I am living
four hundred feet
below the sea
that is you.
I am wrapped
so lovingly
in your silky
black waters.
I am drowning,
but at least
it's because
of you.

I can smell
the soft floral remanence
of blue hyacinths in bloom.
The smell lingers everywhere.
It reminds me of you.
How you always smelled
so sweet,
like you'd just had a bath
with fresh lavender,
and rose petals swimming
all around you,
gathering at your feet.
I miss that smell,
almost as much as I miss you.
It's been a long time
since I've thought about you.
I've pushed you from my mind,
from my scarred up heart.
It's better that way,
keeping those memories
locked up inside me.
It took a long time
to stitch together
the pieces,
after you so carelessly
ripped my heart apart.
I'll always resent you for that.
I'll always love you for it too,
and whenever those hyacinths
are in full bloom
outside my window
I'll think of you,
of how much I loved you,
and for just a moment
I'll feel a touch
of the hyacinth blues.

Entry ~
*How can one person change so much in a single month. I've been walking under the same sun, but passing beneath different streetlights. I haven't been traveling long. I've been gone from my hometown for about three months. I miss the snow covered trees. The cool familiar sensation of the Lake Erie breeze. I miss the tulips in spring that seem to pop up wherever they please. I miss the big blue house with white window frames sitting on the corner of Temple Street. The big garden out front surrounded by an electric fence to ward off deer. That place was my refuge. My sacred ground. I was born into a family twisted from life. I was lost during my childhood, and for most of my teen years. I was a hopeless kid. I kept it together on the surface, but never could hide the sadness in my eyes. I moved into that house a month after I turned eighteen. I was at that crucial age. Teetering on adulthood, fresh out of the high school scene. I moved in with my boyfriend. The man who would become a rock for most of my life. He was the first person to teach me unconditional love. Two words I have been vaguely familiar with from childhood. It was a long process to learn how to give, and receive unconditional love. It's been three years since I've met him. I'm only grasping the concept now. I lived in that house for three years. That house is my home. My real home. When I moved in, I hardly knew my housemates. We were acquaintances. Not exactly friends, but I was accepted because of my boyfriend. I was such a shy girl back then. I hardly said much. Kept myself busy by cleaning, and reading. Smoking lots of ****. Little did I know, three years later they would become some of the most crucial people in my life. My boyfriend taught me unconditional love, but the people in that house taught it to me too. For myself, and for others. I learned more from them then they will ever know. I was brought into their world, one so different from where I came. For a bit, I felt like I was in wonderland. Like I fell down a rabbit hole chasing the cheshire cat. Wandering through scenes of nonsense, caught in the folds of time. Looking back, I can't tell if that's how I actually saw it, or if that was just the acid. Either way, I learned to love it. I was Alice, exploring my new wonderland. I expanded my consciousness in that house. I soaked up what was going on around me like a sponge. I'm an observer. I always have been. I can sit back in a room full of people, not saying a single word, just watching. I notice the things most people do without thinking. The little things. Biting nails, shaking legs, even twisting their earrings exactly three times. Detail is my specialty. I notice everything, from the words people choose right down to what they do when they say them. I'm an observer, not a judger. I keep most of my observations to myself. Unless, I feel someone could benefit from something being noticed. I grew up more in those three years than I had during my entire adolescence. I grew so much that I felt like I was exploding out the windows cracking the white frames, blowing off the roof. I had three of the best years of my life in that house. I had no idea what I was prepping myself for when I moved in. I never would've had the guts to travel cross country if it wasn't for that house. For those people. I owe everything to those three years of my life there. It's been three months since I moved out. Just three short months. I've seen everything from the Appalachian Trial to the Rocky Mountains to the Mojave Desert. In each place I've been, I've found a piece of my lost soul. If life was fair, I would get to keep those pieces. Finders keepers. Unfortunately, that just isn't the way it works. For every piece that's found, one's left behind. This is simply the way. It was decided long ago. By those who understood the circle of life. There must be balance. For what we take, we must give, in order to receive. This is what I learned in that big blue house on temple street. This is the lesson I hold dear to me now as I prepar to come back to my hometown. I haven't been gone long, but I'm not the same as when I left. I'm stronger. Wiser. I'm ready to face the tragedy that awaits me when I pull off exit fifty three. I'll be walking into a storm, but I'm not afraid of the rain. I can take it. I'll feel so much relief when I pull into that rocky driveway, park my car, and walk up the path half swallowed by grass. Up those steps, then right through the door held together with duct tape. I'll walk into the kitchen right into my family's arms, and finally find some peace. I'll be right where I need to be. Right at home with the people that love me. Supporting me, as I face an unbearable tragedy.

