passion lead by lust, and transformed
into romantic dedication to be accepted of imperfections,
easily succumbs to the denial of our own role
in the vanity of altercation....

when demons are found within us all,
in which we hope love will subdue,
blind in the present, and always the beginning,
to the essential fall.

yet after the lighthearted descent,
upon impact, each rupture of the heart,
though estranged at first break,
manifests through perspective
the beauty of our flaws, and the power that is love.

Honesty was buried in the grave
that you dug for fear of making
yourself look bad
as you shoved the dirt atop
the excuses that sound so clever
in your thoughts.
As if I am too clueless to understand
the truth that you hold back.

How can I be embarrassed that
your decisions resulted in colored pencils,
instead of a dictionary.
That it is dull words that slip through our phone calls
to keep you occupied with your life,
creating ways to relate them to me--
when they don't.

The last time I used a shovel,
I was raking leaves.
The required tool was not available,
but I made the best of it,
and still told the truth at the end of it.
So lets make plans for the future
none of us are promised,
because lies are found deep in our structure.

This is no treasure hunt,
I do not have to seek out  
accumulated values that belong to
someone other than me.
my metal detector is better used as
a prop to hold my broken window shut,
because it used to be a habit
to lock myself out.

And now I have a life of authenticity to take me
to the heart of a dirt-free familiarity.
Where others are required to leave their dreg diggers
at home where it is more comfortable,
if they want to communicate with me;
I never have to look down on myself again.
my emptiness has been filled.

We live in times of blind acceptance,
absorbing all things possible through
technology.

Loving the options, we scroll through
aisles of the same final product,  
advertised through a  different
touch of what is perceived as genuine,
or discounted;

all wanting a better outcome for
anything that will benefit
the me--

the end leaving us before
the one true requirement--
that human beings rely on;
the idea of what it is that
pushes us towards being accepted,
acknowledged….
Loved.

and here I stand;

I know nothing,
and disregard all attachment.

Whatever it is that makes me,
wants something
to prove,
and I care nothing for
proving myself to anyone.

I would rather die for someone
else, than learn to die for myself.

ahahha.
Humanity,
More like a circus ring
of counterfeit conformity
we continuously
jump through;

rings of discernment that have only one
surviving outcome--
to acknowledge truth,
or find demise in disregard

let us all become one, through our
desire to be perceived as someone
who ceases judgment upon the world,
and inside the mirrored mind
behind the eye.

Oh yes,
let the wave of ego
cause the most ultra turbulence,
tossing and crashing all the
choices we engrave into stone.

absorbing the chaos of what it
means to be human.

and yet we are also the generation
who is best at neglecting,
and even better at diversion, so let
us live on in the desensitization
of consequence,

ignoring the constant feeling
of conviction, and condemnation,
when enlightenment waits patiently
within the search for wisdom.

We can accept, or neglect
the creation.
For fear understood is often the
answer to longevity.

Distance unravels with each ambivalent
word that falls out of my mouth.
Only a fragment of my thoughts are
let out-- the fear of you knowing the truth
about the way you make my heart confuse
my head, holds me back from embracing
the only love, life has thrown my way.
holds me tighter than the memories hand
cuffed to your touch, and our legs intertwined
beyond the bed of liquor we would consume.

I am still your desire, for actions prove themselves
in the late hours of your drunkenness, even
though it was you who left me when you stole
the tequila the dawn after a night filled with naked
souls, sinfully cheating there way past redemption.
It was my first real naked party.
And my mind jumps to the idea that you were just
waiting for reasons to cut me loose.
But in that moment I felt relieved that for once, I had
been used. Used as a life support of love.

Sometimes the clocks tick when I forget
I am human.

Every day runs in through my past,
and is happening right now.

I'm no gypsy
but i think it will continue
in the future i have yet
to embrace.

Each day
can be
like yesterday, through selectivity.

Experiencing each thought, and
choice we make, we change the
slightest bit; unaware of the emotions
that teach unspoken lessons.

A subconscious that holds true;
each hand holding itself, in anticipation of acceptance.

A line through all memories; a foundation that holds us up--
measuring the definition of life.

Time is a word created, and change is choice.

It is all perspective.

Free will is my tombstone,
as I continue
to promise to hold my grave
in each day.

I don't know if I will ever be able to articulate what you do to me.
And yet you do nothing, still leaving me thoroughly pleased.
I promise that I didn't mean to fall.

Maybe it is the shape of your eyes when you smile,
The way your teeth are placed and spaced in you mouth.
The sound of your voice, seldom heard, but powerful just the same.

Sometimes, I see the seriousness of your thoughts.
Our eyes hardly ever meet, and when they do,
they are averted to some useless object in the room.

We shared one night, tangled in sheets.
The touch of your skin, enveloping all of me.
Now we are left with nothing to say.  

And to be honest, I don't mind your quiet.
Because I simply don't feel I deserve your words,
So I will take your silence, because it is yours.

And in the times where I believed I have forgotten who I am,
I remember who it is that I want to be.
Days layer themselves upon my conscience, unaware
that the doubt that has survived through my blood stream
year, after year, after year still prevails.

Remind me again, of the self-destructive path I lead
in times of past where I was left in my own
deception, as you stood on the other side of your
own self built picket lines.

A daughter who never earned self-respect even
when she did everything she was told just by looking
at the eyes of judgment. Understanding that the
love would not be there otherwise.

Hell with insurance, and pieces of paper given
value that try to constrict my choices, in who I want
to be as a person. Yet these are the borders I have
endured as a child, taught as a consumer without limits,
from parents who thought they knew what was best.

So we try to remember the future by forgetting
our problems, running away as our blood
runs deeper.
We are just bones, with flesh.

How we have this knowledge is a
secret we die for.