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She is a solemn wanderer,
A daughter of the road
The crunch of moving gravel
Is like balm upon her soul.

Each rambling, easy footstep,
Within each languid stride,
Keeps the poison thoughts
From taking root inside her mind.

Each footstep is a triumph
That pushes her along
Each gasping breath that fuels her
Is a lyric to her song.

At times she is a vagrant
When there is no place to go
When nothing feels familiar but
The stone that coats the road.

At times she is a traveler
That thirsts for foreign lands
Her mind drifts off to mountain sides,
Or golden sprawling sands.

And most times she’s a dreamer
Thinking of the day
She’ll let her restless, resolute legs
Take her far away.

In all, she is a wanderer,
A daughter of the road
Putting space between her thoughts
Upon the open road.
Dear Diary,

I've been doing it all wrong.

I don't think we can purposely set out to "find" ourselves by going for volunteering sessions, or choosing to live alone away from our families, or forcing ourselves to meet new people when we don't really want to.

It's kind of just like...like the way we forget how to breathe or walk when we're conscious of doing it, or how love unexpectedly just happens from a friendship when we've been wasting our time overturning chairs and rocks. Like how that one time we turned the entire house inside out searching for that particular item, only for it to somehow find its way back to us a year later behind an unsuspecting dusty cupboard.

I'd love to be the best person I could be right now.
But I've learned that it takes time. It doesn't happen by force.
And I should enjoy my life while I'm at it.

Love,
Girl-who's-finally-at-peace-with-herself
I don't know who I am,
but I know the person I want to become.

I want to be rich,
like mother teresa's heart of gold,
like the iridiscent colours in sunshine-eyes.

I want to be poor,
like the beggar who appreciates any scrap of food,
like the bankrupt who eventually learns to count his blessings.

I want to be quiet.
Like the introvert who wishes she wasn't so,
like the girl who meets her boyfriend's parents for the first time.

I want to be loud,
like the drunkard who casually spits out truth,
like the pounding club music that makes my head hurt.

I want to be nothing,
like how the girl who doesn't belong anywhere is treated,
like how a guy who's afraid of commitment denies your relationship.

I want to be everything.
Like the atoms our entire physical world is constructed out of,
like the girl who's your first pill of the morning
and last of the night.

I want to be weak,
like professor xavier, who's too kind for his own good and can't walk.
like the flimsy piece of paper that caused your paper cut.

I want to be strong,
like professor xavier, who can control people with his mind,
like how it feels to be reminded that you're needed and loved.

I want to be a bundle of contradictions.
Rich yet poor,
quiet yet loud,
everything but nothing,
weak but strong.
Well, maybe I don't.

Or maybe I already am.
I sit and look out upon all the sorrows of the world, and upon all
    oppression and shame;
I hear secret convulsive sobs from young men, at anguish with
    themselves, remorseful after deeds done;
I see, in low life, the mother misused by her children, dying,
    neglected, gaunt, desperate;
I see the wife misused by her husband—I see the treacherous seducer
    of young women;
I mark the ranklings of jealousy and unrequited love, attempted to be
    hid—I see these sights on the earth;
I see the workings of battle, pestilence, tyranny—I see martyrs and
    prisoners;
I observe a famine at sea—I observe the sailors casting lots who
    shall be ****’d, to preserve the lives of the rest;
I observe the slights and degradations cast by arrogant persons upon
    laborers, the poor, and upon negroes, and the like;
All these—All the meanness and agony without end, I sitting, look out
    upon,
See, hear, and am silent.
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
 Jun 2014 seasonalskins
emptiness
upon my mornings wake,
I presented myself before the mirror,
a ponderous though befell me;

" I was once a prettier flower "

so I  summoned the councils,
ordered myself bathed,
in rich milk and fine honey,
as did those of old glorious days,

once again,
I presented myself to the mirror;
a ponderous thought befell me;

" I was once a healthier flower "

so I summoned the councils,
ordered them to make me well,
exotic formulations they did bring,
as did the science of nature; well-known,

the mirror presented itself before me,
a ponderous truth befell me;

" I was once a happier flower "
All of my dignity got stuck in an electric fence
My pride mangles itself, trying to unfold on chicken-wire
I am taken by the throat

It is okay to bite your nails
It is okay to talk to me
It is okay
you're a hint
of the sun
a hint
of a shadow
and a hint
of rain

and it's enough
if it's a hint
and it's not
if it isn't
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