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I lock my fingers together by the joints like Lincoln logs, there is no "lacing" there. But that's awkward too... so I just return to shakily picking my cuticles to the beat and trying not to puke all over my lap and feet.
Earlier today, I saw a blurb about how this girl wishes
she could write the way that she thinks.
In hurricanes.
Endlessly.
Breathlessly.
About everything.
But especially her “you”.
But I can.
I can write what, and how, I think.
I can write about it until I’m blue.
I can even write every single feeling
I feel about my “you”.
But I choose not to.
Because nobody wants to know
how girls like me think.
And nobody wants my “you”,
embodied over and over again in ink.
Gets old, don’t you think?
So I stay silent and still,
and let every single word sink.
*****.
Dot the i.
Cross the t.
If a *****
Is what
I need
To be
A *****
Is what
You’ll see.
“Oh I’m so sorry, you look just like that guy’s daughter…”
But I’m not.
I’m just the daughter of a dead man.
And I feel it too.
You might be sorry sir
but you are not as sorry as I am,
that’s for sure.
I wish I could dissipate like water
Wind up in a rain cloud in the sky
Fall with the weight of the world
And wait for the sun to dry…
The earth beneath my feet
Mother nature surrounds me
And I..
Am complete.
I am a writer in a generation where words are a dime a dozen…
Chicken feed
Technology is all anybody ever needs.
The only thing worth attention is video streams,
Nobody reads…
The only makeup I wear
Is my sun kissed skin
And a light gloss of sin.
The stain of ink
And a blood driven
Flush of pink.
I’m thankful for the times
That I have what I need
And everyone brave enough
To fight against greed.

Thankful for the roof above my head,
And the socks on my feet
And all the great food I get to make and eat.

Grateful for the love I’m able to give
And even more, the love that I get
For all of the places and faces
I’ll never forget.

Memories of rejoice,
And those that we mourn.
I’m thankful for everything I’ve got
And so much more…
I hate the origins and history of Thanksgiving, not only being Native American but also being a thinking, feeling person. Not to mention the occurrences out in North Dakota happening right now. It’s hard to be light and happy and present but it’s all the more necessary, even. We need the love and unity.
I do love the feeling behind the gatherings and the act of getting together with the ones that you love and expressing your gratitude for them through the simple act of being present and sharing the joy of indulgence.
A time of reflection upon blessings, for lack of a better word, is a beautiful thing and I think that congregating with loved ones is great grounds for this act of gratitude. A setting of love for appreciating what you love. What’s not to love??
And if that’s not what your Thanksgiving was, maybe have another one or, next year, celebrate it with ones that will he conductive to the grandeur of gratitude. And remember, it has a lot to do with you, too.
I dance upon the shards of glass in the sands,
To train myself to always bleed for my stance.

I tiptoe around each snail with trouble yet grace.
Not a single soul, except mine, will be displaced.

I open my arms to both the sunshine and the rain,
For what is basking in light if you don't know pain.
I have days where I swell with pride
About what I have and what is mine
My feet shuffle amongst my space
A subconscious smile lights my face
I never thought I’d have all of this
The fact that I’m even here is bliss
So thankful indeed, grateful I am
It would be a disservice to not expand
You know what bothers me a bit?
Everytime I recall a memory,
Casually, in my train of thought,
It almost always ends with-
“That was a hard time in my life.”
Even in recollections full of kind
That’s almost always
The following thought in my mind.
And ****** if I can find a period of time
That hasn’t been, that wasn’t.
But it doesn’t matter what was…
Or does it?
Yes… yes, it does.
As mad as a cat chasing rats that never leave the walls-
day in and day out-
spent following the scritch-scratch
of their god forsaken paws,
just out of reach.

That would drive any creature livid,
and I’m as mad as that.
Madder even,
I daresay.
I just want to wander around
Beneath the sunshine,
Writing poetry in my mind
About people I see
That will forever be strangers to me
And the companionship
I will never find.
It's insane, how alone lonely feels. It's truly one of those feelings that can not be done justice with words. Such a deep, empty feeling. It's elongating. Hollow yet heavy.
It makes you feel like you'll never connect with another ever again, albeit perhaps fleetingly. It's a feeling that makes you believe all of the voices it brings in tow.
A feeling so tangible, you can build a cocoon around yourself with the soft but slightly damp woolen material that falls over the walls of the maze of rooms that loneliness is.
A smothering cocoon, one you don't emerge from prettier but flightier. Harder to touch. To see. Impossible to tether. One whose easily burned by the light after so much darkness. But drawn to it regardless. And thus, covered in scars.
What stays on your mind,
no matter what you’re doing,
no matter what has your time…
What stays on your mind?
I would much rather lurk in the shadows than dance in the light. You are cheapened with each set of eyes that judge, envy, admire. Enough light will merely turn you into a pyre of broken dreams and desperate wishes. No. This is not for me.
I will be cultivated by the cold dark upon my skin, sustained by that which shrouds me all the more. And when I go into the light… there will be none left. You won’t see me, but you will feel when I close in around you. Just too mesmerized by the dancer in the light to save your soul.
And as I press my hot coffee cup
hard against my chest,
I know this is the warmest
my heart will ever get.
Ever feel like the wind is speaking words
You can almost hear?
Howled syllables that give you shivers
And dance upon the air.
Just a trick, my imagination throwing a fit.
And yet…
Is somewhere there?
Moving at such a momentum that is necessary for the mere realization makes any attempt of catching yourself futile. You’re moving too fast with entirely too much force. Your fingers scrape at hard dirt sides, the glass that sand once was cuts once again. Branches turn into hot, fiery rope in the palms of your hands.
Just fall.
Land well.
And begin to ascend….
Yet again.
The rumble of wheels beneath my heels.
Wind in my hair, forgetting that noone cares.
A heavy heart and a brand new start.
Oh, where should I go?
Will I ever know?
Never forget
Every thing looks
Different
After the
Sun
Sets
Exhale emotion
Like smoke
Like forgetting
The times
You've broke
The reasonable
Amongst the un
Will always be
The world against one.
But the tame
Reap their rewards
While the wild
Are maimed
And unarmed.
Giving a **** is a dying art,
So I guess you can say I’m just another
starving artist
That doesn’t want to be a part of this
anymore.
Depressed,
Frustrated,
Bored.
Where we’ve been,
Where we are…
My only fear is that we can only get so far
Before it’s time to do it all again,
Healing wounds into scars.
We’ve gotten this far.
This game of life is a bargain indeed,
But only when a bargain is what you think you need.
Remember that, remembering back…
We've gotten this far.
Have you ever seen a moth die,
Mid-flight?
Neither have I.
But imagine how it would drift
From the immaterial sky,
Upon the slightest currents of air,
Without even a whisper
That you or I
Would be able to hear..
What a sight.
With love
From above
As a guide,
Seemingly glowing
With mother moon’s light.
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