02/21/2016
Great events turn on small wheels
Great events often turn on small wheels. It is a gear shift that is not easily obtained.
With time thinning, moments to turn around for better is lessening.
We don't build without foundation, the pyramids also were not built overnight.
So to be wan and weary when the seemingly endless journey advances,
you realize pace is adjustable.  
Baby steps are inevitable, but the worth of building up to better is just so patiently inclined.

Revisiting you is being vulnerable. Physically you are not here. You scarred me where my skin would easily tear. I whined about financial black holes as you slammed a hammer without hesitating a single blow.
To accept and forgive, the band-aid had to come undone. I tore it off with the paramedics by my side. They were offering help but I could not share the pain with an innocent someone else.

what an unsuccessful dream
got me imagining i’m metamorphosing into some queen

gag me with a torch, not liable for these factions
don't put this on me, i was born into royalty
polish the handrails,
don't forget you can't be late.

fashionably late at best, when everything in reality is such a mess
curtsy my dear madam, or else you might be ******
"twirl around let me see those perky curls!"
why do i put you on a pedestal when all you do is drool over another's way

desire doesn't lay here with the underpaid service maids
father i'm so much stronger than the curtains or the drapes
hear me out for there isn't much time
i'm afraid the clocks passed nine and tea is in due time

i understand your master plan
it would be grand if i had a say in the upper hand
seems like you're golden
does it seem like you're weak oh because it does to me

A snagged branch I was when you brushed your shoulder against me.

Chills and goosebumps, you rewind to when I caught you by the edge of your torn up plain white tee.

I wrestle with the wind, for the breeze seems not to hit me. It leads me to the tree. Your forbidden fruit for me to only see, not touch.

I’m at my wits end with your trust.
Yet, it is a must that I can breathe without the touch of a man. Who would’ve have thought it’d be you to let go of my hand?

When my mind was buzzed, a sabertooth swallowed me whole.
His stomach wasn’t digesting me so there I was, just thinking about the life I had lived in the abyss of his stomach grits.
I wanted my body to explode in glass pieces and break through his skin to escape, but all I was doing was playing with a messed up fate.
As some would say, I made this arrangement to have this play date.
“People are crazy!” was their debate.
He wanted to satisfy his hunger, I wanted to succumb under the pressure and just accept what was whatever.
It had always been a possibility to be the target someday- so now I was the prey.
You can’t outsmart the hunter, you become meatier and meatier every day.

ending excuses
I have told.
ending excuses  
I have sold.
I close off for a sense of simple.
What do I trust? Powders in a capsule or powers in what is said will come my way with time?
There is no no stuck if you choose to stay in the middle of the fork in the road. There is no lost if you choose to be alive.

It is okay, for I am the opaque disarray. Often, more than not, I stick out my chin towards the sun. For facing it down would just be a rerun of the past.
Slowly, I thrive, towards a sliver of what I can create. It’s nice to see the focus of the picture zoomed in on someone not so loud. For shouting and being proud is not always the way to win. I walk, towards the unveiling of my life; a red carpet does not appeal. So, I ask, “Will you render that to teal?”
Not even a carpet is guaranteed to be adjusted to please, but I have the feet to carry me and that is all I need.
I’m kind of okay with everything via brain activity. I sent a message to myself, just received. “I was picking out the weeds in a garden. All I had to do was maintain a beautiful green. So refreshing it is to pile them up, dump them and wheel the wagon back for a next time. I put my thumb up to the window, my fingerprints accumulating on the glass. No one else has my DNA! I’m scared of the outside. There is no one to hold my hand when I cross streets at nights. My guide is my sidekick, trusty self and that’s alright.