I laid myself down
beneath the summer moon.
The breeze was warm,
and grass was cool.
I gazed at the trees
swaying in the breeze,
and listened to the stream
flowing free as could be.
I want to be the water
running wild as a dream.
I want to be the rain
dripping off of the leaves,
but what I want even more
is to be the blood in your veins,
to take over your heart,
and soak up all your pain.  
I would make you forget
all the hate and disdain.
I would fill you with joy,
and kiss your soul everyday.

She is exotically sweet,
like cherry blossoms blooming
in the warm summer heat.
She is softer than spring,
and more delicate than daisies.
She sleeps in the rain,
bathed in the moonlight.
She loves like the sun,
and lives by the moon.
She is a creature of holiness,
her soul made of sunflowers.
She is a beackon of light,
for ships lost at sea.
She is born of the earth,
made of dirt,
and the leaves.
She is a **** that grows wildly,
among a field of planted seeds.
She is free in her spirit
for what she believes.
She is a guarder of those
who have no voice to speak.
She is heaven and hell,
mixed up times three.
She is an angel of earth,
given the force of the sea.
She is a rose without thorns,
and white as could be.
She is a rare expression of love,
favored by the bees.
She is a perfect jasmine flower,
the most beautiful you will ever see.

I'm sinking slowly,
beneath the waters surface,
but I'm not fighting.

Alcohol,
drugs,
love.
They are choices
we make
that break us apart.
We use them to fill
the voids in our heart,
to cover the scars
we've had since the start.
It's a petty game
that we play,
even when we're smart.
We pour kerosene on fire,
then cry when it starts
burning holes in our life,
and chars up our hearts.
We love that it burns.
We love that it hurts.
It's never enough,
they always play their part.
We love them more,
than we love our own hearts.
We can't get enough
of ripping ourselves apart.
We gaze in the mirror
to see our black hearts,
and smile at the feeling
that pain makes us art.

I love you more
than the sun
loves the moon,
and I miss you so much
when I'm watching
the flowers bloom.
I look at the lilacs,
the lillies,
and lavender.
Their blossoms blooming,
despite the cold dew.
They remind me of you
with their purplish hue,
how you are so pure,
but always feeling blue.
I wish you were here,
your shy smile in bloom.
It lights up my world,
like the sun warms the moon.

What a world it would be
if the moon were the sun,
if the sky was the land,
or if darkness never won.
What a world it would be
if the dreamers never dreamed,
if the losers always lost,
or if the poets knew of fun.
What a world it would be
if Alice never fell,
if her looking glass was solid,
or if her heart was icy cold.
What a world it would be
if backwards meant forwards,
if humans never settled,
or if God's word was blurred.
What a world it would be
if everything were backwards,
if Alice was happy,
or if the hatter wasn't mad.
What a world it would be
if right meant wrong,
if white was black,
or if politicians knew of love.
What a world it would be
if the killers gave flowers,
if the lovers really loved,
or if love would alway last.
It be a wonderland of sorts,
a world made of nonsense,
but it be worth it to have
if sadness meant happiness,
if beggars gave cheers,
or if hatred meant kindness.
It be a world I could live in
if acceptance reigned on,
if everything meant nothing
there'd be nothing to con.
We would all be the same
nobody would be wrong.
If we lived in a wonderland
we would all move along.
We'd be lost in our heads
singing our own little song.

I will paint the dawn
with our long lost song,
and cry to the moon
that we've moved along.
I'll sit beneath her
all night long,
and tell her our story
how we didn't belong.
I'll sing to her softly,
a sweet little birdsong,
about a love story
meant to be lifelong.
I'll tell her we were strong,
but couldn't hold on.
We were too headstrong,
just stringing along.
We couldn't see ourselves
being in the wrong.
I remember crying
all day long,
trying to shove myself along
to see the difference
between right and wrong.
I couldn't prolong
the end of our love song.
I remember singing
this same little birdsong,
when you heard me
you played along,
but trying to rush me
for you couldn't stay long.
I remember your eyes
tearing with goodbyes,
as I sang the last note
of my loving little song.
I watched you walk away
feet scraping along,
and that was the end
of our loving little birdsong.

