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Rachel Sullivan Sep 2014
I remember the day,
you gave me a bracelet.
Leather, and brown.
Beautifully woven and thick,
Writing on the front that read
“Lokana”, your name in Hawaiian.

But the clasp was broken,
Completely unwearable.
I would have to tie it with string.

Most would have thrown it away.
You gave it to me as a gift.
And you looked at me
With such extreme importance in your eyes,
Your voice stern as you said
“Don't lose this.”

It was then that I realized
What it must have meant to you.
A sharp twinge of fear caught me
As I promised I wouldn’t,
Knowing how much you were asking of me.

I have such a forgetful mind, you see.
I drop brand new phones on concrete,
Leave 10 page essays at home,
Forget the way to my best friend's house
After hundreds of times being there.

I forget chunks of my life.
Years of my childhood,
Precious items,

Yet you wished me, of all people,
To keep track of something so small
And easy to lose.
And I, of all people, agreed to do so
Because I knew what it must have meant to you,
And now it means that to me too.
Rachel Sullivan Aug 2013
If I could transform my very core into pages

If I could translate all my feelings to words

Then I you can bet I would

But I would only write it to read myself

Like a diary to gaze upon

With cold and bloodshot eyes

When I stay up all night,

Torn by my existence

I want to know why

I wish I could understand my feelings

And put myself into words

Maybe then

I would know what to do with me

If I could translate this hidden message

I am sure lies deep within

Maybe I wouldn't be beside myself

In trying to learn the meaning.

Maybe if I could write my wants

My needs

My thoughts

In a poem, or a simple lyric

I would know just what they were

But I can never find the words

Instead my insides speak in a foreign tongue

No dubbings, no subtitles, no dictionary

Just me listening to clogging whispers

Of which I can never decipher

My life would be so much simpler
If my heart knew English.
Rachel Sullivan Jul 2013
They are strange things; strangers.....
There are so many of them

Yet,  although these strangers are strange to me
To you they may be a friend

They are a strange species; these strangers
They overpopulate almost every place

Yet, they go about living similar lives of their own
Each one with a different story or face

Strangely, we are taught not to talk to strangers
And trained to avoid them

Yet, each one, whether strange or not,
Is, strangely enough, a person.

Strange is the way we feel about strangers
We fear them because we do not know them

Yet, these strangers are unknown to us
Because we choose not to know them

What strange mystery these strangers possess
Each one of them has a life,
A secret,
A past,
And a name
Just like us....

Yet, we label them as strange.

Yes, strange thing; these strangers

The strangest strange
Is that, strangely enough,
We are all strangers.
Rachel Sullivan Jul 2013
I am afraid of stepping in the sand.
                                       For I am afraid of the mark I will leave.

                                    I am uncertain of the imprint I will make.
                                      And I am afraid of what it would mean.
                                                           ­  Perhaps,
                                         It will be small and insignificant.
                                                Ju­st a pathetic footprint,
                                     That the wind will blow away with time.

                                                          ­ Forgotten.
                                                      ­        Erased.
                                                 ­     Never to have been.
              ­                            I am afraid of disturbing the sand.
                                           Thousands of tiny rocks, moved
                                                           ­    By me.
                                           What if move them the wrong way?
                                               Is there even room for me,
                                            Amongst the sea of small stones?
                                                         ­         Or,
                                           What if I take my first step and fall?
                                           Thats not the mark I want to leave.
                                        Thats not how I want to be remembered.

         ­                                 Someday, I will have to take that step.
                                            Afterall, we all must move forward.
                                                But I dread the day I must go,
                                               And venture out into the desert,
                                                         ­  For I am afraid.

                                                 What if the sand is too hot?
                                                Perhaps, it will burn my toes.
                                                      What if I’m too weak?
        ­                                      What if I go the wrong way?
                                                  And my footprint points,
                                                   in the wrong direction?
                                          What if others will follow my steps?
                                                          ­ If I was lost,
                                         I wouldn’t want them to be lost too.

    ­                                                      It takes thought,
                                          How will I step on this sand of time?

                                                          ­Will I tiptoe on,
                                                   Just enjoying the walk,
                                                        And­ be at peace
                                             Knowing my steps won’t last?
                                                           ­        Or,
                                             Should I jump, at the risk of falling?
                                       And engrave a mark that the world will feel
                                                And keep for years to come,
                                              Like the fossils in a museum?

                                                       ­    Either way,
                                                       I will still be afraid.
Rachel Sullivan Jul 2013
Its yellow with white shutters
With flowers in clusters,
Surrounding the big green yard
A rocker outside, wooden and bold
So one can get busy growing old
With a cabinet of homemade jams jared

A big garage to the right
To work and play in at night
Filled with half done projects and dust
Oil, gears, and  tools to carry
Every man’s sanctuary
With broken machines and the smell of rust

A tire swing swinging
Child’s laughter ringing
Around the maple tree outback
River flowing nearby
And a kite flying in the sky
The small orchard outfront brings a snack.