An avalanche.
Rocks coming stumbling towards me. The warmth of lava makes me perspire but when I run fast, progress is recessed.
Languish buries my feet from underneath. My only supplies are useless... the desire to leave my heavy knapsack is relentless. The rush for survival going on, you think it would be first to dispose... but I am latched onto materialism

As reckless as it seemed,
He is becoming the man of my dreams.
I see him in the bright areas of the dismal gray.
I see his eyes flicker when we lay.
And they go off to a special place,
We title it unspeakable.
And when it's spoken, love will be our token ...
Intertwining this rhyme with the blurriest of things in my mind
The ones more clear will soon come out dear
But from here, please take that I'm sincere
And you're a passion sign lighting up when strangers drive slowly and those who drive dangerously. I wave and point to show how important you are. I'm the most consistent  visitor.

There is an a long awaited silence as the wind turns the pages and the rustle of the leaves in the sound of the lost. I'm running all day so this bench under the tree strengthens me as I lay. Scoliosis is corrected, my back problems are to those who turned away from me- no chiropractor in need.
Just this tree, which was once much smaller than me came from a seed. Now it is sheltering me. I'm carving into the bench.
It reads, “help me for I'm a broken branch trying to be a tree I am miserably just me”

Tired of these predispositions affecting my condition.
Surely people peek out of their fancy yacht and know when to stop.
Give it all you got, until the genuine trials and triumphs come to a rampant end.
Biting tongues, curious on if one might be up for a run we call life.
Second strokes, carefully making sure there's no bruising.
Droopy eyes, suddenly discoloring the atmosphere.
It wasn't really much of a loss, nothing really is when you expect everything to toss.
Got a knife in one hand, your heart in the other. Slam one and one together.
I'm tired of this endeavor.

I don't want this written in words. Maybe if it's just in my head, it'll make it less worse.
Feels as if I'm going to burst
Head won't be silent
Thoughts turning violent
Trying not to care
Only been a few years
Tears  still build up here, but put up a shield; one big force field.
No way to reel you in, feeling abandoned up to the brim.

I got into your depth, now all I sense is death. Need a cure before my vision is blurred.  



Posted by Kenna Marie ...
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I figured I was dead, about yesterday.
Did it change my whole life? No, but it made more sense on how things kept evolving and how I didn't feel like I was learning.
And maybe I am stuck in a mood; maybe- I am stuck being you.
I am not the 10 yr old that left this world alone. So yes, I don't know everything but I do know that me, is not you anymore.
My family acts as if i'm around just to keep my spirit out of a tomb. Yet the truth is that I am so buried in the ground.
I’ve been there rotting for years, but these tears won't seem to leave their eyes.
I despise keeping them around because all they're going to get, is hurt.
Because I'm in this loop, endless loop it keeps going on while they're moving on.
I don't understand why they're dragging me with them.
I am gone, thin out of the air and I can't live,
So I'm not heard.

Reaching over your shoulder,
A boulder is about to crack.

The giraffes, dinosaurs and pesky bores that glance
see you react.
It’s about language,
posture and poise

Presenting oneself like a broken toy,
One stepped on
broken and junk,
now its neck is whack thanks to that Chunk.

A paroxysm of coughing makes that Adam’s apple show
Somehow this perking out makes one dominant over a ‘poor girl’,
For some reason you think you’re a Hunk

Mystery how that fact of the Forbidden Fruit can paralyze your neck,
also sets back your assurance and confidence

I identify with the folks on a TV screen because we both share a secret; that we are both entertaining and that people want to watch us on a daily. We turn blank in an instant, no more flashing images or language. Maybe now there's a shadow from a light in the background as you sit down. To flip on a channel means getting up but you're too tired to pay attention

I keep writing down the year as if it means anything to me dear
I don't feel connected,
just another spirit lost.
Gone is that turned leaf.
And his mother still faces him in his wildest nightmares and keeps him home,
and his mother cries tears and whiskeys down her pain. She can't do this on her own,
but she's holding on; for the sake of them both.

It makes him happy to know that he was actually a part of the family before he left
and I can't speak for him, but I sure know when someone loses their mind again,
better keep it on the downlow, because nobody wants to go to detoxification home, no.

