I love you.
I love you like oxygen, like my lungs.
Pulmonary. Coronary.
And although it may make me dizzy,
I love you like my blood.
My veins, venules, arteries, arterioles.
Blood epidemic. Systemic.

We welcome the girl,
alone it would seem,
like a seed in the updraught,
whole worlds lie beneath.

Here is the girl,
A mind pregnant with dreams,
as she crosses the bridges,
connecting the streams.

There lands a girl,
ghouls taunt, ghouls tease,
"let go of this love, girl,
be rid of these dreams."

Come see the girl,
speaking tounges through machines,
white draped over candy,
embracing the terminal dream.

Heres lies the girl,
most wouldn't believe,
the ghouls taunts a mere whisper now,
dream easy, love freely... my sweet.

I stare into the ripple in still water
I take one last breath
I push my self into its epicenter

As I slip beneath the surface
I panic
flailing my arms and legs
for I cannot swim
But the water seems to expand
as it engulfs me
The water greets my eyes
and I see clearly

my muscles relax
My legs fuse together
My feet grow flat and wide

I am running out of oxygen
But I feel the benevolence
all around me.
I trust myself
Opening my mouth wide
water rushes down my throat
into my lungs
and out the freshly forming slits on my neck

I swim
I swim
I swim

what a perfect escape
no need to return to the surface
not for any air
not for any person
In these ripples of still water
I can simply be
who I have chosen to be

Granny gave me moccasins
To run and play in.
She got them from the pow-wow.
They made me swift
And light on my feet.
She told me
“Remember who you are”

Granny gave me a dream catcher
For my good dreams to fly through
And the bad ones to get caught in.
She got it at the pow-wow.
It made my nightmares go away
And gave me dreams about my ancestors.
She told me
“Remember who you are”

Granny gave me a totem pole
So that I would know our seven clans.
She got it from her father.
The Ani-gatagewi keepers of our land
Ani-gilahi and Ani-waya the peace and war chiefs  
The Ani-kawi and Ani-tsiskwa earthly and spirited messengers
Ani-wodi and Ani-sahoni the creators of medicine
She told me
“Remember who you are”

Granny gave me a book
With the words of my people
And their stories.
She got it from the pow-wow.
I learned about our earth mother
And how we grew from her *****.
She told me
“Remember who you are”

Granny gave me a day
To wear my moccasins.
She took me to the pow-wow.
I saw the people from my stories
And dreams.
My people and clans.
She told me
“You are ᏣᎳᎩᎯ ᎠᏰᎵ (Cherokee)”

*The seven clans of the Cherokee tribe: Ani-gatagewi translates to Wild Potato Clan (keepers of our land), Ani-gilahi are the Long Hair Clan (peace chiefs), Ani-kawi is the Deer Clan (earthly messengers), Ani-sahoni or Blue Paint Clan (medicine for children), Ani-tsiskwa or Bird Clan (spirited messengers), Ani-waya is the Wolf Clan (war chief) , Ani-wodi Red Paint Clan (medicine).

Discretion (a gift and a curse as of late)
Has granted affections to cling to my mind.
"Precaution," is hardly correct, I'd debate;
"Postcaution," is true as a term I can find.

Historic endeavors don't have to repeat,
Lest heroes and humor are all stricken dead--
The long road to victory's paved with defeat,
But breakdowns can't stop us from looking ahead;

Ahead to the sweet things, the smiles with teeth
And the gentle detainments with fractions of might--
To watching The Saints and then lying beneath
All the stars when they cut through the blue with their light.

And these skid marks we've left on the road, near behind,
Will only be seen 'til we drive far away,
And I'd like you to know, if you feel so inclined,
That I'm glad for the privilege to see you each day.

What makes it so easy
to write personal works
from the heart,
the soul,
the inner workings of my mind
that then you, strangers,
read at your own will,
like, and comment?
Things I cannot even bring myself
to admit to those closest to me
or even yours truly.
The fact baffles me each time
I start typing.

And what a slap in the face it is
to keep my father's old driver's license
tucked nicely into my cigarette pouch.
Because every son wants to slap his father's face
and also to be just like him.