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Nov 2013 · 374
a nightmare
i was standing there
and then i realized it was dark
and then i lost all sense of direction
and then i lost all sense of location
and then i feared i was a step away from falling off a cliff
it's flattering in all the ways that i could fathom you could mean it
my seams, you have seen them,
and still you remember what they look like
it doesnt take me being talked into sending you naked pictures like i did you
for you to understand that sometimes, in the middle of the night, i wake up bare
looking for something, someone, alone, scared
to go home
because i dont know just where home is anymore

that occasionally, i arise with tick tock tears in my eyes
feeling like i am running out of time
like every time i have held my dreams in my hands they have fallen apart
simply to be replaced by  somewere else to start from
you know that i have turned countless treasures through these fingers
let each one slip through like grains of sand
my hands bacame an hour glass
and each one seems like just a sliver of quartz that has passed
shifting for its place to be taken
by grains that are shaken loose
by hopes for the words "i love you" to be true

See, i dont want this to end with me blind
i want to have learned my lesson
by the time that i feel my heart's last pressure
compression, spread through my chest
i want to have understood
that each piece of sand that slipped through was not a loss
but simply fragments of glass
falling into the haphazard mold
of the key
to the lock
that i had always been looking for
It was love, each one, each kind,
it was love that opened the fragile door
the glass, the glass, was not just shattered on the floor
mar.
Oct 2013 · 452
a proverb of sorts.
six things men are eager for ,
even seven things do bring sorrow to hearts,
gain by wicked means,laughter at the sorrow of another,
empty smiles to hide their hearts
fake happiness to eclipse their real sorrow,
wasting time, wasting money,  
even the squandering of the soul
That it has so quickly become so dark
when not yet an hour here has passed
and moments ago the sun stood royal, stark
and whispered in my ear "you own love at last"
But own I thee love?
Or dost thou own me, love?
For but a slave
though far from hopeless
happy are all manner of
man who sells himself for to purchase adoration
selfless, in pursuit of all he chases
he is chasen
for aeons
aging only at the hands of what he sought
for curiosity had hearts and minds quickly bought
given to the wondering
found within, man
abandoned the wind to chase the wind
ever i hope that we shall ne'er again abandon him
abandoned the wind to chase the wind "the hebrew word tranliterted "ruach" means wind, spirit, and breath. it is used of both the spirit of god, and the lifegiving breath of god, as well as the wind all around us. revealing i think.
Oct 2013 · 1.1k
I can take whatever comes.
why can't you just let me break for a minute,
i make this request but dont mistake what is in it
this is not weakness, this is not distress,
this is not that i am broken, i
am just tired and need rest, i mean
even princes get battlewounds it takes time to heal from
if they didnt they wouldnt be nearly as valiant.
even birds get broken wings and
take a little time to let the feathers shift,
back into place, let the barbs that they are hiding,
release to re-embrace,
even kings lose their lovers,
even blind men see pain,
even poor men hold jewels,
and they all look the same until,
you take a second
to take a second glance
sit a minute
to enter
and re enter a trance
an entrance to something more in a person
that you forgot about after that last second chance
simply because
the second second was last
you forgot just how to dance,
how to be free, how to wander,
and stay wondering,
how to ponder, and not fall under
the weight of all those pondwater thoughts
they go deeper than a, well, a lot deeper than a
pothole drop
and they can tend to suffocate you if you allow them to fill your veins
but when you realize that blood is ***** water
then you know you can be okay
because your thoughts become less murky,
perhaps a bit ironically
your glances more steady less jerky,
relax in your stability,
it't not always taking a step back
to take a step back,
sometimes thats
the true identity
of moving on
sometimes i think
that the sky is falling but
then i realize im upside down and
got disoriented while flying
forget the things that threaten to drown me
helpless to stop smiling
i will spend this time to tell you
i wont break,
but it's not for fear or shame of crying,
no, i am strong enough to do that, and that is more healing
than losing a piece of myself,
see, when i cry i leak away things i dont need,
loose currents and  torrents of saline
to bring back to life the dead things
that i buried without trying,
uncover beauty within myself
that i would have told you didnt exist, but,
i was just mistaken, not lying,
i believed every word i said when i said
that i wasnt worth the scars i carried,
that the burdens were too heavy,
that i needed your charity,
that i didnt need to be loved,
then i figured out that
i transcended my scars like i was the stars above,
magnificent in my strength
even by myself and
magnificent in my self love,
that i could accept your handouts but i never would rely on them,
that i could find comfort in your shoulders, that i might even cry on them
but i was never too weak, never to brittle,
never to broken, never too little.
so tonight I am a king,
even though my crown doesnt look like anything youve ever seen
it isnt gold or silver, isnt covered in jewels,
hell, its invisible, you might think im a fraud.
But i know what ive got.
I am a bird, even if ive got hollow or shattered bones
ive got wings even though ive got no home,
i can fly even if you dont believe me,
and, believe me i am not day dreaming.
i may be poor and blind,
but the value is in being visionary
ordinarily, in contradiction youd think
i lose myself, but i found myself there
i may be a prince whose spilled a little blood
but ultimately I am a man,
i can take whatever comes.
Oct 2013 · 885
writing Red
when i imagine, attempt to fathom, the essence of the color red
i am overtaken by the autumn leaves,
i, happily am brought to my knees ,
at the hands of the shivering breeze i,
imagine that the change is as true to the leaves as,
the reality of change, even of the color red, is to me, i
ought to remember flame thrown in crooked sweeps across my face,
fire spat against me when i sought embrace,
anger and hate, hurt and bitter traces of,
memories of crimson dipped lace, it,
was dipped in blood, see i remember that color too, but
if it was dipped in rubies it would look less like her and more like you
then, i might just be able to forget,
the times where she was wordless and my words were spent,
in her mind worth only the spit i spilled from my lips when
i, decided i would in good faith let my love of color loose lips,
shhh, this is not a time for painful trips.
divine roses i think have thorns embedded in their petals
their beauty is more  entwined, inseparable,
than those dying plants i find scattered at the will of God and whimsical gardeners
i have found earth that is so deep rich and red
that i forget about all the dreams i had of my last lover, and past lovers in my bed,
then i realize just how mixed up in my head this color is, i
twist to do what i think is untwist, my
head is wrapped up in this corundum conundrum
, but less i think than the rust flecked fist sized
writhing flesh in my chest, doing its dance more erratically than  explosions from
bombs dropped on cities where i don't live
(why should i care?)
well, red. . .
red. . .
is the color of your hair.
time is money
because its current, see?
I would pay you or get payback
but i dont have time currently
i would settle my debts without dollars and cents
it makes no sense
that no one is with me right now