So, I won't report
and he sings with me, and he lives with me and he loves me indeed. He just can't see about me,  can not even breathe...
and you can't even see that
Our ideas linger together, and it makes us both in company just like it should be.

I heard you today,
Little heart beat
safe beneath.

How do some make a trash bag of a creature so innocently?

To suckle
and feed you off
so dangerously.

You fresh leaf,
“life long” responsibilities scares Them
so their priorities must recede

But you are no mess,
sweetie
Come hold onto me
You angel,
born from angry breaths

I’ll swaddle you
from Night and Day until it’s sunrise and sunset

Tuck a blanket under your baby face

I am Your Mother, whether DNA
may or may not say

I am Your Mother, with me you lay

Exasperation is the new season, flaunting it around instead of holding it inside.
Yes, these bags under my eyes are designer.

Help arrives in the nick of time, losing your unfiltered mind.
Bricks thrown, all sorts of sizes, too. Collecting and building, haunting your shrine. Hovering above is my denial. It reminds me why what I experience is such a trial.
Such a set back, run another lap. Farther and farther away…
Introduce me to the style.
Expired ideas are lightly sketched.
I gave up my sight of fashion when pressure popped out my eyes.

Great events often turn on small wheels. It is a gear shift that is not easily obtained.
With time thinning, moments to turn around for better is lessening.
We don't build without foundation, the pyramids also were not overnight.
So to be wan and weary when the seemingly endless journey advances,
you realize pace is adjustable.  
Baby steps are inevitable, but the worth of building up to better is just so patiently inclined.

Some days you have the ability,
others on a shopping spree.
Dressing clean, ultra supreme.

To live is just a dream that only you can see with binoculars.
I live in our own aura, the World and I. Where we can kickback, sleek the ruffles out of our curtains.
With blood sleeking down the glass window pane, the beginning of a crystal clear scheme
with crimson stains.
A passing by expert, I have yet to earn what removed hastes to which I should come to a slower pace.
Push you into my fool, a clown to a stalemate.
Copping everything on a shopping spree, my feet don’t touch the ground, they elevate.

Now I’m trying to jam using these hands, but one grips at fear.
I don’t have time for tainted misused feelings.

I have to make them squeal for me. Hide in the bushes, they want to be seen with me. Using correct of muscle, I hold me. Carrying all these packages, I’m the one you want.

Astonished at the plethora of cars outside my casket, I try to get up. But, I'm held down by chains. It's so bright through the little cracks in The casket that I have to squint my eyes.
The sunRays ask me, "are you ready for this ride?"
I'm pinned down, hell bound. All these gifts decorated around me and on top of me signify that I'm decaying.
I am the epitome of the hearts grief. Since day one I was infected by your leave. Theres a honk, then A crash. Caused by the distraction of me being buried. Theres a hole in the window, theres a girl in the seat and there's a screech.
"Wait for me girl!" I scream. I scramble to get free. Get me out of here. Where's the rescue for her soul? The wreckage burdens me. As people flea my scene, I see backs turn from me.
Just a bit overheated, i awake from this peculiar dream. Also me in the parking lot, with the key, foot on brake, rumbled and shakes to start for a drive.
It then dawns on me; I'm going to my own funeral.

recycling trouble from the past in hopes you'll make time go fast for your slow hourglass
shake the sand, gravitate towards the new plan

pave the ground, it won't be so bumpy now

we tossed the nails to the side, just don't forget the part where you drive
a rock or two will make you swerve, but ruthless words will be there to serve
gas is ready, handy and steady waiting to be levied
the price goes up but our strive runs slow

These golden rules above my head,
Misread and moving on.
Vacations can be kind of a dread, but where would you rather be instead?
Complaining about the same stuff, different day.
here you are a new place...finally a temporary escape.

