In all directness I’ve lost my voice.
Enveloped by an irrational fear
of picking up the pen.
Thinking twice about every line.
As we shift and life materializes
before our eyes we find it harder
to say the things worth saying to ourselves.

Calm that beating heart, let it rest.

This life is tumulus.
Like a disappointed teenager
backdoor rebel, your biker
all bruised and blue
the guy who lies to you
out of habit or the girl
who’ll spread her legs
just to make sure beds
stay warm, or the grocer
who’ll stock rotten fruit
to meet the bills or people
who **** for oil, for drugs, for fun.

Disappointed, every last one of them.

So we fight back,
by puffing on our bongs
by disconnecting to our palms
by blasting the music on some large
stereo system, surround sound, or 3D vision
we spray paint on walls, or we fall prey to our whims
we bet on winning three hands straight
or decide we know our own fate,
or some of us just sit,
and wait,
for something, anything to happen
to shatter, to break apart, to give birth to some
black hole that’ll **** it all up and spit out something
back again. Anything we can reshape or begin.

But after chaos comes even more chaos.

And with loss comes anger,
mounted, building, and enraged,
like raised pitchforks chasing town monsters,
oh the horror, some of us might not bare to see it
won’t believe it, or try to bargain it away,
and not feel the earth shake from aftershock.
It’s too difficult to soak it up.
Let’s not tear down what is functioning fine
Just so we can live another lie?
I’m fine with mine, where it rests inside
a mask so well displayed,
that even I believe it some days.

Why change?

The question that lingers on the page,
Stumped by fear of jumping out of comfort zones,
Paralyzed by the thought that home
isn’t where you heart is, but rather,
the space your spirit needs to breathe.

And with that word
the realization of responsibility,
this burden it makes,
this weight that we can’t wait
to throw off to
another day, maybe
another time, maybe
could you keep your voice
down lady? Just after this last drink
baby, and I swear I’ll get back to you,

hey, I want my rite of passage too.

But the world moves too fast,
asks too much, doesn’t know when
to stop, drunk on its own axis,
either get off your *****
or be swept by the tide,
because there’s no where
you can run and hide
no matter how hard you try
you’re gonna have to listen to what you already know.

But guess what happens to people like that?

They grow.

A man that tells you up front.
What he's about?
Is the man you should ask out,

He doesn't hide behind pretense.
Like these so call gentlemen.
Who has the same thing in mind.

The up front guy doesn't means to offend.
An , as a woman of smarts.
You already knows, what's in his head.
Whether he gets it.
Depend on when you want too.
You in charge.
You're the ruler of those parts.

And besides, many times you'll find a great guy.
He might or might not call back.
But you must remember, where his head was at.

And he's far different than the pretend gentlemen.
Who has the same thoughts too?

He just using a different approach in getting to you.

I want to shed you like a snake skin
Want to throw you up like too much whiskey

The sweet relief in the churning twisting convulsions of my stomach

You cling to me like an old man to his glory days

I only wish I could be the
Nirvana
            smoke
off incense
Transcending its earthly form

Dancing around your finger tips
Performing acrobatic
            Bends and gracefully thick swirls

But never to be touched, grasped ,or handled by you ever again.

You grab at me
but I am already gone

I dissipate