I might rail, might take the wrong road
might, fail, to hear the morse code
throw pennies on the tracks and hope to make a change
flip switches to trick attentions
i guess i may have another track intended
may be making people notice only things im okay with them not missin
maybe give them my name and not much else,
pass by and remember that train kids dont need much help
(they could always help themselves)

but lets get real

i could turn a dollar into more
change if a quarter was worth for names
asked from people,
stories, i could give them two
for each way
life has treated them like it's treated you
i could feed them once with no fast food
in sight, I, could
invest, gamble, roll the dice
and expect more than crap when i
first, not second, give them even a second of my life

disregard my self inflicted fun,
forget my little ticks and triggers, and tricks ive rendered,
signifigant
lay down my hands, they quiver, and sweat, im shivering,
im not serious enough to hold a gun to
my own head, not hungry enough to
make someone else eat lead

i could help find hope where its lost because the truth there is lacking
speak life in the streets where people are cracking
and stumbling home to slum thrones,
garbage cans the only thing theyve got to sit on,
to **** in,
their pillows only hard times and peoples harsh tones,
dreams gone, face down, can only see grime and cobblestones
shaped like the next **** day
and moving on
again,
less than a fox theyve got no hole,
but we all act like they just shoudlve known
better, than to set out on their own,
like we're less broken and more whole

we should speak hope,
but no.

it might rain, we might get soaked
undoubtedly there will be pain,
and there's never enough soap,when we
shake the hands of those hobos

we are tired of looking for something different with the same hints,
tired of looking for new colors with different hues
theyre still the same people, must be the same clues, ignore them,
theyre even all wearing ruined clothes,
they havent sobered up or dried out,
theyre worth about  as much dryer lint
you want to argue?
okay, no. ****.
thats what you meant.


when it comes to whats current, whats common
we say why not stay soaking wet
why not flow with the currents, and sink to the bottom,
well, as you wish,
forget change, we'll throw ours in fountains when we visit malls
i was there yesterday, it didnt cost me a thing.

we say
why not remember
that money more often than not brings rage and riches, rags on people til they need stitches
spikes need and hunger and breeds unscratched itches,
but it can pay for needles and
women lay on their back for a ruble,
a nickel, swallow the bitter truth just like...well... um
let's just say
not one of us cares about em

sadly i think it's us whove lost our scruples,
is that what theyre calling it nowadays?

why not scratch them anyway?
why not always wear the trends that fade?
become the thing that fades, to gray?
away...
why not say
okay?
I've got a feeling that I say a lot less
than my words wish to or attempt to express
I am a catalytic for healing, revealing, and relieving our mutual distress,
but trust, I'm as broken or more than the rest,
and i have something to give but i'm not sure what that is, so,
I'll do my best to release each thing that is in my hands,
to align and realign my motives, to show and show again,
the only thing i know is
exactly what you need.
I will allow nothing,
horrific even or grotesque,
to make me leave,
because you are beautiful and beautifully addressed,
as a daughter of a king,
it is a privilege for me,
to be so barren,
in a way i am undressed,
I will fight my best not to be ashamed of everything i throw before your feet
emptiness unfurled, i will not fake comfort
but i pray i do not fear to cast my pearls,
after all, you are not filthy, nor swine,
but clean, and a girl.

I would know you.
Terrified already and i haven't even  began to be able to express
all that I've realized with this vulnerableness
I have begun to helplessly and at the hand of God invest
i don't understand at all and i find little rest
in the fact that I've said the same words to a lover but they didn't likewise
peel back the skin to reveal the heart, or sometimes, in some places
the lack of one in my chest

You're unsure if i am even worthy to know
and granted i understand that before you've
heard the antagonist of what you've been shown
but to hear that, be shut down, when so far, so hard i push,
to open places in you closed for ages past,

I am not struck with rage but with confusion
, and pain, and paint on faces,
that i can see through but do not know what lies behind
the transparencies, and their clarity,
do not ease my mind

God i am trying.
Sep 2013 · 490
i do not leave
sit here, tempt, try lines, smiles and uncertainties,
truth tangled in the question of the why behind the reasons i
understand that you will run and hide away, but understand,
i am uncertain why but i must stay, that i can conceive
not of a single thing that could possibly make me leave you alone
i want to get to know you, break through  the way that you think that you are stone
through the cold, break through all the strangleholds
that tighten tick by tick, inch by neck bruising inch
i want to see you breathe, i want to see you set free
but tonight i feel your pain, and great though it will be
i do not leave.
Sep 2013 · 878
see through
laid bare before you but not by your own hands
as naked now as the night i joined my soul to hers or more
i am clothed
and yet inexplicably driven to connect to you
i lay open the wounds that still gape with
holes perfect to press fingertips open into, perfect to re open
no sugar, no sweetness in my voice, no manipulation, my words barely even my choice,
choked out, almost choked out, but surviving
to make it through my throat and past my lips
teasing my eyes to tears i can barely breathe through
i am see through
and
you don't even know if i am worth getting to know
but somehow, someway i will show
you the truth
i am as worth getting to know s you.
that this nakedness is not my way of trying to get you naked
it is no ploy to gain power over your scattered, shattered heart
that day in the little study room
Do you remember when everything we had
was just merry go rounds and shared
words and tears
shed over others
over several years
and not between ourselves
when our scars were the shapes
that childishness could still hide
and for the sake of others we put our desires on secret shelves
and we still talked and there were still lines to read between
and hide behind
and we used to walk and together lose our minds
in parking lots sitting in trucks
bad to the bone - thats what those moments were to us-
when windshields scattered tears of the sky,
and as much as we laughed we really wanted to cry-
do you remember when you told me that you get scared in thunderstorms
so i always came to see you when it was raining
do you remember? Before i called you baby?
I still wanna be that, and i  am missing it lately
i'm sorry, but i'm sorrier those days escape me.
Sep 2013 · 443
well.....
countless emptinesses charactized as virtues
countless directions when we really dont know what to do
abundance of the lack of truth
lack of abundance of much of anything
wells run dry
we are ready
waiting to be filled
pour into us
we will be powerless not to overflow.
you are the tiniest of scattered things
remembered in the cloudiest of dreams
so vivid when i sleep, sink deep, or
fly high into my head,
you are the characters in the books i have read,
the heroes, both living, and dead,
you are among the greatest of my ambitions,
you are a man, and to become one like you were is my mission,
but you are missing,
you were father, healer of hurts, great counselor,
confidante,
you were there when i was in the room,
but i was not,
when i broke into two,
a shell of me, and i,
wishfully, blissfully,
irridescent moon,
you are, silver-hair, scattered through the many rooms,
the sudden, unexpected trill of an old familiar tune,
you are sometimes the songs you sang,
sometimes the silences
sometimes the gentle rain
sometimes my tears, or violences,
the woods we walked, the talks we talked
the cluttered house,
faded graphite, scribbled in the corners of notebooks, on walls,
in phonebooks, and on all
of my cards,
you are often here
when i am gone
and i am often gone
when you are near
it is the reuniting that i long for,
it is the forgetting that i fear.
you are all around me, but fading,
you are a pencil drawing,
losing its shading.
a perfect snapshot, on aging paper
once and only once a perfect snapshot, later
smeared, torn, lost, or forgotten,
burned, replaced with another, eaten by moths,
found wet, molded, yellowed, or rotten.
Returned to earth, or dust, or ash,
and though i long  to hold you in a perfect memory..
time...
must pass.
i miss you.
A tree whose roots lie deep within the earth
stabbed into the stone foundation of faith
a place of shadow - obscured and often miscalculated
whose leaves seek sunlight
and the warmth of glory
as they unfurl
from the trunk rooted in the past
from shadow to lightgrows the tree
especially when it catches fire
May 2013 · 336
Inspired by a zen saying
Knock on the sky and listen to the sound
It sounds much like footsteps forward, and their memory on the ground.
Human:
made to be broken:
for restoration
Words:
made to be spoke:
to silence creation.