You wanted us to escalate..chose the easy way out no wonder you are just gray matter wanting to evaporate.

truth be told,
I am not that bold.
It is a jab into my eye,
a reality full of lies that my mom blames this distress.
Hold on, I can't tell black from white. Might as well be blind, I can predict even the scenic route that people doubt. My whereabouts are no longer in a crowd, standing with witnesses is unhealthy for me.
I want privacy, isn't being alone key anyways? Who is to care
if I write "Beware" or just  stare. In the end, there is this sentence left to bare. Always interpreting the language I so rarely speak. Energy may flow for others, but I am not a plug one can spark by lousy remarks.

To the wonders yet for me to discover…
Come hit me so that I’m bruised.
Or better yet, leave a permanent mark. One that I’ll watch while holding a cup of coffee on a bitter frost winter day.
Sting my face with shock while my chapped lips whimper.
Beg me to listen when you come in a different form; whether the ruffling leaves or whispers in the wind.
Come on, be my friend that will align me  even when I am severed in half with fear.
Show me that I need to learn.

I'm a little late, so I'll put in my drawer in my night stand a letter I found. Is it a letter? No, it is an invitation to your funeral plans.

As if that is not a smack in my face...WHAM!

You thought I wasn't ever a loyal man because I went away, unplanned. But let me take a stand, for you missed the part where I gave you my hand. I was on a flight one blizzard night. When I get off, my rental car was towed because the company said I owed more for how many miles I put on it. See, the car and I were on a trip to gather your family for you, but you didn't believe me. I stayed in a hotel with them, missing you. Their phone connections were off, too and all I had was the TV in that hotel room. To pass the time of course was my only intention, but when I saw our precious 2 story house on the breaking news, I saw that a fire had taken you. I was utterly confused. I pinched myself because I thought I was dreaming. Until, one day, I saw your will claimed we had nothing to do with each other in terms of our engagement. What a scam! I cried and denied the will until I no longer could feel. It's been months and the detectives are still interviewing me. See, your life was important; way more than me. I went to visit and kiss what was left of the fence. I pleaded with hopelessness, "We want you back!"

Suicide letter found.

It reads:

"Winter grows dead leaves, and the trees are morbidly idle. Our nights grew earlier, and our fights were a given. So I bet you'll view it on the news that house number 652 blew away this winter day. What was my defeat? We were a mismatch, that you knew. You were a backstab, I took it through and through. You were half snatched when I was into you. I never wanted you to be this fool that drools over the fun little boys do. I put you on this pedestal, blind to know the rest of you. I was frozen into your atmosphere of departure, thawed to my agony. Why did you ever leave?"

wreaths:

hand in my lap
back to the precious fears we thought we stored so far from here
grit my teeth punch the wreath
it falls and leaves scatter across the floor
i wonder if this is a metaphor
i smirk and slam the door as more begins to fall, it is leaves galore
get a broom to sweep the mess when suddenly i must confess
its too much of a hassle to rearrange the disengaged
let it fend for itself, not much to do for such state of health
not even a reboot could contribute
gems and jewels, they too shall be tools
for the wealthy doesn't feel such grief as do these cheap wreaths attached upon a staple-piece that was never meant to be combined, we all will know it in time.

Strumming the guitar



I keep writing down the year as if it means anything to me dear
I don't feel connected,
just another spirit lost
gone is that turned leaf.
And his mother still faces him in his wildest nightmares and keeps him home,
and his mother cries tears and whiskeys down her pain. She can't do this on her own
but she's holding on; for the sake of them both.


It makes him happy to know that he was actually a part of the family before he left
and I can't speak for him but i sure know when someone loses their mind again
better keep it on the down-low, because nobody wants to go to detoxification home, no.


So, I won't report
and he sings with me, and he lives with me and he loves me indeed. He just can't see about me,  can not even breathe...
and you can't even see.

Our ideas linger together, and it makes us both in company just like it should be.

A tumbleweed, floating through the vacant desert.
A comic scene for those in silence.
A disastrous nightmare to those behind a big dream.

