this is the problem
the problem is trying
trying can make you tired
i'm feeling real tired
the problem is trying

you can feel the grass
throw your shoes off, roll up your sleeves, stretch your legs
we've been sitting for too long
you can feel the wind
rub your hands in your face, click your heals together
we've got a new spirit
you can feel the sidewalk
skip in the air, throw your hair up, let go of his hand
this is for the ladies

do you ever get scarily anxious around the New Year?
its like you have to come up with something spectacular
something impossible to either achieve or change
the pressure is enough to want to stay in the Current Year

do you ever think about your current self?
i think that's hard to do
we're always thinking about the past, or the future, or comparing our past self to our new and improved future self, or even comparing how different our future selves are from our past self
it's never current

do you ever wish for things to stay current
not in a trendy way of course
but to be content with the thought---and hear me out---of just being
now that's quite the thought
that's quite the wish
that's quite the New Year

Here's my notion, poetry is mean't to be an extension of the consciousness
It's supposed to be passionate, painful, it's mean't to be felt
The sun doesn't always have to shine, but it does, the rain doesn't always have to fall, but it always does
The moon is always there, watching over us
The trees are always there, quite literally giving us life
The squirrels, the birds, the caterpillars, we tend to swat them away sometimes, but they are always there

My notion, everything outside is there, for the time being it will always be there, apart of us
Much like poetry, its an extension of the most beautifully dark places in our minds
We are passionate about never letting someone's thoughts go unheard, hence our community
But have we forgotten where we extend from?
Where we gain such beautiful ideas?
The sun. the moon, the dirt, the water
They are in pain, and in extension so are we
We feel the burn of the forests, we call it anger
We feel the death of the coral reefs, we call it grief
The connection is loud, its rough, and we are losing it
That is my notion

I miss being care free
we hear it all the time, you never know how good you have it
but what if you do know? is that pain somehow justified now?
that's a hard question
I miss being care free

I miss those butterflies
when you looked at me, you looked at my imperfections
and you never looked away, they turned into my perfections
your hand would graze mine, the butterflies went wild
I miss those butterflies

I miss those laughs
the ones when the wind stole my breath away
when my eyes found darkness from squeezing shut, i love that
we grabbed our stomachs, the only pain that made us laugh harder
I miss those laughs

Its okay to miss those things
i have those memories, i have those forever
all the places my feet traveled, the places my hands touched
i get to keep all of those, and that makes this okay.

On this very very Happy Easter:
Jesus you rose from the dead, you beat death
A stone table, a cave, you walked away from
A wooden cross you died on for me, you bled, you cried out
You gave up your spirit, so I could spend an eternity with you
You called me daughter
Jesus you knew of sins I would commit, how many times I would turn against you, and you still call me by name, you call me daughter
My heart cries out in happiness that I am yours
My spirit rests in you
Jesus today you rose
Today you conquered death
You defeated hell, the demons die
Heaven sings your praises
The earth dances to your songs
All creatures look upon your face
Today you rose