For shadows
marked the victory of light
when thunderheads
turned midday into night
and earthquakes
ripped the skin off of a goat
when peace and quiet
broke the purple coat

two forked tongue
split truth in half
with a lie;
with three words
man made a lie a laugh
as he cried
out to his father
"it is finished"
before he was done
removing the sting from a dragon
as he awoke
wrapped in the cloak
of sunday's morning
they were no longer mourning
sun
More of a poet than she knows
and it shows
God breathes life into her words
They flow
from the top of my head through my toes
the imprint they leave
echoes. . .
             echoes. . .
shell.
Apr 2013 · 433
It is beyond rare
it is beyond rare...
this could truly result in a marriage not of body...
but of souls...
a picture of  something indivisible -
with lines that are indistinguishable
I Dont have my own heart, Jesus does, I gave it to Him for safe keeping...

Well...the way I view it. (the way I fantasize it in my head)
is that I've given it away to Jesus until He sees fit to give it away for me...
because if I held my own heart to give away to whomever I please,
who knows where it would end up!
But He has always known who the person is I should give it to,
and that's why I have it to Him:
so I wouldn't give it away before I should.
..

this is an excerpt from **'s mind

In a sense yes,
but there are many layers of the heart.
The deepest parts
yes
He will always keep,
but some are meant to be shared
and yes,
given away...but in more in a sense of a trading of hearts...


No He doesn't want our porcelain hearts broken,
but maybe there's a beauty in Him allowing one to behold another's heart in a way..
.and then it's up to the holder to rely on God to help them care for and cherish it...
maybe God wants to see if the holder would be so selfless as to let Him continue holding it...
My brain thinks in strange ways sometimes.

you already are that selfless.

And as to the trading, the man is not the only holder of a heart. You should know this.

I believe you can, as long as you continue in your steadfast pursuit of God's heart.



I mean that yes, a woman gives her heart to a man,
but doesn't a man also give his heart to the woman?
So they are both charged with the responsibility
to care for and not break the other's heart.
But if they have both given their hearts to God,
then He puts them together
and it is then not even a creation of human design at all, but completely His.
And we have already voiced the desire for someone who wants the other to pursue and love God more than us.
That's probably a pretty hard thing to stick to...

We have the potential to do that. Just the fact that we have both voiced--of our own desires--that we want the other to love God more...it's so incredibly rare!
i suppose in one way, i desire to have your heart.
but it is and will always remain true that i am not the one who should hold it,
that as much as id like to be entrusted that much,
i shouldn't be, because at least in some small way, i would break it.?"

maybe he should never give it away..perhaps only allow it to be borrowed by careful hands...

it is that utmost obsession of his  -
that which he desires to show off to any who would avidly appreciate it -
as long as they did so whilst respecting it -
he doesn't want his prized heart to be chipped or broken -
and it - like all hearts - is porcelain brittle

not strange...
that...
that may just be the way in which a man can most beautifully experience the heart of another

i...wonder if i ever could be that selfless...
when i have wanted a heart for my own for so long...

I really don't believe I am..
and even if I am, the question then is can i consistently remain such?


i know God holds hearts...
and so can men..
.i do not know whether there is some counter intuitive phenomenon
in which a heart can be fully and equally held by more than one...
and as such im just rolling over how hearts work..
.or should work...
in the context of marriage and avoiding the tendency to
"seek to please ones spouse before god"
as will undoubtedly be the case for any man who marries any woman -
if not the enacting of
then the leaning towards



so-
the wrong question for the situation -
not -
who holds the hearts -
but who holds the HEART -
not the trading or the giving, but the merging and the making into a single entity
wholly dedicated to the pursuit of the higher and more beautiful realities of God

it is a nigh impossible feat and one that only God can perpetuate in any human being

one flesh indeed-
one body needs only have one heart
your heart from the screen of my computer,
secreted away into some place where i can keep it :D

Gasped and said I stole your heart -
I thought you had given it to me -

You said it wasn't yours to give - that HE was holding onto it for you -
for safe keeping -
i felt like it needed to be kept safe from me -


"i meant the one in the IM
this one  <3
not that thing in your chest
or..i think i did...maybe i didnt? idk"

"Oh haha! Tehe yes. That one I did give you.
...you must love her a lot

I do...sometimes...i actually begin to think that this love might be outside myself, and greater than most anything ive ever laid eyes or skin on.

This love truly exists?
Is it really possible to find someone who sees love this way?
Who doesn't put it in a box, belittle it, say it's a feeling or a mere hormone
...but sees it for the mystery that it is:
something so simple and delicate
and yet
so powerful and strong
at the same time.
Something to not be taken lightly
but to be cherished and watered so it might grow...
The fingerprints of one who loves to caress our very souls
and lay such thoughts on our minds to ponder...

It does exist.
And though it may find itself flowing through the riverbeds of fingertips,
they cannot grasp it.
Though it may attach itself to and entwine itself into the skin - and those things deeper -
the heart- the mind - perhaps even the blood of human beings -
it is not able to be put in a vial.
It cannot be captured.
It always runs free.
It may be muted or obscured - but in its truest - its purest forms -
it is both knowable and unknowable -
in the sense that one may become intimate with it -
caress it -
hold it -
even kiss it -
but that it may not be intellectually or understandably grasped
by any inkling of any atom that exists -