I'm your master you are my puppet.
We get along with the sickness in our stomachs.
My endless desire to show you what it means to be wired. I'm the the show choir let's build an empire,
they don't know the connection that soothes this void.
They **** what they destroy,
I made what creates hauntings to invade.
Our truth would surely set us far back.

For days upon days, come on! Time to play!
For they don't see the black in our face.

With a stabbing at your pending shallowness, I reel  in the blackness of such a fight we have endured.
And as we battled the shadows lurking  our way fourth, we agreed on a reason for our fleeting absences.
Climbing on the wall, ticking up to a time bomb when your everlasting embrace becomes my most valued mistakes.
I tried to disgrace your name as I run fast out of the tunnel, risky flames spewing towards me.
They're not entitled to keep me sane. It is you who once again leave muddy footprints as you walk in acid rain.
Tracking a path to the complexities of where you leave me in a bundle of distorted images.
I'm not as wrecked as they claim me to be. I'm not just a shell of who I want to be. I pushed past those  fatal plans in front of me.
I evolved into a creature worthy of will and of ability.
The offering I bestow onto the table is every being of you that I pretend is still with me.
When I fish out the best characteristics we had,
I blow up to find that it is more lethal than anything cancerous.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Yet, people smolder every meaning of the word beauty.
Taking procedures in order to obtain this image of perfection, but it is right built inside of you. Believe it or not, whatever you need you got!
Reading this now with your eyes, heart beating to the sound of survival.

Educating yourself on how to accomplish revival because you are dead.
The laughter comes in sequences syncing perfectly to those begging for attention.
Revolt revolt!
Build a catapult to launch yourself away from here.

Lose yourself in all the sincere.
Perform a test to see if you're the best.
“You are defeat compared to the rest!”
Start to dress to impress when the prevalence isn’t up to par,
spending days alone at empty bars.

“Dare to make a move!”
“It won’t improve you.”
“You got nothing to lose!”
“Yeah, well how about your skeleton starting a rebellion? You’re yelling, starting to tell your children the beginnings of this addiction.”

It swallows you whole, your body is totaled.
Now, you’re in the rusting pile of traveled miles of rot...
Forgetting what you are what what you’re not.

I heard you today,
Little heart beat
safe beneath.

How do some make a trash bag of a creature so innocently?

To suckle
and feed you off
so dangerously.

You fresh leaf,
“life long” responsibilities scares Them
so their priorities must recede

But you are no mess,
sweetie
Come hold onto me
You angel,
born from angry breaths

I’ll swaddle you
from Night and Day until it’s sunrise and sunset

Tuck a blanket under your baby face

I am Your Mother, whether DNA
may or may not say

I am Your Mother, with me you lay
#love   #sad   #sweet   #maternal

Shards of glass, they are pieces of The broken past.
All the while, my brain is disintegrating.

While love has a lack of radiating, it sure knows how to sedate you.
Stage one of figuring out, is learning how to levitate off the ground, no need to come back now.

Raised up, aligned with signs warning me I'm far behind.
Reaching for other sides, because so far it is too black and white.

I lay down in my own pool of blood. I wish it came from a blade, or seventy.
No, it came from not being an impregnated teen. When we had the spring scare, I imagined you staying and raising a baby boy.

My mind plays so many tricks on me. Who knows if he really did form or if it was my imagination?
Real life frustrates me, burdened by who this world wants me to be. Well, I'm me.

Wishing for a lullaby to sing me to sleep.
Poor restless me continues to seek for sunken ships and burned down apple trees.
We rush to the hospital to foresee a new life forming, but forget to indeed leave a kiss for those who used to bandage our worst scraped knees.
I'm held down by the routine of being 16, when in reality I'm surpassing my own peers in front of me. I wave goodbye, but they just stand and stare.

Labels define me as I just try to gain understanding, isn't that just quite obscene?

The air is polluted, and we climb the tip top of the mountain until our ears pop.
So this is what it feels like? To breathe in freshness when its already been passed through our ancestors?