Spaces all the same,dimensions but different
Ideas the very same rushing in to fill voids old
From heads stuffed of past Imitations dead
Straight walls ever rising up,closing space
Square,stiff,solid,regurgitating spirits staid
The same colors but in different places, limited
sick,drained of mind,with an empty soul I wept
Dear innovation creative where are you my angel?
Staring at space blank unchained to past I pondered
The angels came unannounced unknowing softly,
rushing to a heart,empty of mind,surrendered to an intent pure,
Dancing,guiding unfettered,intuitively fantastic,instinctively right
The walls falling away,squares smoothing to curves sexy
New visions exciting,opening to vistas of unknown hues wondrous
That very dead space now alive,conducting,guiding a design philharmonic
"I" was but a medium,absorbing,directing flashes from unknown
Driven in a flash flood of euphoria unknowing, to an ocean creative
Knowing not what unchained me,setting me free for that Destiny fine,
Of Innovation. May be love or despair,whatever, Divinity came.
The scars in my chest
The tears in my eyes
The ache in my soul
The sadness in my mind
Why being so young do I feel so tired?
Maybe my life isn't what I wanted.
Does the little girl inside of me is still alive?
Deep inside she cries
She feels trapped and lonely
She is scared of the dark
But the one inside of herself.
But don't worry little angel
Soon you will be fine
This will all end
And you will be soaring in flight
With other little angels
Of the lost children who lost their mind.
Lucky breather
Lucky dreamer
Smiling face above the water
Free-floating swimmer just letting flow
The water where the riptide goes
Ride the wave and taste the foam
Salty laughter tears hit home
Hold your breath, drift to the top
Instead of sinking like a rock
Not constricted in a pool
Smiling swimmer, laughing fool
If you fight the current you will drown
So you smile instead of frown
Let the tides pull you where they wish
Happy human like a fish
Wiggle your toes through the waves
Seeing silver-lining sea-storm saves
Lucky angel
Lucky seashell
A crack in the road that is covered in snow forces my car to halt, like a prisoner trying to pick a vault.
White dust swirls around causing barely any sound.
However, a low hum dances around my ears as I hide away my tears.
I remember every wrinkles and line on your face. You had great fashion taste!
I hope they have bingo where you're flying. Please stop crying.
Never forgotten and always in my mind.
You were simply one of a kind.
Baby, angel, I have begun
growing chamomile on the left side of my mattress:
you left it warm enough to grow something
as impossible as weeds. And I know
I am preferable to the sun
at least to you, but what about the moon? There is just
something about luna, the moon, lune.
Sometimes I want to talk to it the way I would
you: moon, oh my stars,
I did not believe in naturalism until I believed in you.
Baby, angel, we are only embers
of what we once were. I heat us up as tea
and grow herbs where you once would breathe.
Warding off bumblebees by
taking their stingers into my paw, the air can hurt us.
Your muddy shoeprints are engraved into the carpets. And at night when I stare at the cracks in my ceiling, your soul is all I feel. All the watermarks on the coffee table remind me of your brown irises. The sky is gray, the ground is cold. In the living room, flowers are sprouting in pots, and his smile flips my frown. He’s growing, taking up space, a mere fraction of the space you hold. I miss your rumbly, sleepy groans, your thighs intertwined with mine. I hope the sun comes out soon, because it’s growing darker in here each day I live without love. I know she makes you happy, and it both makes me laugh and cry to know that. I hope you’ll understand someday just how much I loved you, when it all has faded like smoke into the summer air, and I walk in a white dress to a man who didn’t just rent my house, but bought it. But for now at night I lay with lonely legs and one heartbeat and tears in my eyes as salty and bitter as our handful of goodbyes. I wish you were here, and I wish you’d never come in the first place. Every day I check the weather, and I feed the boiler, and I do my best to stay warm without your body, but it never works. Teeth chatter while I count sheep, and I lie awake wondering why the sparks ever faded and why you can barely say my name anymore. Blood nourishes the organ but not its treasures. Dogs bark and sleep folded in half, inside their little cottages. Where is mine, where is mine? I cover the roof and walls, with their creaks and faults, with convenient and daily tape; it’s holding it all together but isn’t healing it. The sheets are forming ice, and my head is forming thunder and snow. Darling, oh darling, why did you go? I swallow the medicine, I shovel the walkway, but I’m stuck in eternal January, with the front and back doors padlocked. This might just be a dead end street. Nobody wants the house with dirty rugs and splintered ceilings and ruined furniture; house for rent, house for sale. Somebody please just knock on my door. I want to float into the clouds like an angel, rising above it all not like a snow-capped mountain, but a green and grassy hill, rolling and free.