the only thing that can possibly understand or encompass it - is the entirety of everything .
It is found in creation inherently.
It is in the sunlight and the blooms of spring.
It is in the rivers - the curves of smooth red cliffs-
It is in life turned to death turned into life again
it is in the hands of a creator of such magnitude that they are infinite -
and as the environment in which it exists is infinite and ever reaching -
so is that thing itself called love
Apr 2013 · 479
Flabbergasting
she's this brilliant fiery thing..
.shes soaks up sun and it seems sometimes that her skin spits starlight back out -
not out of its lack of deliciousness -
it doesn't have one of those
-out of her tendency to become something akin to sunlight
conversations with her become art.
poems that i never would have written had she shunned what words id given her
Apr 2013 · 2.4k
Nocturne to noonday sun
sinews held in by rivets rh-rhy-rhythymed apart
frayed like cello bowstrings - the silly string hallways of hearts
a war where the marching drums sound like violins
the weapons wielded merge heartbeats and equestrian -
hook-hairs that snare the steely strings
ones not quite so metallic as we think -
they've frayed like flesh and refrained-
from sn-snaa-snapping -but just barely-
they still trip - trying to make music merrily -
still beat themselves up -with the singsong self-hate they're carring
they prefer to hide in the woods at the moment -
their cries as slight as the winds - perhaps they're out of breath
from trumpeting explanations - or perhaps they wish to rest -
tired of touching lips-
to instruments----------------
- they don't want this symphony to crescendo into treble this time
-  they're starting from the base up -
Happy for now and trying to hold their face up-
they are aware that they could be used
to make garottes  -or grand music -
to suffocate mute musician's who refuse to hear their sound -
or strangle guitar necks as deceptive cadence mimics resonance and resolve-
. . .
.........
there's a duet full of dissonance and you won't-
believe it but by the tear-tearing disbelief
you will timber like a tree -tone in two-
voices arguing inside of you- staccato soliloquies -
punctuated with melodic defeat -
intercede with a sharp or two - cut down to the root, the truth -
result in music i can dance to - symphonies , harmonies, rounds -
we are notes - in twoes and fours - together we are sounds-
adagio acrobatics emanat from where our feet touch the ground
in time, intonation the same as our romantic inclinations -
dances we just both seem to know - impromptu instrumentations-
the interval betwen  these two half notes made whole is zero-
you're a maestro whose got my heart crying in half time
-its the sound of requiem turned serenade - I was Alive on our wedding day -
and so were you - proceeded by a promenade -
of promises -
a recital of something more than just lyrics -
you said I Do to me-
a staff of out of sync harmonics
It's ironic  - I worship with shhhh- under my fingernals
and you - you love the sound - and the smell

Dancing so long that nocturne
turned to noonday sun -
until I , nightingale, and you the gales in night-
are one
Apr 2013 · 962
A distinct memory
i found two stones of onyx
they did differ in their size
i found them above soft red rock cliffs
surrounded by circles like shattered stars
of fire so blue in some places
it shakes and laces white
writhing, like water struck by light-
ning - flecks of sea-
shot upward by electric energy

i can see without  a mirror
into the eyes of the storm
like a whirlpool that wrecks ships
whitewater that rarely quits
unexpected instant shifts when at about six inches away
sideways to sit beside you
forward sometimes (in my minds eye mind you)
i sit where i sit
but envision lip skip space to lips
to sip redlipped kisses, miss,
momentarily slip over simple clever quip
let out in sunshine after a snare drum stutter or two
I...I..I have a girlfriend, but who are you?
Like the fire and water that is in it
He prays. He hears. He is in it. It is finished.
Night and Day
He begins and ends in no place.
Like a flood, vortexed, making me
become introspect
You have set yourself as a seal upon my skin
This mark was made by no mere man
My brother and my father,
my lover are suns,
swept away in a sacrifice of blood
The moon is made of me and I Am
a child of fire, born of the same God deemed desire
There is truth hidden in this tattoo

I lay my hand on an alter of incense
may it smolder and remind me of you
Alpha, Omega, white light from night
you pray, you hear, you speak
and the x's and squares flatten into
lines that direct them to your might
http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JUAaHurdCMM/TVSnqzqoE5I/AAAAAAAAAZY/gDJ1uUKeJz0/s1600/24-7-prayer.jpg

This is a link to a picture of a 24/7 prayer symbol. I have the sun/moon tattooed on my palm.
Apr 2013 · 950
Making love to a mountain.
Left. Creek. Splash.
Above. Creek. Like  a waterfall.
Shuffling on the rocks

Music stuck in my head
the crackling of fire pops in the mix of
maroon five and
early a.m. skies
stars
flicker in and out
the breath of a man
just through making love
to a mountain

I should do this more often.
with the hippie who knows hell, the void, so well
enticed by the tongues of other lovers
i have wondered under the cover
of wildernesses and near misses
come close but never been romanced like this
had my heart held but compared to this all that was a just a tryst
deeper than eternity and farther than your edges
your desire, your fire, your water, are edgeless
rip me away in the undertow
let me forget that if i swim at the perfect angle i can escape,
set me so much on fire that my entire desire is to drown,
set me so much on fire that the only way for me to survive is for me to be new, being renewed, and thrive,
set me so much on fire that i am
hungry
thirst
to burn
to drown
Mar 2013 · 503
God is a fire and a flood.
I come to consume!
Do not limit what i come to do !
Let loose!
let me blaze through you!
explode your edges into emptiness!
take away your senses,
burn you senseless,
set your edges on fire.
do not limit me!
do not limit my desire!

I come to make you drown!
knock your feet from under you and drag you down!
Don't tell me how!
beg for it to be now!
be hungry, thirsty!
don't tell me where!
I will do it here!
don't ask me when!
i do it now!

Fire and flood
my spirit led by my blood
i melt away
i wash away
the deep and secret sins i heat
they rise to the top of your skin
i wash them away
again and again
these words i whisper yo you and your kin
speak lovingly, I am calling them in
I am not afraid of the wars I wage
I am not scared of losing sight of your face
I am at peace
in this war we wage
your victory is this day

I will not bow to the kings of the dust
i will not bow to my failures or lust
I rest fresh in your embrace
a child at last, i have seen your face
traced its edges with my fingertips
heard the love blaze through your lips
touched your cheeks, they felt like mine
I rest on your lap, content this time
to know you
to know you
Mar 2013 · 6.1k
The song of the waterfall
water flows from your heart to mine
I am set on fire
Many waters cannot quench
this raging desire
I am being consumed
but here i stand,
renewed

you flow from my head to my feet
you drip from my hair past my cheek
soak through my skin and infiltrate my chest
I am set on fire
but it is here that i find rest

In the heart of the waterfall
I dance
motionless

In the heart of the waterfall
i am bathed by your hands

let me soak
in the song of the waterfall
let me sit still in the flames
i won't run at all
let me soak
in the song of the waterfall
i want your heart
i want it all
Mar 2013 · 401
eyes closed, i go
eyes closed, lips drip fire tonight
it tastes like honey, thick and sweet
you set our hearts and tongues on fire
and you give us beautiful feet

we will go
we will not wait on the morrow
we are going
we will not wallow in sorrow

Arise!
your voice whispers to the fire inside
it flickers, it brightens, it melts off my skin
the things i though were hidden deep within
but you see me
you see me
you call me by name.