I have moments of clarity
when I'm lost in serenity.
I see that my worth
is lying in front of me.
I'm a galaxy of stars
colliding with divinity.
I am a cosmic universe,
I know my identity.
I must clear my obscenities,
and claim my amenities.
I am a goddess of brevity,
I sing my own melody.
I have an undying empathy,
a well that run endlessly.
I'll show love to my enemies,
and leave a lasting legacy.
I'll claim my own destiny,
and rule my kingdom heavenly.

There are days
that I have
where I don't
want to face,
chewing,
or doing,
or running
the race.
I just want
to lay here,
head lost
in space,
but reality
comes laughing
reminding me
there's no escape,
so I tell myself
get up,
start moving,
you're being
such a waste.

I've left the desert,
and the blazing heat
for the ocean,
with the salty breeze.
I love them both,
but if I must choose,
then I pick the ocean
because it's closer to you.
I can sit by the water,
and ponder my wonder
for the world I'm in,
while you're over yonder.
I can feel you close
by the salty blue water.
I see your force
in the tiniest sand dollars.
I love the sea
with the crystal blue color,
the freshness of life,
and little baby flounders.
I'll live here forever,
and gaze at the water,
listening to thunder,
as it puts me under.
I'll fall asleep to dreams
where you're in the water,
head above surface,
treading water.
I'll see you from shore,
hear your voice
with the thunder,
but I'm too afraid
of these blackened waters.
I'm afraid if I swim,
and follow the thunder,
you'll let me slip under,
and I'll be lost forever.
I'm not ready to go,
I can't navigate
black waters,
my soul is tied here,
so keep treading water.

I'll cross the desert,
and climb the mountain top.
I'll sit up high,
and watch the sun
sink low in the sky.
I'll wait until dark,
when all is still,
when the moon is bright,
and shining full.
I'll write down a wish,
and burn it up,
then pray to the moon
to give me luck.
I'll coax her sweetly
to take my love,
to take it,
and give it right to you.

This desert
reminds me
of my heart.
It burns
hotter than hell
during the day,
before growing
colder than ice,
beneath
the moonlit night.

I'll pray for you
beneath the moon,
and shed tears of moonlight
that reveal your truth.
I'll walk barefoot
across this shore,
collecting treasures
that remind me of you.
I'll pretend they wandered
from me to you,
like a message in a bottle
tossed out to sea.
I'll write you letters,
and burn them here,
setting you free
from my dark memory.
I'll let you go,
while walking barefoot,
but always thinking of you,
beneath the waning moon.

My heart is more gentle,
than a delicate flower.
I cannot stand by,
and forget,
when those I care for
are fighting a war
all by themselves.
I don't believe
anyone should have to
suffer alone,
or behind closed doors.
I believe
we should open our arms,
and allow love to flow freely
from one heart to the next.
I believe
in being there,
regardless of time,
regardless of mistakes.
I believe in understanding.

I gaze across the dry desert land.
It goes for miles,
nothing,
but long stretches of valleys,
tucked between mountain walls.
It's like being hidden in a dust bowl.
It's so hot,
and the traffic of cars
kicks up the desert dust,
clouding everything in sight,
but it is a place of refuge
for those seeking
a spiritual revelation.
I certainly understand
why these lands are sacred
to the Native Americans,
and to the indigenous
people of Mexico.
I have only spent
a few days here,
but I already feel more at peace,
free from the hussle,
and shackles of our society.  
I have been contemplating
my place in this world,
beneath the heat of the sun,
with the sand between my toes.
I can't help that my mind wanders.
I wonder who walked
these lands thousands of years ago,
that I am now trespassing on
with my pitched up tent,
and campfire.
What was there purpose?
Were they simply settled here,
or were they just walking
in search of something more?
Possibly for a rite of passage?
Traveling across the desert,
to commune with their
Gods and Goddesses.
These are the questions
that float through my mind,
as I meditate in the dry desert.
I wonder if these
thoughts are my own,
or if the spirits of the past
have placed them in my mind,
to rekindle the magic
that used to fill these lands.
A place now,
where the wonder of the desert
has become a mirage.
A place of beauty,
but barren of magic
to those who live with eyes closed.