A garden planted where
the sun is fair
And the pathway to it is curved
Inside there are colors
Hypnotizing to others
And a pump for water to be served

Ivy streaming up the walls
Vines curling as they crawl
Like the Christmas lights of spring
The windows glisten
As the residents listen
To the song birds in their nests sing

A winding staircase inside
With secret compartments to hide
Countless precious or priceless things
While happy photos paint the walls
And the small vases in the halls
Hold flowers with petals like butterfly wings.

The living room displays a simple radio to see
Which winter replaces with a Christmas tree
Beautiful music is played every hour
And depending on the season
Or any other special reason
The joyous residents will sing with notes sour

Food on the table
A comfy couch for cable
As the pie sits on the window to cool
A cookie jar ready to serve
But only given to those deserved
And the sweet smell could make anyone drool

In the study, take a look
To find a shelf full of books
Some are worn from use, others are untouched
All are worth a read
To a hungry mind to feed
And an old diary nearby waits to be clutched

Paintings strewn all around
Bought, handmade, or found
In rooms decorated with western antiques
Family heirlooms displayed
Heritage; dusty, old, and frayed
Proving that each family's history is unique

But at the heart of it all
At the back of the wall
Is the cradle thats held so many a child
And when death takes its toll
And captures the parents’ souls
Perhaps, the children will cherish something so mild

And the house and the cradle will hold many more
Rachel Sullivan Jul 2013
I am the container, the glass house in life
I'm fragile and bleed at the end of a knife
I'm also an outlet, a way to express
The one labouring to clean any mess
The pack mule to this game
The one to physically bear the pain
I'm overworked and under-appreciated
The only connection to the outside
Because I work as a shield against it
I have ragged and punched, laughed, and cried
I take the abuse and protect everything inside
I am, The Body

But what would life be without feeling?
A meaningless thing forever reeling.
I am the meaning, I find it in everything
I am the reason for the body’s being
I find beauty in almost every place
The body's my cage, I'm encased
I feel love, hate, and sympathy
A body cannot compete with me
I pump, I beat, I am the center of life
Art, happiness, pain, and strife
Are all things I feel and beat for
All things I wish to feel more
Without me
Life would cease to be
They call me
The heart

Although the body is the vessel
And the beat of the heart is essential
My pristine thoughts reign Supreme
The logical analyzer to this being
I am the true controller
The undeniable all-knower
The silly heart dabbers in petty things
While I know best about everything
The drone of a body needs my command
In order to react, feel, or stand
My impulses and neurons reside
as the head of all muscles inside
I am capable of miraculous lengths
My tissue is competent for amazing strengths
Throughout life I have had names of all kind
But my preferred entitlement is, The Mind

Physical presence is a wondrous thing
but its dying, weak, and fleeting
Have you forgotten why you breath?
Is it really that hard to conceive?
Life is discouraging but inner peace is true
The safe haven you seek has always been inside you
Spiritually there is more than meets the eye
Something that gives you life before you die
For centuries mankind has tried to solve this mystery
What energy leaves the dead behind in a cemetery?
What is life? What does it mean?
The heart, the mind, and the body?
Is that really all there can be?    
No my friends..... Remember me?
The light inside of this entity
The whisper bringing breath to the eyes
The warmth inside the heart to surprise
The essence of life before its taken its toll
I am love, I am spirit, I am The Soul.
Rachel Sullivan Jun 2013
I happened to fall down a great big hole
And the dive into darkness shook my soul
The world then turned upside down
when I saw locked doors all around
I chased after a hopping bundle of white
searching for happiness and some light
Crying a pool of tears
How in the world did I get here?

Thats  when I met you and your smiling face
I thought I had finally found hope in this place
Your grin beamed like a crescent moon
So captivating I couldn't help but swoon
So cheeky, fun, and hypnotizing
I didn't know you were secretly criticizing
You told me which way to go
I can't believe I didn't know

I never thought that the nice boy,
would be made of smoke

You’re a liar, a Cheshire cat
I can't believe I ever trusted that
That devilish smile, and those big bright eyes
How could I not see through that disguise?

Should have listened to the wise words said
By a blue oracle whispering in my head

You tricked me, looks like I was used
But it doesn't matter as long as you're amused?
I feel like shrinking in my skin
at the thought of your incessant grin
I thought you were there for me
That you cared for me
But that was an act, a front, a lie
I Discovered a teaspoon of truth
and said goodbye

I'm sorry, baby, but you’re a pig
With deceitful eyes and smile that's big
You’re a red rose that's painted itself white
Later I knew something wasn't right
But I should have seen it right from the start
You're nothing but a beautiful but sour ****
Did you think I wouldn’t notice how distant you’ve become?
Well then,Dear, you're as stupid as tweedle dee and tweedle dum
I saw your game, your stack of cards
You led me to trust your delusive accords

You left me here, amongst the chaos and confusion
Sick from a potion I had to drink to believe your delusion
I'm the queen of a broken heart and all I see is red
If I had my way, it would be
**“Off with your head!”
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