I will go
I will not wait on the morrow
I go now
even though I dont know how
I go
eyes closed
I go
Mar 2013 · 699
a vision of new life?
my arm, maliciously stripped from fingertip to mid bicep of flesh, dripping blood, ragged and torn. I ****** it up into the air in defiance and victory, and in the spirit of this movement, the heart of it, my arm burst into an oak tree.
all the lapses in time
mix like melted crayons
i'm tired and wish that they could stay on
my skin, but they drip down and in
to a puddle at my feet
the moments that drip, slip away
are the ones that i wish that i could keep
but they melt, mix and make
a puddle so deep
i should step in
i'd be delighted to sink
take turns to tip back and taste each one like a drink
splash, spill each one over my skin
make each a mess for memory's sake
turn, tilt, and take time to
clothe my self in all the caressing colors
like a motley collage
of rainbows turned chameleon camouflage
i'll hide in the folds of these memoreies
for earth's forever
fly where they take me
daydreaming while waking
splash in a puddle comprised of the past
pbpbpbpbpbpbp play in a puddle of
paint like
late night
rain puddle baptisms
and fake rage spasms
and faces so cute it's hard to look at em
money could buy happiness if
someone bottled and sold the sunlight that we napped in
on the sidewalk
the opposite appearance but the same substance
as our late night...not dates...adventures...and deep talks
the early Tuesday morning
walks and discovering
our very own piece of paradise
complete with waterfall
the overall romance
like an always sheepish glance filled swing dance
the innocence...
the spontaneity and
"do-it-you-won't-i-wouldn't-even-be-mad" spring break trips
taco bell and heathens and sheathens, HELL!!! comments
fresh beginnings and new starts
curious minds and ravenous hearts
lakes that look like bits of Scotland
and arms with seals also on hearts
(ar ar ar)
memories like melted crayons in a puddle at my feet
he will take the memories that i can't shake
Got silken silver scratches etched deep into my ring,
their lascivious lines lick up and down like an ecg
they match the beat of my heart when with kisses i am carefree
It says surrendered but it's a constant act of surrendering
I twirl it in circles
I realize it is not a shackle
I realize that it is protection
That in its silver and ebony reflection
I see a more beautiful picture of the future of this thing
That where the esses sliver into scratches of black at their edges
i trace my faith, my face with my eyes  in introspection
and where the three ees travel in between the other letters on the ring
there on the surface, its purpose is surfacing
your craving for life is insatiable
i watch you
devour the sun
you
attempt to drink
entire storms
the entire horizon
with
the way that you tilt back your head and stretch out your arms
Feb 2013 · 561
Fire dance with unrestraint
Fire
dance
with unrestraint
happy to consume
all space that surrounds you
and to
captivate and capture
equal and other elements
you are
passion
unhinged
by beauty
you are
hungry, and chasing
yet
content to
flutter
in innocence and ferocity
right where you stand
Feb 2013 · 587
coming;) and going
I've got poems tattooed on me but they go deeper than my skin, ink seeps deep into my soul, as quickly as the pentip needle dips in, dips out, like an illicit lover who has disappeared in the morning, she comes, and she goes.
Feb 2013 · 1.3k
My heart inscribed
To you
I want to be an open book
want you to pick me up, dust me off, take another look
But my pages haven't been traced in ages
not by fingertips or by faces

open me up
I don't care if you have to crack my spine
If that's what it takes to see through this cover o mine
then snap me open
and lace your fingers, let traces linger
over the calligraphy carved into my core
match the curve of my vertebrae
with questions that ask me if i am my metaphor

I have a plethora of pages, an abundance of euphemisms
inscribed into my essence, in a sense
I AM words
words that are not satisfied with being scanned
words with a hunger to be studies, syllogized
words that wish to be read over and eaten
by ravenous eyes and enfamished minds

Scour the syllables ensconced in me
etch and re-etch them with your pen
hold the precious print close to your skin
be a hungry page, and let the ink sink deeper in
I'll be a book and you be my scribe
look so close at my words that you lose sight of the divide
seek and discover
my heart inscribed
in every letter
every line
Glade
Evergreens
laden
thick and heavy with water
drops falling to earth intermittently
like a child's hands slapping at dirt
ruffling forest floor
uninterrupted
quiet
amidst chaos
of torrential rain
and torrential river
KISS ME
LIKE A TORRENT
RAIN ON YOUR LIPS

Im not scared to drown,
I'll let you pull me in
Feb 2013 · 617
first kisses in the forest
First kisses in the forest
torrent's rage calmed by evergreen noise reduction
a two minute climb from chaos to peace
from where I'm glad it didn't happen to where i'm glad it did
we held close in the forest
in freezing rain and river spray
saw an owl alight frightened
he watched i bet as we talked
made our way from river trail to overlook
overlooked lights that feel like a city
but really are only scattered campus buildings
and fall into each other
fold a few more times into this
dancing. . . hold me close
and a second and third kiss