I followed a thin blue line
between the folds of a map.
I passed by rivers wider than time,
mountains larger than life,
and traveled through valleys
tucked between canyon walls.
I have been from the east coast
of Niagara Falls,
to the west coast
of California's golden shores.
I have seen the Shenandoah River,
explored the Appalachian Trail,
and the Rocky Mountains of Colorado.
I have gazed at those
white capped mountains,
while the sun slowly set behind them,
setting fire to the sky  
with swirling oranges,
yellows, pinks, and reds.
I have fallen in love
with the open road,
with the freedom
of a full tank of gas,
and no destination.
I found my soul on this road,
but I hope to find a place
to bring this soul home.
I imagine a place,
somewhere along California's shores,
where I can rest my head,
and finally start something more.

Hold on,
and hope for the best,
tomorrow will come.

I often wonder,
as I gaze at the sky,
if all those stars
that shine so bright,
are really just hearts,
captured by the moon
in the dead of night.

If there is anything
I have learned,
on this journey
we call life
it is this;
time waits
for no man.
It is easy
to tell yourself
there is always tomorrow,
that traveling,
saving money,
eating healthy,
can all wait.
It amazes me,
even more,
as I travel throughout
the United States,
just how many people
think they have tomorrow.
I see strangers,
shuffle around
in supermarkets.
Oblivious to those around them.
Oblivious to what
they throw in their carts.
It is as though,
they walk through life
with eyes closed,
with a veil covering
their divinity,
their dignity.
They walk
completely unaware
of their surroundings,
of the machine
they are a part of,
and now becoming.
It is a trick of the mind,
to think that tomorrow
will always rise.
It is not a guarantee.
It will never be a guarantee,
but it is painful
for us to process death,
so we pretend
it doesn't happen,
that the choices we make
don't bring it closer
to our doorstep.
It is a pitfall
of human nature
to fear our own mortality.
It is ironic.
We are so
fearful of death,
yet make choices
that seem as though
they were placed
in front of us
by the devil himself.
I struggle to understand
how this behavior
has become
accepted,
encouraged,
particularly in a time,
of claimed "awareness".
It is time
for people
to truly wake up,
to begin the journey
of self love,
of self care.
So that they may begin
to see the beauty in death.
It is time
to choose
the healthier option,
to quit
the job you hate,
to save
every last penny,
to travel
the world without a destination,
because the time is now.
Time waits
for no man,
and tomorrow
may never come.
So begin
the journey
of reclaiming
your body,
mind & spirit.
Just start.
Just do it.
You will not regret you did.
You will regret you didn't.

I often wonder,
if dying feels like,
falling asleep
in a field of daisies.
It must be similar,
with the soothing scent
of rain in summer,
with the way your head,
drifts away,
watching clouds
with all their wonder.
I imagine,
dying is peaceful,
effortless even,
as you take your last breath,
and fade into
the daisies forever.

I am reclaiming my dignity,
with every word
I hold between clenched teeth.
I don't want to talk
about anything anymore.
I don't see the point.
If I speak about the secrets,
I've locked behind doors,
It would shock,
and shake anyone to the floor.
It's easier for me to store,
these secrets in my core.
I can keep them safe there,
and keep my dignity warm.

I love you so much,
you never miss my cues.
I'm always here waiting,
watching all that you do.
I make sure you're perfect,
not whiny or shrewd.
I'm always in your head,
controlling what you chew.
I won't leave your side,
we are stuck like glue.
I've been your best friend,
since the time you were two.
I love watching you move,
it's quite a beautiful view,
but if you make a mistake,
I'll beat you black and blue.

