In my attempt to be clever and witty I have written you a poem.
For you to read and pick apart.
It will start with a catchy title that will then bring you to the opening sentence.
In my attempt to be clever and witty I have written you a poem.
If this poem catches your eye,
you will read Michelle Rose
to figure out worthiness of a follow or a like.
If this is uninteresting you won’t even bother to finish reading.
It will end with a clever remark that could be considered sarcasm,
just as the rest of the poem could have been.
You will then wonder to yourself, why did I just read that,
and what the hell is that second to last stanza supposed to mean?
Or maybe you won’t do any of this because you’re a normal person.
Did I just call you abnormal?

Sometimes I like to read in the dark too…

a clever remark that could be considered sarcasm,
Just as the rest of the poem could have been.

Remember what we looked like before we saw?
Remember how we saw,
before we achieved?
Remember the perseptions.
Remember how we understood.
We were infinite.
We understood.
We were connected.
Unexplainable realms,
divided our thoughts
yet the vibes brought us back
to the place that we wanted to be.
In circles these waves of wind wind.
Around all our internal states.
The few external traits,
picked up from only a few trained ears and eyes.
Perception has changed.
We look at this
connection
differently than what we could mearly just see before.
Now it's something more.
Spiritually and physically
more compelling
than anything that one could only just simply visualize.
You'd have to experience.
You'd have to feel.
This connection.
Those sources of understanding,
that bring us back
into the very same thought
that we first began with.
The circular path.
We call life.
It all just leads
to the same questioning
there was
when we first began asking the questions.
So why would we keep asking them?
It seems pointless to keep wondering
about how much something matters.
When in reality
it's not how much it matters to you.
But how much it meant to them. ...and this is what shrooms have taught us....

floating around like bees
buzzing sounds
heavy traffic
one light flickers

sleepless cities
bouncing off the walls like birds on a tree
flying from one place to the next

silence.

in the deep deep night,
silence.

morning sun
to light the day

your eyes and mine
sleepless
sleepless
sleepless

moving slowly from place to place

heavy.

birds chirping
babies crying
buzzing
buzzing

around and around
among us

loud.

louder now
but oh so quiet

Manipulate me.
Wind your mind around my heart,
and wrap my soul into your thoughts.
Make me say yes when I’ve already decided no.
Take me into your arms and tell me everything’s going to be okay.
Tell me I’m beautiful, worth it;
when I am with you I am free.
Change my feelings with just a few words,
my mind with a look.

“It’s going to be okay,"
and "I am here for you."
"I love you.”
Get me to do anything you want,
anything you may need,
because I love you,
more than you say you love me.
Manipulate me.
My soul,
My heart,
and my body.
Manipulate my mind.
I love you and always will.
I will forever be yours.

Reality is;
The real that ruins our hopes and dreams.
The reason we cannot live our most deep and creative thoughts.
Life in its dullest form.

Something for us to snap back to,
when dreams become too much.

Messing with the pleasing inspiration retained from existence.
Making the vivid thoughts we want to make true,
become buried with us.

Lying there in a mind once unrealistic; free.
Bombarded by the captivation of reality in its finest.

Boxed up and unknown.
These dreams, feelings, and pure creativity,
never heard or witnessed by another living being,
and never will be.

All because a little phrase known as reality,
corrupted the mind,
and interrupted its better half; unrealistically.

This time  
  stay.
when you stay,
  stay still
Still.
Remain.
This time,
  breathe
breathe crystals.
Clear.
melt
into a calming ocean.
  stay still.

This time
  
stay

right here.

The sounds that soak though our skin,
run through our viens,
pull together all emotion
we did not know how else to communicate.
Vibrate our bodies and
give us a reason.
Bond our minds.
Fuze together our souls.
Feed our energy.
Free us from our:
Past.
Present.
Future.
Time.

Night thoughts
Swimming
Humming sounds
Wounds
Uproar
Mingling mingling
Up and down
Float

Through seas
Through words
Through nice things
Colored pictures

Paint
Higher up
Higher than that
Keep painting

Uproar
Over it
Over the noises
Over the voices

Fade into it
Over the noises
Over the voices
Under the sounds  
Fade

Into it
Now
sleep

I wish you could see the world through my eyes.
Feel every emotion that I have ever felt.
Witness every drop of sweat that has ever exuded my pores.

I wish you could hear every word my mind has spoken
and edure every inch of my world.
My mind is a wall waiting to be broken down.
I wish, just once,
you could know me and how I work,
pull me apart.

you could let me into your life,
only after youve understood mine.

Treasures, hidden under weeping willows
Growing where the air runs wild.
Their spirit roams free.

They are like gold.
Exquisite.

Through storms,
hustling through the winds,       surrounding me
they soften each gust.

My friends truly,
are are a work of art.

I wish to write happily
about the time my boyfriend brought me flowers
and hand-wrote me notes
just to remind me how much he loved me

but I often find my pens drooling
Writing poems about the time he left
and how he broke
every promise he ever made to me instead

I remember wishing to speak
So loudly
“I’m happy”
So securely
So much so that the words might force it

For all the time I’ve spent writing in the dark
I never once thought I’d know
what it felt like to see again

One early morning
when the sun hit the pages just right
I caught a glimpse of what it might be like
to write happily
about the time I found my future
and stopped drowning in my past

I found my light
and I didn’t have to force it
Writing happily about coffee
and the mountains right in front of me

This place is a place I never thought I would be
And when I write it might not be about him
But but it’s about me
And how this place
makes me really, really happy