you said your hands were cold
so i held them
you said my jacket was freezing
it had drank part of the river
and so you stuck your soaked hands
between my coat, shirt
above my skin
i was tickled by your fingertips
your head rested rested in the crest of my shoulder
we "danced" and danced in the rain
your lips tickled my
lips,
and then my neck,but not in kisses
but in sweet proximity
lacking anticipation
completely happy with sitting still
as you nuzzled deeper into me
“The Silicon Tower of Babel”
The over utilization of technology, its abuse, is unweaving humanity at the seams. Human health, sanity, and spirituality are under attack. The boom of accessibility over technology has increasingly subtracted from the frequency of face to face human interaction as well as human interaction with nature. The result is a declining emotional and psychological health and a ******* of spiritual values. Each individual who values holistic health should limit the time he or she spends using technology that isolates them to less than twenty-four hours in a week. They should make more purposeful efforts toward interacting with nature daily and for periods of at least an hour at a time. Lastly, these individuals should labor to replace reclusive technologies with modes of technology that encourage face to face and group social interaction such as movies, Skype, etc.
Self-limitation of the use of isolating technology will begin to correct the twisting of our spiritual values and the social and physiological damage that has been caused by the overuse and abuse of technology. In James T. Bradley’s review of Joel Garreau’s book discussion of radical evolution, called “Odysseans of the twenty first century”, Bradley quotes Garreau when he says that technology will result in human transcendence. In “Odysseans” it is said that “The nature of transcendence will depend upon the character of that which is being transcended—that is, human nature.”  James. T Bradley, scholar and author of this peer reviewed journal says that “When we’re talking about transhumanism, we’re talking about transcending human nature. . .  One notion of transcendence is that you touch the face of God. Another version of transcendence is that you become God.”  This is a very blatant ******* of the roles of God and man. When the created believes it can attain the greatness of its creator, and reach excellence and greatness on par with its God, it has completely reversed the essence of spirituality. This results in the ability to justify the “moral evolution of humankind” according to Odysseans. And this “moral evolution” often results in “holy wars”. In “Man in the age of technology” by Umberto Galimberti of Milan, Italy, written for the Journal of Analytical Psychology in 2009, technology is revealed to be “no longer merely a tool for man’s use but the environment in which man undergoes modifications.” Man is no longer using technology. Man is no longer affecting and manipulating technology to subdue our environments. Technology is using, affecting, and manipulating the populace; it is subduing humankind into an altered psychological and spiritual state.
Technology, in a sense, becomes the spirituality or the populace. It replaces nature and the pure, technologically undefiled creation as the medium by which the common man attempts to reach the creator. The common man begins to believe in himself as the effector of his Godliness. Here there is logical disconnect. People come to believe that what they create can connect them to the being that created nature. They put aside nature and forget that it is an extension of the artist that created it. Technology removes man from nature (which would otherwise force an undeniable belief in a creator) and becomes a spiritual bypass. “According to “The Only Way Out Is Through: The Peril of Spiritual Bypass” by Cashwell, Bentley, and Yarborough, in a January 2007 issue of Counseling and Values, a scholarly and peer reviewed psychology journal, “Spiritual bypass occurs when a person attempts to heal psychological wounds at the spiritual level only and avoids the important (albeit often difficult and painful) work at the other levels, including the cognitive, physical, emotional, and interpersonal. When this occurs, spiritual practice is not integrated into the practical realm of the psyche and, as a result, personal development is less sophisticated than the spiritual practice (Welwood, 2000). Although researchers have not yet determined the prevalence of spiritual bypass, it is considered to be a common problem among those pursuing a spiritual path (Cashwell, Myers, & Shurts, 2004; Welwood, 1983). Common problems emerging from spiritual bypass include compulsive goodness, repression of undesirable or painful emotions, spiritual narcissism, extreme external locus of control, spiritual obsession or addiction, blind faith in charismatic leaders, abdication of personal responsibility, and social isolation.”  Reverting back to frequent indulgence in nature can begin to remedy these detrimental spiritual, social, and physiological effects.  If people as individuals would choose to daily spend at least an hour alone in nature, they would be healthier individuals overall.
  Technology is often viewed as social because of its informative qualities, but this is not the case when technologies make the message itself, and not the person behind the message, the focus.  To be information oriented is to forsake or inhibit social interaction.  Overuse of technology is less of an issue to human health if it is being overused in its truly social forms. Truly social forms of technology such as Skype and movies viewed in public and group settings are beneficial to societal and personal health. According to a peer-reviewed study conducted by John B. Nezlek, the amount and quality of one’s social interactions has a direct relationship to how positively one feels about one’s self. Individual happiness is supported by social activity.
Abuse of technology is a problem because it results in spiritual *******.  It points humanity toward believing that it can, by its own power, become like God.  Abuse of technology inclines humanity to believe that human thoughts are just as high as the thoughts of God. It is the silicon equivalent of the Tower of Babel.  It builds humanity up unto itself to become idols. In extreme cases overuse of technology may lead to such megalomania that some of humanity may come to believe that humanity is God.  Technology is a spiritual bypass, a cop-out to dealing with human inability and depravity. The misuse of technology results in emotional and psychological damage. It desensitizes and untethers the mind from the self. It causes identity crises. Corruption of technology from its innately neutral state into something that negatively affects the human race results in hollow social interactions, reclusion, inappropriate social responses, and inability to understand social dynamics efficiently.
It may appear to some that technology cannot be the cause of a large-scale social interrupt because technology is largely social. However, the nature of technology as a whole is primarily two things: It is informational; it is for use of entertainment. Informational technology changes the focus of interaction from the messenger to the message. Entertainment technology is, as a majority, of a reclusive nature.
Readers may be inclined to believe that nature is not foundational to spirituality and has little effect on one’s spiritual journey, it is best to look through history. Religions since the beginning of time have either focused on nature or incorporated nature into their beliefs. Animists believe that everything in nature has a spirit. Native American Indians like the Cherokee believe that nature is to be used but respected. They believe that nature is a gift from the Great Spirit; that earth is the source of life and all life owes respect to the earth. Christians believe that it is the handiwork of God, and a gift, to be subdued and used to support the growth and multiplication, the prosperity and abundance of the human race.
In a society that has lost touch with its natural surroundings it is sure that some believe that nature has little effect on health, as plenty of people live lives surrounded by cities and skyscrapers, never to set foot in a forest or on red clay and claim perfect health. However, even in the states of the least contact possible with nature, nature has an effect on human health. The amount of sunlight one is exposed to is a direct factor in the production of vitamin D. Vitamin D deficiency has been determined to be linked to an increased likelihood of contracting heart disease, and is a dominant factor in the onset of clinical depression. Nature has such a drastic effect on human health that the lack of changing season and sunlight can drive individuals to not only depression, but also suicide. This is demonstrated clearly when Alaska residents, who spend half a year at a time with little to no sunlight demonstrate a rate of suicide and clinical depression diagnoses remarkably higher than the national average.
Dependence on technology is engrained in our society, and to some the proposed solution may not seem feasible. They find the idea of so drastically limiting technology use imposing. They do not feel that they can occupy their time instead with a daily hour of indulgence in nature. For these individuals, try limiting isolating technology use to 72 hours a week, and indulging in nature only three times a week for thirty minutes. Feel free to choose reclusive technology over social technologies sometimes, but do not let technology dominate your life. Make conscious efforts to engage in regular social interactions for extended periods of time instead of playing Skyrim or Minecraft. Watch a movie with your family or Skype your friends. Use technology responsibly.
To remedy the effects of the abuse of technology and the isolations of humanity from nature, individuals should limit their reclusive technology use to 24 hours in a week’s time, indulge in nature for an hour daily, and choose to prefer truly social technologies over reclusive technologies as often as possible. In doing so, individuals will foster their own holistic health. They will build and strengthen face-to-face relationships. They will, untwist, reconstruct and rejuvenate their spirituality. They will be less likely to contract emotional or social disorders and will treat those they may already struggle with.  So seek your own health and wellbeing. Live long and prosper.
Diversity of motivation among self-harming individuals

