In the meantime I'll be a sweet pus. 
I'll nestle and purr.
And let you weep woes into my pristine fur.
But in my dreams
I'll trace a razored nail across your throat.
I'll taunt you with death. 
I'll be sour and sinister.
And I'll think in extremes.
For the meantime. 
Now I've suffered.
I've simmered in pain.
And now I find myself screaming, "What can I do?"
"Just remember."
I am the inch worm.
I am the sweet and sour pus. 
I am the girl birthed of love
and nurtured by fear.
And I am always remembering myself.

We are the seeds in the shadow. 
We are all we are just now. 
We are dormant.
We are waiting. 
We are agitated.
We are restless.
We are itching our way out of our skins.
We are learning to set forth. 
We are outstretching.
We are reaching towards ourselves.
We are water.
We are light. 
We are the seeds in the shadow.

I've never been one to get on my knees.
At least not for Jesus.
But that was still a sort of worship.
I often didn't care for it.
But I "knew" it would give you a reason to love me. 
That **** is earned 
and served cold. 
I took some months off 
and was asked:
WWJ(ulia)D
Hail yourself sweet sugar.

I have found this feeling again.
It is Sunday.
There is no plan. 
No schedule.
No deadline. 
Nothing to keep me tethered.
So now I'm lost in space. 
And I can't seem to focus.
I am not a regimented being.
But I crave it.
A directive from above. 
Ladybugs trapped between the glass and screen
find their death upon my floor. 
I feel your plight little ones.
But it's no bother to you.
It just is.
And here I am.
Learning how to do the same. 
This conversation is always worth having.
And today I'll have it with the dead ladybugs below my feet. 
I flip through and feel myself flow as the ink does.

Wind whips 
and blows dryness in my face.
The sun is playing peek-a-boo.
There's a chill to it.
Jets fly low and booming.
I'm on the fifth row.
Moving from bundle to soil. 
Hands craving moisture.
Nails taking on a light brown hue.
Body unsure of these positions. 
Fingers probing.
It's been hours 
and there are hours to go. 
This is the way of it. 
The over and over. 
Refining.
Transforming. 
And unpleasantness,
discipline. 
Learnt at the school of candy onions. 


.

Slippery vibrations
work ways through.
Sick solo on the ear drums.
And its smooth going down.
Slips right in.
No trouble to it. 
And now gentle waves cozy in. 
High dive off.
That beat lands deep in the root of it.
And booms from there.
Sending forth a song one line long.
And of the upmost import.
"Feed sweetness to your ears and let your body ride."

Wavering in a state of unease.
And I cant put my finger on it. 
In the daylight.
Waves of restlessness sweep these shores. 
"Please, no more."
Down water crashes. 
Churning and pulling. 
I am looking at myself. 
Drenched.
Smiling. 
I can't help but smile back.
And love her.
I am aware.
I am specific.
I am love.
Even after a day of too much and not enough.
I will always make my way here.
Back home. 
I am my teacher. 
And I am hard.
And fair.
And kind.
And always pushing outward.
This love knows no bounds.