i looked to you and skipped
forward to today, when
i don’t want to forget the
millionth time before.

to say i am afraid of losing
all memory is to say i am
but waiting to die; no, i am
in tears to wash out what
may keep me from seeing you
again;
you sober me and
intoxicate
my life with
joy, the
only feeling
to encompass all you are
to me, to the
rest of this world.

a million times ago
is replayed every day,
as i stare at you
while life carries us on
this crazy wave we never
saw coming, ’til we did;
a million times ago
is replayed every day,
as you look into me,
foot curved ’round foot,
and you
wrap me in your smile;
a million times ago,
i could have counted
forever in one hand,
yours,
and we would have been
right.

writing is learning to love yourself through every word, by loving those around you and understanding them, if even in your own head, so you can better appreciate where you are. writing is also being aware there is so much more than yourself to be loved, and knowing we all have the time to do just that.

you are breaking…

you are breaking,
to be pieced together.
not by
my apologies,
but by
your expectations
building to understand
i, whom
you trust,
have
disappointed you
by
not trusting you.

you are breaking,
breaking
as my words
crack
your perception of me,
splitting
those
cauterized-like wounds
prior-sealed
by a kiss,
or thirty-one.

you are breaking,
shaking
off your
covering,
focusing
forward on
all ahead of you,
as your
pupils
constrict and
the brightness
of your light,
short-flickered,
flames on, standing
straight among the breeze.

all forward fall

i fall
forward,
trying to
be faster
than i can
carry feet
let drag
behind
me.

i fall
forward,
running
with fists,
outward,
to the
pavement,
hoping
a vision
of pain
can
save me
from the
experience.

i’m fine

i haven’t written you in a while,
to tell you i’m alright; i’m fine,
i swear it on these watermarks, not
tears, i send with words i’m okay

love.txt

love is being inconvenienced,
but knowing it’s all worth it.

spinning, spinning

i heard
the world is going to stop
and let us off,
but i still seem to be
spinning, spinning,
holding on to everything
you tried to take
for granted, but i
wouldn’t let you; and
now we’re granted
space from one another…

i heard
the world is going to stop
and let us off,
but i still seem to be
spinning, spinning,
holding on to everything
we took for granted, but you
let go when you left; and
now we’re done, so i can
walk away, the other way,
and not even bother to get off.

it’s easier to write bullshit and say, “that’s good…,” than it is to stop writing and try to pick back up.

pieceful bee

yo
i got a million lines, but you’re not gonna last long enough to see 30.
got bars in front of me but i ain’t complain’in’, nah,
i’m just boppin’ my head to the one and now the next, playa’–
hope you see me not as the threat i’m meant to be, but as the
knowledge you can make it if you stop accepting the pessimism
so familiar to the anxious and doped into thinkin’ the world’s theirs,
but we, together, can take the lease and lean a bit straighter,
keepin’ it even with the wall and not slanted no more–
keep my name out ya’ mouth and my words in ya’ heart, ‘cuz i
just want to move you forward, keep chasin’ those bars like
they ingots ‘n’ not a cage, though there’s barely a difference
when you take a step outside the mind and see we’re all in kind.
yeah,
i actually want to give a fuck but they’re all used up on
the bullshit/hypocrisy of another day in a world we claim is
beneath the heavens and not part of ’em– kind of like how
a wheel is still part of the car, not like we’re free from
the gravity laws; nah, we’re just coastin’ along like
the hubcap rollin’ to the shoulder, but wait– nah, we’re not,
we’re still a finger on the hand flippin’ off the universe as we pass,
like we’re not part of the whole, just an obnoxious tyrant with no land of our own– nah,
nah,
like we’re not part of the whole, just
an obnoxious tyrant with no land of our own– nah,
nah,
like we’re givin’ everything we are to somethin’ we’re not
and not gettin’ back a damn thing, except the realizations
we’re different somehow from everyone else experiencin’ the same;
but what if i told you the world is a beehive and you’re just
stuck in the darkness, hatin’ on the bees flyin’ out to
bring some back to you, a byproduct of givin’ back to the world–
hold on, though, i’m not sayin’ that’s everyone, nah.
we got the ones stayin’ fat with the yellow like they
can’t be bothered with the community, just themselves–
that’s why i respect mr. buffett and mr.+mrs. gates,
those who recognize the health of the hive depends on
every resident, not just those who can afford to survive.

average

ain’t got mo’ than
what i was born with
and, lucky for me,
that’s just enough
to be better than the average
when it comes to bein’ average–
guess that makes me average;
i’m okay with average.

got

“got,” is a strange word.
tells you of another’s
ownership, or your own,
but has a fleeting
connotation. “i got
mine,” “i got time,”
“i got that,” but for
a bit, not eternity.
seems to be the pre-
sent perfect of, “had,”
but what do i know?
i’ve got nothing but
words.

musings & scribbles