An estimated one in twelve teenagers has committed self-harm. Of those many will continue self-injuring into young adult hood. Yet older adults are not immune to committing this act. In 2003-2004 adults age 25-44 were responsible for nearly fifty percent of reported/discovered self-harm cases.  There are many reasons that people self-harm. These reasons may include self-harming as a survival mechanism, self-harm as an outer expression of inner emotional turmoil, and self-harm as a means to exercise control over one’s environment.
Contrary to popular thought, only one in ten people who make the decision to self-harm are suicidal. The majority of people who cause injury to themselves willfully have a wish to avoid killing themselves. The act of self-harm is developed as a “technique” to cope and survive the afflictions of life. How can we know that this is the reasoning or thought behind the action of self-harm? “Cutters” typically reason out the least amount of damage that will “remedy” the stress intensive situation that they find themselves in, and exercise an enormous amount of restraint in inflicting only a measured amount of damage. Cutters’ common logic is that through this expression of injury, further damage to their selves may be headed off. --------, a former cutter, attests to the reality of this when he says, “Every time that I touched a blade to my skin, I would resist making a larger cut, a deeper wound. Every time that I hurt myself, I did so only in response to what drove me over the edge; Each time the amount of physical damage that I did was the very least that I could muster. I fought to do the least damage I could, no matter how intense the pain that I felt became.” He sums it up rather nicely.
Secondly, self-harm is used as an outward expression of deeper, more complex emotional and psychological phenomena. It is not a diagnosis; it is a symptom. It is a symptom of a struggle that is inherited by victims of abuse, those who lose a loved one, or experience other traumatic events during their childhood. These groups are far more likely to indulge in self-harm. One study conducted by Boudewyn and Liem found that of those college students that reported a history of self-harm, fifty two percent had been sexually abused as a child. Those that self-harm do not simply cut to cut, burn to burn, or mutilate to mutilate. There is a deeper motivation. This motivation is commonly emotional. These motivational emotions are often the results of tragic or traumatic life experiences. It is seldom that a cutter’s motivation is a want for attention.  In fact, most cutters are chameleons.
Self- harm is used as a tool to exercise control in a chaotic environment over which one would not otherwise have any means to control. Among chaos and turmoil such as the loss of a parent or close friend, relational betrayal, divorce of one’s parents, or consistent, one time, or sporadic physical, emotional, or ****** abuse an individual is radically more likely to engage in self-harm. Outside reasoning on this is only speculative. For this reason it is valuable to look at the action from the perspective of those who commit it. Cody, the same individual mentioned earlier says something else that lines up with this common scholarly opinion. He says “I remember the very first time I cut myself intentionally. I was in the ninth grade, in the school bathroom. I had just experienced what I saw as betrayal by my best friend of about ten years. I felt like I lost him. I felt like things were spinning out of control, and I couldn’t control the way I felt about it all. The only way I could feel that control was with something sharp in my hand.” This is characteristic not only of ----- but also of many other cutters.
Cutters are not (necessarily) crazy. On the surface it may appear that cutting goes against the ingrained survival and self-preservation instincts in human beings. This is actually the opposite of the truth. Many who cut feel that if they don’t inflict smaller harm to themselves that they may indeed fall to suicide. They feel that by letting out their pain in increments, and escaping in fragments, that they can slay the thoughts of suicide and urges to escape that they carry. When at the edges of rational, some instincts may take different forms. What may seem counter intuitive – an act of self-harm – becomes the definition of an instinct that it seems to defy. The desire to survive becomes so strong that it is necessary to inflict pain. This is not uncommon to survival situations. For example, the movie 127 Hours reenacts the experience of a man trapped under a boulder in a beautiful and secluded gorge. He cut off his own arm with a dull multi-tool in order to escape death. That act is the epitome of self-harm as a survival instinct.
Cutting could lead to a series of events that tailspin out of control. Loss of control could take the form of the spiral of therapies and prescriptions that would follow if it were discovered that one were cutting , or it could be the accidental slip of a blade gone too far. It could end in hospitalization. It could even end in death. However, those individuals who choose to cut, as long as sober, take precautions to avoid discovery or more injury than is intended. They are meticulous, careful even. They reason out how, where, and when they can cut “safely”. They are very much in control over the act, when they feel they cannot be in control of anything else.
It may rationally appear that pain is pain. That it would make no difference whether out or inward, because whatever its state, the pain is still owned by the individual. However, emotions are often harder to process than physical events. A burning rage, hate or guilt may well be harder to cope with than a burn to one’s arm, leg, or hand. An emotional cut to the bone may be less painful than a physical one. It may be said that the act does not transform the pain, but multiplies it. This in essence may be true, but one form of pain allows a man to ignore another. A pinch may allow a man to ignore the emotional pain of a nightmare. A small cut may allow ignorance of the bigger cut on one’s spirit or psyche.
There are widely varying and increasingly complex variations of motivation and cause of self-harm. They may include, but are absolutely and in no way limited to: self-harm as a coping or survival mechanism, self-harm as a tool to exercise control over one’s increasingly chaotic environment, and self-harm as an outer expression of inner emotional turmoil. To believe that cutting is simple is to nearly deny it altogether. Its essence is complicated. Stereotyping self-harm or self-harmers may well lead to opinions that will ostracize or further encourage the occurrence of self-harm.  Since the motivation and causes of self-harm are undeniably complex, to attempt to brush this under a rock would be to diminish its importance, and to deny healing to those who need to understand it.
*** trafficking – the trafficking and debasement of souls; Drug trafficking – the trafficking of substances that debase the body.  Here compared you will find the prevalence, impact, and rehabilitation processes associated with *** and shrug trafficking.  Respective clientele, demographics, and locales that these types of trafficking touch will be revealed in order enlighten you to their world-wide prevalence. The physical, emotional, spiritual, and psychological impact of lifestyles that result from these two types of trafficking will be detailed to etch vividly an image of just how far-reaching the impact of these two activities is. Light will be shed upon the rehab processes that lead to recovery from each.
                 According to UnoDC.org, the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime, the use of illicit drugs has remained in a stable trend, with approximately the same number of people using illicit drugs each year. This trend has continued for a number of years. Upon examining the world drug report, written by UnoDC.org, production of several drugs exhibit particularly interesting trends. ***** production for example fell and spiked in a somewhat predictable patter from 1990 until 2010. When this data is graphed a reasonable medium appears for all the years, revealing that ***** production has stayed around an average production of roughly 200,000 hectares annually. Likewise, coca cultivation pictures an interesting trend. From 1990 to 2010 coca production appeared to be almost identical each year, and with little to no rise or fall in production, there is a similar trend in its being trafficked.  
Nefarious: Merchant of Souls is a documentary that was released in 2012 by Exodus Cry Its producers and researchers saw firsthand the atrocities of the *** trafficking industry. The film crew interviewed former pimps and prostitutes, spoke to traffickers, the families of the trafficked and to individuals still actively engaged in three sides of the *** trade referring to currently employed pimps and prostitutes as well as those who purchased ***. The researchers and producers interviewed eastern European gang members and took a trip to Amsterdam’s red-light district – home of legal prostitution. They journeyed to Los Angeles and saw the glamorized side of the dark issue of *** trade.
According to Nefarious, the number of humans trafficked for the purpose of providing ****** services is on a shockingly steep rise. In a matter of a few years, *** trafficking rose from the third largest criminal enterprise to the second. It is second only to drug trafficking and is vying for the position as top criminal enterprise in the world. It is encroaching upon that position far more speedily than any authority or decent human being would care to acknowledge.  A survey taken in 2010 by DART (the drug awareness resistance training program) revealed that 21.8 million people aged 12 and older had taken an illicit drug in the previous month. In 2010 it was estimated that between 153 and 300 million people had used an illicit drug at least once in the previous year. These statistics fail to take into account the impact that this usage has on the lives of the families of drug users. Neither do these statistics reveal the extent to which drug users lifestyles are impacted by drugs. However, nearly  every single human trafficked for ****** purposes is completely and utterly enveloped in the lifestyle of prostitution and the violent world of being prostituted. In Nefarious a shocking statistic is revealed. Approximately ten percent of the entire human population of earth has been trafficked. Both human and drug trafficking are prevalent across the globe. Human trafficking occurs in 161 of 192 countries. Illicit drugs are trafficked in every country that has laws that deem substances unlawful. There are little to no race, religion, ethnicity, or age restrictions on who can and is trafficked for use of ***, but drugs are far more limited by age and ethnicity in their use.
Drug trafficking, though similar to *** trafficking in many ways, is in no way as substantial a damaging force to the mind, soul, and spirit as the world of *** trafficking  is in terms of the critical and dangerous force it exhibits in the emotional, physical, psychological, and spiritual  impact it has on young girls. Both drugs and *** trafficking have some influence in all of these respective areas. The primary area in which people are affected by drug use is the physical. Drug users’ health declines, they become physically or psychologically dependent, and they may develop diseases from sharing of needles or lack of inhibitions that lead to *** with an infected individual. Drugs may, in some rare cases, lead to psychoses and mental disorders. They may cause brain damage, which is both physically and mentally damaging. Drugs may even set one’s heart and soul in a place that they are more susceptible to lies or truth. They alter spiritual state for some individuals, but only mildly. However, *** trafficking victims are impacted majorly and in their entirety as a person. In all aspects of the physical, mental, and spiritual, *** trafficking victims are consumed by *** trafficking. In Nefarious it is revealed that In order to “break” *** trafficking victims they are profusely beaten, and are psychologically toyed with to create a twisted trust and dependence on their various handlers. They are repeatedly *****, and are examined like cattle by those who wish to buy women. They are imprisoned in dark rooms and not allowed to leave unless told to do so. They are bedridden and forced to ******* themselves. After being broken in ways described above and sold to a ****, girls are forced every day to meet certain quotas of customers and cash flow. If they do not meet these they are beaten even more. They lay in bed sometimes a week at a time to recover physically enough to usefully return to their “job”.  Through this hellish ordeal, their soul, self-worth and identity are being attacked by circumstances that devalue them. They become like animals.
*** trafficking victims become dependent on their environment for normalcy. This is so true for some individuals that even though they have been rescued from the lifestyle, they return.  This is not because the *** trafficking victims enjoys the lifestyle of prostitution, and it is not because they want to. Instead, it is because they think they can be nothing more than a *******. The *** trafficking victim, in this case, believes that they need to settle into the numb and thoughtless mind state that they develop when broken. Returning to prostitution does not evidence an addiction. In contrast, it is the cry of a soul that is desperately trying to cope. They do this in order to feel as if they can survive.  
The rehab processes for *** and drug trafficking differ greatly in commitment and length, but are similar in that they both require physical and psychological rehabilitation.  Drug rehabilitation programs typically consist of twelve-step programs or something similar. They last a number of months, or occasionally a few years. They allow individuals counsel and encouragement, and they attempt to, by abstinence, exorcise an addicted individual’s addiction. *** trafficking rehabilitation requires the re-creation of an individual. Self-worth must be reconstructed. The spirit must be healed in order to allow for psychological healing. Prostitutes are not addicted to prostitution, but prostitution produces dependence in that the prostituted crave normalcy. This dependence must be killed. Successfully rehabilitating women from this forced lifestyle requires lifelong commitment and endless resources. It requires passionate fanatics, people who will pour their life into changing the lives of others, because only the incurable fanatic can wreak havoc on the tragedy of human trafficking. Any short-term effort to rehabilitate a *** trafficking victim is doomed to failure. The degree to which the brokenness of *** trafficking victims becomes ingrained in them is so extreme that it takes a lifetime to reshape their lives.
While researching *** trafficking in order to accurately produce Nefarious, the researchers and producers of Nefarious became convicted by facts that they collected. The evidence they collected speaks to the fact that *** trafficking does not just attack the body; it attacks the entire being, and in far worse ways than drugs ever could. Varied races and ages are prostituted and / or consume drugs. The impact of both of *** and drug trafficking is severe, but much more so severe in the case of human trafficking. The rehab process for human trafficking is much more in depth and is testament to the horror and degree of psychological, mental, and emotional disfigurement, as well as acclimation to a horrible situation to the point that horror becomes normal – a new definition of addiction. Human trafficking is an atrocity that is far more horrendous and prevalent than imaginable. It is far more destructive than drug trafficking. Drug trafficking is one of the most destructive forces in this generation.  Surely consuming drugs is one of the most horrid things we can do to our bodies, but what about consuming souls? *** trafficking consumes souls, hearts, minds and bodies. It splits, fragments, debases, brutalizes, obliterates, murders, rapes, molests, destroys, and dehumanizes the prostituted.  Drug trafficking attacks the body the soul, and sometimes the mind, but in much milder ways.
Do you remember the melody
of a sweetly sang blue silk symphony?
of my sharp breaths and moaning singing?
of cracks in my ****** expressions?
the ones typically tempered to turn my passion into passivity?

