Once the stork was tasked with making an arrow
Created to propel a new force, desperately needed
And so she was shot out on the straight and narrow
To ensure the world’s sacred gardens were properly seeded
Knowing the task was too big for one Fae alone
They prepared her with a foundation of guardians
Ones that would set her feet in most magical stone
The stone made her strong, but kept her from fleeing
She was tied to a life she didn’t quite understand
Feeling the tug of her purpose time and again
Always attentive to the important task at hand
Never able to escape the world’s mayhem
If only, if only she could just get one free pass
To see what it’s like to take that liberating glide
See faeries, they need the feeling of the grass
The sunlight, the music, it lights the fire inside
But when the stork was set to make that arrow
Did they expect the path to stay so straight?
Or were they aware that those paths lead to sorrow?
Is it straying from or staying on that pleases fate?
The path is full of thorns, no matter the route taken
So how does she know when she has strayed too far?
And just how is she to know when she is mistaken?
There is no real answer, but she still looks to the stars
Where does the little Fae belong?
I'm supposed to be one of those people that's really good at life - but we all **** up, ya know?
I get angry and let it out.
I'm talkin' O.C.D. fueled fits of rage, laced with anxiety.
I come up hard and a come down heavy.
I am a hunk of walking meat filled with a brain that knows too much, a heart that loves too much, and a soul that feels too much.
I'm ******, we all are ya know?
But I'm a special kind of ******.
One that's just too much.
Highly combustible inside, yet the outside is a ******* L.E.D. lit welcome mat.
I want to tear it off and go at it Office Space style, ya know?
[Insert positive takeaway here]
Sitting here with my thumb on a black hole
As of late I’ve allowed it to consume my soul
A temple made of tin, so pink and inviting
Til it starts to thrash; snarling and biting
I’ve let all the wrong people and things steer my ship
Let some of them command me with the sting of their whips
Cried, kicked and screamed “this is not what I wanted”
Yet still I sit here, thinking, drinking - utterly haunted
I just never have the time to catch up. My life is not my own, not sure if it ever was.
The earth was spinning marvelously, rapidly, with such unimaginable force
But the lovers felt not what the earth had to offer - instead, they felt the source
The source of all that they had come here for, all that anyone comes here for
It did not come from a mysterious man that lives in the sky or in earth’s core
It was not made of hours or seconds or appointments or jobs or dollar bills
It is not something that’s ever too far away, it comes back when you need a fill
It came from every one of us and is magnified when we peacefully unite
It is made of the shapes that hands and bodies form when cast in light
It is real, it is invisible to most, it is everything in one small, small shell
Love is and always has been the source, never stop drilling that well
Grin with an open mouth
And aim for the wishing well
All your desires manifested
In swirling slides of porcelain
Challenges and Growth
Each feeds the other
the swamp water glows
with golden licks of sunshine
reaching deep below
peepers softly speak
the language of mended hearts
so in love, so weak
they both feel the spark
but neither lets out a peep
soon it will be dark
The swamp across the street from my parents house has gotten me through a lot of painful times. It is so immensely beautiful that I may always feel a little more at peace in its presence, of old growth and life that has flourished in seemingly impossible conditions.