Looking up at me
It's more than I can handle
Show me what its like
To be tasted by an angel
Kindred spirit, the privilege is mine, it's just that I,
I never finish because there is nothing going on, nothing to go on.
All right, all right, all right,
you're right,
I don't write as much as I used to,
but in all fairness (to myself)
I feel a bit more loose.
Never mean to,
but I guess I argue
a lot in order to hide
how much I really don't care;
Celina said it's not okay
but that at least I know
it's insulting.
I only want to be in my body
when you are touching it.
That tone an angel loaned
to you can ripple through
the void, make a soft,
translucent puddle out of reality,
can you see me
on the other side?
Don't say I'm angry,
it's just that
no one has ever really tried
to impress me, so I'm scared
I guess.
Remember you are here,
don't be weird about the types of things
sentimentality will bring,
will string along to the
forefront of an open sore;
no one pours the sink a whiskey
drink until the girls are crying out above the stars,
better yet stirring them from afar
for their own faults, for being
fickle with love
and their own hearts.
You know I don't sleep much,
You know I don't dream of such
pretty things but I could imagine
how you, in a different life,
were gifted eternal wings.
Those that brought you to me.
I would weep
if I wasn't made of stone.
They brought me into a dark room with but only one window and layed me against the cold, concrete wall. The room had nothing but solitary confinement for me and it poured rain for days, the pattering of the droplets hitting the window was the only thing that kept me sane. I would look up at the window as it sat there on the ceiling and gaze into the night sky for hours at a time, trying to convince myself that God could see me and hear my suffering and that all this was happening as a test of my faith for the greater good. I did not pray for my hands were bound and my soul was weighted by my captor.
After some odd days, 3 men came into my confinement and breached my reflection. They released me from the cold concrete wall and brought me over a bucket of ice water. Without warning, one violently grasped my hair and flung my head into the water for many minutes it seemed, only pulling me out when I released my breath and then immediately putting me under once again. This would continue for hours over a period of several days.
For those of you with faint hearts and an optimistic conscience, this is not a story with a glorious ending in which justice is served and the faith prevails. This is the story of how I became a martyr. After a multitude of days of this torture proceeding, one of the men had asked me, "Why do you still have faith in this God of yours if he does not save you? He has either shown himself to be false or does not care for your life."
Solemnly, I responded as simply as it came to me. "Because God has power, God is the essence of all of our beings and what we are bound to. I do not love God because he is kind, because he is forgiving, because he is gentle and there for me always. I love God because he is something I do not know, and I can not change. God is omniscient because humans can not overpower God, whatever we learn, God knows, and that is the way it has always been. God is not a being at all, God is an idea, God is a motion, God is a thought with the power to conquer everything, God is a feeling that creates all emotion, God is the blueprint for everything that exists, God is everywhere. How do you not acknowledge what is so present and alive within you? God gives me determination which fuels willpower, and where there is a will there is a cause to which I am guaranteed to succeed. All so through the power of the universal spirit present within me and all of us."
The man was absolutely bewildered and obviously confused, and continued to comply in my test of faith. "But if he has the power to set you free, as you are somewhat saying, why has he not?" And without letting me respond he once again interrupted. "Is it because your God is not present? He can not be with you in your confinement. Where is your God?"
This was a question I was on the verge of discovering the answer to myself. If God could set me free, why had he not? But the answer was simple as it swept through me. With the grace of an angel, a raindrop fell from between the seams of the window and landed on my cheek. I looked up into the night sky once again and understood. God is in the rain.
How fitting it was that in the rain, I would be made into
A martyr.
The confusion sedates me
Mirrors reflect me
And I with my pain
Want to be ignored
A sinking beauty
The death daze
Forgotten and denied
The psychosis air alluring me
My mouth hides from you
Stifles the pain
Broken angel wings that refuse to fly away
Brittle ribs with no edge
My teeth bleed
I created a place for me to be safe
This battle of mine
Consumes no calories
Hating every ounce
Non existent energry
But I'm thin and shallow
Watch me die
Let me burn
My ashes will be spread
What little is left
Let the birds eat away at me
Building a nest