Do you remember when the accompanying
string snapped?
I went quiet, cold
couldn't sing for my stranglehold on my
selfishness and...lust? Yes. Lust.
Do you remember the difference?
The dissonance?
I feel like a **** and it's
so far from ridiculous
I don't feel like i deserve your forgiveness
guess what i'm trying to say is
I'm sorry and
though i don't know if it will happen again
because i'm new at singing this song
I don't want it ti

I need to know
all i need to know
is the harmony of the first night of the blue silk symphony
still echoes strong
(in the background, in the background)
and i just can't hear it because
lack of forgiveness ...whether my own for myself, or yours for me right now
( is such a loud sound)
( loud sound)
I am
breathless.
wordless.
my eyes attempt to take in
every little piece
of you.
They trace your edges.
Test them.
Dip into the shadows that your head
tilted down in shyness, nervousness, uncertainty mixed with certainty
casts across your neck
The ones that fade out as they reach for your chest
the same way i want to reach out and touch you
slide my hands gently across your skin
kiss you in places that i  never think I'd think to kiss you in
places i never imagined would curve so enticingly the way they did

I want arms
long enough to
reach out and pull you to me
until we share a
single
smoothe
edge.
I want you to
curve to my shape
I want to BE touched
and that fine line
is one I want you to brush your fingertips over
I'd relive it for pieces of forever.
Jan 2013 · 2.5k
Plush pajamas
Began with an emotionless admittance of a fact of attraction
I never imagined that even this would happen
But then emotionless admittance because emotional satisfaction
Desires I didnt remember could feel different in action
Fact is hearts never had to have
hope, to hope, to happen

I already knew that affection runs in all directions
but to realize that for it to be tinted ****** did not mean it was an infection,
that essentially it was all aimed at knowing your perspective and introspection,
and has become the spectacular insight that
between two people so alike and different as you and i,
this weird state of existence in ****** desire and friendship,
is beginning to be the exceptional exception to my age old misdirection.

I dont know if its just because you were there for the discovery
but i think for sure it has to do with your desire to discover me

so
when i begin to remember
how uncertainty and smiles slipped
across your skin the same way
blue silk did,

How uniquely i get to discover
the willingness to take leaps of faith
in my seeking faithless friend

How remarkably shocking it is
to see you lay yourself bare before me
and that you, to me
are such much more than half naked.

I get to see you.
I get to know more of you
than i ever have before
I get to discover so much more of who you are
when your plush pajamas hit the floor
The image of God, seen in a "Godless heathen"
Before you was an ideal , but now is something I believe in.
Jan 2013 · 573
Places among the prism
I had only ever seen
you in black and white
in faded out photos on a poetry page
in long letters typed out in
black letters on white
screen
they even lacked the curl of your hand
traveling over paper
but i asked about what color your eyes were
and i asked questions to discover colors
and we had so many colors in common
that we blended into a unique hue
of blue like your eyes and mine
of prismatic glory in our words and our minds
our colors clashed intensely in some places among the prism
allowing us to discover the brightness of colors
that we thought to be plain
an the intensity of new hues
deeper greens, blacks, blues
when they blended and were the same

we are like light
attempting to be black and white
and managing only to discover how colorful we really are
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