Entry ~
I know you're scared. You should be scared. You're taking a huge leap of faith leaving the only "home" you've ever known. But that home you built isn't four walls, and a solid tin roof. It's your soul. It's that thumping in your chest that keeps you awake at 2am. It's the memories you've stored, locked away tight behind steel bars, because god only knows if those bars weren't there those memories would hit you like the eye of a storm. Calm at first, sweet, but then painful, like shards of glass beneath your feet. And I know how much it hurts to leave. To walk away from so many unresolved things. To remove yourself from the lives of people you rely on, that rely on you. But part of living is knowing when to leave. It's knowing when your environment no longer suits the shell you're in. It's easy to tell when that chapter of your life begins. It starts with a slow depression easing its way in, and an unexplained restlessness. I know how much you fight it. The warning signs telling you it's time to go again. You are so afraid of being free, but your curiosity has its own needs. It was never a choice being free. It's always been a part of your destiny. I know you've felt that unexplainable presence easing your anxiety. And it's okay to breathe. It's okay to just be. To not know where you're going to be next spring. It's all a part of the plan. You need to have faith that those guiding you won't lead you astray. You are being protected, and I know you aren't religious, but when you feel like you've lost your way, fall to your knees, and pray. Look for the butterfly, and have faith that one small act of courageousness will set your life in motion. But you have to be willing to take action first. So flap your wings, and don't be afraid of the tornado that follows. You created your fear, and only you can survive in the wake of it.

I feel neither
here
nor there
but rather
stuck in the
in-between
of certainty
and infinite possibility
only clinging
to the vague
notions of human nature
for comfort

You are a devil who looks like a human but talks like an angel
I’m a pretty blue-eyed girl for which you are the living proof
You swept me off my feet
But I deserve a guy who encourages me to stand
A guy who will let me lean, instead of knocking me down, telling me it’s an act of love
I did not know love could be other than face value
So, when I got your check, I was surprised it came with ownership
Now I just feel sorry for you
Your mind will always be squarer than your jaw
Your soul darker than your eyelashes
Your resentment will always seep through your bones and manifest as hair on your skin
You can try and shave it down
But it will keep coming back – dark and seemingly multiplying

The blackberries on the railway path are ripe.
  The woodland birds are quick to take their share,
while purple fingers pick amongst the hype
  and rabbits hop in the hedgerow somewhere.
A cool wind spirals, rustling fallen leaves,
  carrying distant cries along its way
and bending the amber-tinged tips of trees.
  The sound of summer joys are in decay.
They soften, becoming calmer, quiet,
  like tired eyes in need of time to sleep.
There are some feelings I cannot forget
  and memories I will forever keep.
Meet me along the railway path, my dear,
  to breathe the mellow, autumn atmosphere.

We are made of many faces,
how does anyone know
their own true form?

Business face
Friends face
Kids face
Alone face
Stranger face
Too many faces

Every day we go through
our trunks full of
masks
Switching out our faces as needed
Everyone sees someone different
Everyone is someone different
What is anyone's true face?

The face of being alone,
the face of no one looking for faces because there is
no one to show a face to.
The true face is the face that no one sees.

No one knows.

i guess i
find it strange
the way
people i d e n t i f y
and q u a n t i f y
their existence
according to
a version of
a brand of
the divine,

greatly chosen b y
influenced b y
geography and
  family ties.

and i'm sorry, but,
it cannot be
that everyone is
simply describing
the same
phenomena with
different w o r d s
      like a version
           or an update
   or an accent,

because although life
is grey, some things are,
and some things
are not.

there is but one
merriam-webster
dictionary.

dictionary.com also
defines words,
even the
same words
but they are
distinct entities.

they live under
the umbrella of
    a bigger concept
about words
   and language,

they are versions of
explanations of
a more
e l u s i v e
construct -

the word.

and you cannot even grasp
exactly what
  the word is,
because it
depends on
so many factors.

yet most
grab onto and cling to
the first dictionary
thrown at them.

others might exist
and even be
similar,

but you know
you have your favorite,

you are a
brand loyalist.

and the product
is

reality.

which is fine,
i guess,
in and of
itself

as long as
you can admit
that Kleenex is
the best and
Puffs is for
losers.

sure, you might smile at
the Puffs users and
even bring them
a meal,

but deep down inside
you know that
   you are right

**and they are wrong.

his scent
lingering
on
my skin
my clothes
my bed
my hair
my memories of him

his scent
like cologne and morning kisses
like sunlight peeping in through the shutters
like innocent smiles and laughter laced with love

his scent
reminds me of everything good
and pure in the world

i want his scent all over me
but now
i get it
in fading wafts of air

his scent
to be gone forever
my love
your scent