Founding mothers
Apple hearts and prudent tarts
Each bite conclude one thing
Pleasing hips and sugared quips
You never know what I mean
World ripping
Honored puzzles
Reclaiming piece
Winds rise
Paper for those
Make sense of thinking
Holy smoke and waters choke
This is how I come clean
Painful grins pour
Wooden ladle drips
Each taking turns
Markets further yearn
Creation bliss
Slight of man
The ride
Narrow as wide

Be Here Now.

Suppressing golden shadows
Fleece to fit
True denim grip
Well mannered protons spill
Heights to ground
Limbs desiring soft and round
Uneven oddity stars
Adjacent peril
Enchanted reflections dip
Suited formally
Enrobed in fiction
Like moths to a stain
Bright knowledge refrain
Unfurling contractions
Sheared to skin
What holds you know only begins
Encoded split
Sound the sheath
Rivers ending deep
Panning in the shallows
Oil for life
Formed here after
Charred wicks
Glossy sparks
Before the snuff
Don’t allow what once was be here now

Raw & Disorder.

   There was this one time a person confronted me at my place of work during a public event to tell me that they thought I was a dishonorable person. Said person went to nefarious means to gain such reflective insight, but the sight still remains. We feel and see the world how we view our own self. From enlightening to loathing, we mostly without knowingly hold onto the forms as if they’re our own. Sure, there have been a few folks who’ve feared my bloggery. I have no problem with that, for it’s not mine to have. What is your problem today? The problems that do arise at times that I choose to take on are those that affect the basics. Survival and safety are what we’ve been after from before our very existence. If those basic necessities are threatened in any way, humanity tends to take on a plethora of primal, unexpected, and divergent shapes and forms.

  Many creatures from human to protozoa on this great and amazing planet have their basics endangered everyday. In this age of captive time, ever increasing power to the few, and accelerating technology; it is entropy that will always remain constant. Disorder is more probable than order. If you feel uneasy, hopeless, stuck, and or depressed as a direct cause of these modern times then I say to you, do something about it. I call earnestly to those who feel despair to; write your local government and tell them exactly how you really feel, be compassionate and aware of yourself, learn from fear for it is an acute teacher, paint our towns with bold and peaceful protests, cry tears of gratitude for all those who paved the way to here and now, shout impeccable words that need to be heard, and most importantly create a safe place and share that space with all you know and hold dear.

The Unifying Theory of She.

Irony for me, is a girl named Voice too choked up on words to speak
Life long lessons shot out them baby blues like a beam
Taking in all spoken directly, as if laid at her own feet to weep
In her world, when let in, she sings; “sorry about the mess”
I confess
Discrete impressions
Quietly caught between that which she has
Yet undone
Everything came before
Her essence run
In solace cohesion
No longer harboring margins & lines
Noting her felt experience
Seasoned by time
Fed with feeling
Drunk on resonant healing
Pouring forth perspective liberally
No more ironic than I am she

I Am Not My Story.

   From head to toe I was riddled with tales of shame, abandonment, and betrayal. Marred by feeling preyed upon, victimized. Each time I survived I would inevitably assign fault onto various nouns outside and inside myself. In turn, the blame game had created resistance from the very truth and feelings I needed to face and live through but instead I made the choice to live with; striving in pity, nobility, and self-righteousness. I was swiftly aging in a cocoon of chronic stress.

   Perhaps I didn’t know any better, but that doesn’t matter. What does is I do now. I understand that the memories I had clung to no longer serve me. Afraid to let go because that meant dealing with a reality of raw emotions that I refused to make time for. “I don’t have time for this” with that said, I would miss my direct opportunity to live through feelings by experience, instead I allowed myself to be left clutching a flaming bag of fear, anger, and guilt. Ultimately leading to dis-ease, by storing the toxicity in hidden pockets throughout my whole being; mind, body and soul. Excess baggage. I had been coping in lieu of surrendering to each feeling moment by moment as it arises and then moving on by letting them go.

   Healing must begin within. There is no magic pill, guru, god, or surgery that will clear away the mind’s own wreckage or restore peace, love, and joy. Our life experiences create a story, but that isn’t who we fundamentally are. I am not my story, and luckily neither are you.