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 Oct 2013 Ayeglasses
samasati
big sweaters, ghibli, acrylic paint, cafes, knit blankets and unplanned afternoon naps on the couch, gardens, bananas, vanilla almond milk, soft yarn to crochet into ****** scarves, candles after midnight, the big trees with bulky roots, patio furniture, pianos in random buildings, the internet, manatees, the boundless colours of nail polish, peanut butter & honey, rubber boots, pens that write well, fresh new notebooks, skylights, american netflix, mothers that understand, tête à têtes, one glass of sweet white wine, awkward eye contact that turns into comfortable kissing, airplanes, fresh air, baseball caps, the female collective, the really good dark chocolate, flowers, pumpkin spice lattes and ***** chai lattes, candid laughter, yoga, oceans, high waisted shorts, striped t-shirts, docile cats, playful pups, french presses, integrity, sunscreen, meerkats, penguins, chameleons, autumn leaves, fall fashion, ruby woo mac lipstick, osho, dynamic meditation, compassion, siblings, scrambled eggs, smart phones, garageband, metronomes, hot glue guns, quinoa, ferry boats, soft hands, bicycles, real people, fat snowflakes in ample, graceful *******, backpacks that don't hurt your shoulders, hair conditioner, multi-vitamins, soft sand under bare feet, people that own up to lies, clarity, samsara, satori, samasati, visions, echinacea, lavender oil and frankincense, ambrosia apples and ripe avocados, authenticity, Morgan Freeman's voice, good kissers, *******, iced tea on a hot day, curtains, the smell of beeswax, art galleries, hand massages and foot massages, reiki, plums, mild thunderstorms, soccer *****, good surprises, when birds don't **** on your head.
I wrote this with my momma one fine morning!
there is always so much more to add.
 Oct 2013 Ayeglasses
AJ
"Do it for the children", you say.
And then I hear the tiny giggles,
And I see the fireworks that never seem to leave their eyes.
How did those get there?
Did we put them there?
It's beautiful.
My heart always explodes
In tiny Ooo's and Aah's.
Anyway, I understand.
Do it for the children.
New sores open like pores over my once perfect skin
The pressure in my head is building up yet again
As the cancer eats away I'm forced to contemplate the end
I guess in death I'll find out if I have any friends
It hurts me to say it but god I'm so scared
They say don't give up hope but I'm just not prepared
Soon I will be just a shadow of my former unimpressive self
As it eats away the marrow and turns my body against itself
When its over I hope you don't realize I'm gone
I hope the little things I did will somehow carry on
There might be reminders of who I was in clouds and in songs
Though I think everyone will be too busy living to listen
Every night I lay down now I lay down to die
Sometimes for a moment, just briefly, I shed a tear and cry
And wish I believed in something high in the sky
But like most things I've found out that heaven is a lie
So in all truth, yes, I am scared of the end
I am in no way prepared for the end
But the tumor is growing, so I'll send my love while I can
To all of you, everyone, incase I don't wake up again
The window fogged over
No longer sober
I wish I could go back
and start all over

My eyes close shut
The silence remains uncut
I wish it was different
I guess it is
Somewhat

Standing in the door
Can't look in your eyes
With a heart too sore
Please I need you for more

A grave stands alone
Name, age and date shown
On my heals I turn
I leave your grave stone
 Sep 2013 Ayeglasses
samasati
my little cousin is almost 3
and she is just like me
- or just like I was
when I was 3.
she’s stubborn
and she growls.
I used to growl,
apparently.
she’s a climber, a growler
and an observer
with messy messy curly hair;
it is such a nest, I recalled
the years my mother would
yank
a brush through my ringlets
and I would cry.
my little cousin
knows what she wants,
obviously,
she’s 3.
I was sitting on a bench, listening to
my family
talk about old stories
with my aunt that is now
dying.
she stood in front of me, my little cousin,
staring
quite blankly, like she didn’t need anything.
I looked in her eyes, she looked
in mine.
"you got a ouchie"
she told me.
"yeah? where?" I asked her.
"there," she touched just below
my knee
with her index finger.
indeed, there was a fresh
scar.
and immediately I was buried
in a memory
of how I got that scar.
it was just over two weeks ago,
actually;
and I hadn’t felt the skin rip
until the accident was over.
or I could call it an affair,
or a pit of passion, or I could even
call it a mistake.
"how did you get an ouchie?"
my other cousin asked me;
she’s almost 7.
I was devastated.
I wanted to be upright,
be honest, in a
calm kind of way;
but you can’t do that with children
like this.
I wanted to say,
"a boy gave this to me."
but instead I said,
"oh, I fell a couple weeks ago."
"on the sidewalk?" asked the almost 7 year old.
"something like that," I told her.
"you fall hard and got ouchie!" squealed the almost 3 year old.
she’s too smart, for her age
how did she know
that’s exactly
what happened
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