I'm up in the sky,
and everything is fine.
I'm higher than life,
I'm riding cloud nine.
I'm sleeping while awake,
and stepping over mines.
I'm pushing my body,
and crossing the line.
It's the feeling I chase,
when the ketamine is fine.
I get out my plate,
and rack out a line.
It puts me to sleep,
and feels better than wine,
but it leaves me hollow,
and empty in mind.
It's the come down that hurts,
when I'm dead inside.
It's a vicious cycle
in the addicts mind.
It's always one more.
It's always the last time.
It's easy to say,
as I rack out a line,
and easy to forget,
once I'm high in the sky.
It's the devils words,
those two little lines.
There's no such thing,
when I'm riding cloud nine.

I can't fight
this retched night.
I'm praying,
beneath moonlight,
to give me light.
I'm losing my might,
on this cold dark night.

I'm too much of a mystic.
I live in my head.
I always know the words,
before anything is said.
I can see the future,
before I get out of bed.
Sometimes I lay there,
and let it fill me with dread.
It's hard to get up,
when it's written in red,
but these visions have led me
to share my bread,
because I always know
when a heart has bled.
I'm a mystic that lives
too much in my head,
but these visions don't always
fill me with dread.
Sometimes they give me
happiness to spread,
because a mystic knows tomorrow,
you could wake up in bed,
with a vision in your head,
that someone you love
will pass on to the dead.

Depression hits
like a tidal wave.
It comes without warning.
It leaves you drowning,
but you have to be brave,
because if you expect
to be saved,
your sadness
will be waived,
by those already drowning,
beneath their own wave.
There's nothing you can do,
but hold on,
and pray it fades by morning.

I sat beside
the waters edge,
and pondered
the life in the riverbeds.
I wondered how
it all began,
the fish,
the tides,
and the small
grains of sand.
It seems to be
a question to me,
just how exactly
it all came to be.
It's complex,
yet simple,
and began
with a ripple,
from the birds,
to the turtles,
to the small
little minnows.
This world is a circle,
a never ending cycle.
What lives always dies,
but secured with a tie,
will return back to live,
only to return back to die.

She is an angel
with the devil inside her.
She has fire within her soul,
and if you
are lucky enough,
to see her dance
beneath the moonlight,
beware,
this is her home.
At this hour of midnight,
beneath the full moon,
she is at her strongest.
As if all the witches
that burned before her,
now stand behind her,
guiding her,
by leaving secrets,
hidden in the constellations,
and written in
the ancient
language of the stars.
She being,
the last of her kind
that can decipher
their meaning.
Watch her
as she dance's
in the moonlight,
and see her ancestors
dance beside her.
She'll spin,
and leave you tranced,
because she knows,
you cannot fight her beauty,
or the magic,
hidden inside her gyspy eyes.

I can't wait
to see the sunrise
over California skies.
I know when I get there,
I won't believe my eyes.
It'll be a new kind of high,
to watch the sunrise,
way above the mountainsides,
into that California sky.

I am lost to the midnight moon.
I sleep beneath her,
during the warm months of June.
I lay beneath her,
and hear her sweet tune.
It tugs at my heart,
just like a balloon.
I gave her my heart
to wrap in a cocoon.
I pray when it hatches
the sky turns maroon,
because I need her to hear me,
as I sing my sweet tune.
I need her to know,
I'm coming for her soon.

I am crying,
and I can feel
my soul dying.
I am drowning,
beneath the weight
of heartbreak.
I'm slipping away,
and I am not okay.

She will roam,
from coast to coast,
and she will love you,
but like a ghost,
she'll leave without a trace,
and you won't even
be left with a name.

I speak to the moon
in the dead of night.
I come to her
when her light is bright.
I confess my secrets,
beneath the starlight,
and pray there is not
another soul in sight.
I dance with her sprites,
around the firelight,
and listen carefully,
as she recites her rites.
I give her my secrets,
and she ties them up tight,
hanging them high,
like a stalactites,
that shimmer
like the northern lights.
In return she incites,
that we unite each night,
so she can hear me recite,
my love for her,
beneath her loving light.

I have wasted
too many years
of my young life
wishing I had been
blessed with
a different story.
I am learning
that all life
is precious,
and that each soul
that walks this earth,
is a mere breath,
a simple expression,
of the interwoven
fabric of our universe.
We are each
a ripple in time,
and our aura
radiates energy
that travels faster
than the speed of light.
We are divine beings.
When we possess
this knowledge,
we breach
the edge of certainty,
and begin to understand
that we hold the key
to our everlasting divinity.