The clothes on my back...

I can feel them brushing against my skin~

The words of my family

I hear them flooding into my brain

Little flares of light,
I see them into a rushing blur
The responsibility of my age
Watching as the world turns to chaos

The clothes
They restrict me
Tightening
Groping
Strangling me all at once

The Family
They whirl around me
Words pouncing
Steps thundering
Conversations surrounding

Flares roaring
The sight
of the atomosphere...
Raging..........Sparking.......Lighting up
The storm of chaos...Pouring down..Winds of complete and utter colors whipping my mind into a blender. Everything becomes blurry, The stress from all the sounds, the color, the people, the lights, the feelings of clothes, remembering responsibility. Everyone telling me to CALM DOWN

HOW IN HELL am I supposed to CALM DOWN!!!!

My world is I flames BURNING IN MY BRAIN
THE FAMILY, THEY TELL ME I NEED TO CONTROL
CONTROL MY SELF!!! HOW!?!

I AM ON FIRE
EVERYONE, EVERYTHING
BURNING STRANGLING AROUND ME
EVERYTHING CRUMbeling around me,
my mind lumps together, turning to mush
my fingers becoming useless,
everything falls through the surface
as I leave the room
abandoning my responsibilities


The family thinks of me as a monster
I swore words in the form swords at them
All I wanted was the chaos to stop
All I wanted was to stop
the clothes to stop strangling
the light to stop rushing by
the words to stop pounding in my ears
the world,
I just needed it to stop..
Stop..

I am not a monster

I am not trying to be rude

I just wanted to breathe

I was just stressed.

Please
Don't think of me as a monster,
I do not mean to be.

I am just

Stressed.....

Crisp is in the mountains,
Not kin with the sea,
Empty roads,
Not filled with busy bees,
Blank land forever reaching,
Not buildings forever creeping,
Wind is our sound,
Not sirens that can always be found,
Farm land is our job,
Not something you can rob,
Our sweat and our blood go into the dirt
Not by force, but by our work,
You see a potato, we see home,
Not some random dinner which you can let go,
I know you think the apple is great,
But it has a lot on it's plate,
And I'm sure it doesn't care for you,
As much as this warm potato stew,
Which was grown here in Idaho,
just for me and you...

And she says
Nature is the devil’s church
As I feel the birch trees
Fall all around me
And this land
Seems to have an *******
From our birth
From our pain
And she blows her candles out
Like dandelions in acid rain
In Idaho fields
Her own private shield
In Idaho fields
And if all that flies falls
Who will be circling up top
Who will be swimming
Is there any plot of Earth
Free from grid-demise
Worth saving
Worth slaving over
On this black-top
Spinning asphalt
And she says
All the world’s a trap
The trees just create a map
For the pandemonium tax
And the breeze
You best think twice
Before you stare down
The one with medusa hair
In Idaho fields

she is a happy ending,
not everyone can wait for.

“what are we?” she asked

with despair, he replied, ”we’re nothing”

Still water
resting
at the
bottom
of a
Pacific ocean
tide
pool,

reflections
of you
in my
mind
in the
Sunday
morning
light.

sometimes
I can imagine
I hear you
laughter
carried in
harmony
to me
on a
a salt-kissed
circling
wind.

and I
sit for
a moment
and smile.

I always
smile.

it is
a giving
thing that
you do.

your gentle
manner
of truth
and innocence.

I can always
feel it
there in
you eyes...

you are


where
good  poets
go to
die.

down.
close all the borders
close all the universities
no more sporting events
no more company
you stay in your place
I in mine
and we’ll communicate as
we’ve always done –
through the lines