I did my best and it was
Good enough for some
But not good enough for the entire circle.

I apologize to those passengers of Life
Who did not or could not see
The percipience of my nature
For they were involved in furthering
And sustaining their own
Patches of life and rightly so.

They blamed me for
Mismanagement of my own life
Which may have in some way
Ruffled the feathers of their opinions
What they saw as mistakes
I saw as vehicles to freedom
What they regarded as foolishness
I considered as creativity's spur.

The width of Raison d'etre is wide as sky
The length of choice is unfathomable
The height of desire reaches the stars
The Sun, its Planets and their Moons
Devices for every nature's florescence
Difference is not a defense
For claiming quality
It is the hallmark of creation's artistry.

The crisp of January and August's heat
The abundance of Autumn
And Spring's colorful spirit
Testament to the unstoppable diversity.

For years now I have written down
My most likely history
A mixture of public services
Both the seen and unseen

It helps a soul to focus
On the many goings on
I'm not sure you know this
Here one minute, next it's gone

I'm talking time and memory
As they seem to coincide
And you like me just might be
Along for the ride

That's why this mission that I'm on
From day one to write it down
Of the many things I've done
In a life of lost and found

Are equally important
In the major and minor scheme of things
Helps me to stay focused
In hopes I keep my memory

We move through the night,
though the streets seem empty,
we look left and right,
electric vehicles are stealthy.

As we exercise stepwise, sunrise happens.
and black night fades its cover.
Like phoresy, painted, pieces of heaven,
the day opens with primary colors—
reds that delight, oranges that tease
and peacocking yellows that leaven.

As the counterfeit rainbow enchants and rouses,
streetlights waver and douse,
lights flicker on in houses,
and the earth blossoms active in borrowed hues.

Morning twinkles with its particular, angular light,
as we enter the still still lobby.
They’ve already set out the coffee!
With a sip, I feel the morning's started right.
.
.
Songs for this:
Day Tripper by MonaLisa Twins
Our Day Will Come by Amy Winehouse

I just came from the cafeteria. In a shocking twist,
I have to actually meet people, I mean, can you imagine?
And we have group projects, my least favorite thing,
except perhaps, having a gym class.

The cafeteria was so crowded—didn’t I see you there?

Everyone there seemed to be wearing vintage Urban Outfitters.
I felt left out, but no one openly pointed at me.

Next, I expect to see bubblegum patch vests, skate-fit jeans and leopard-appliqué flats.

Between us, I’ve gotten old, and lost what little fashion game I had.
Now I’m modulated, that is, I’m over over-indulgence.

When I pictured myself in college, ***, what, a half a decade ago?
I imagined myself in a Lime Fizz Dress from Modcloth.
THAT never happened—which is all for the good.

School and by extension - school work - is definitely happening.
It’s not all studying while drinking back-to-back espressos at sunrise.

This week’s assignments due are: a ‘reflective assignment’ on qualitative research methods, a policy memo, a case analysis, and a group presentation. Argh.

So if you don’t hear from me—I haven’t been deported—I’m just oppressed.
.
.
Songs for this:
This is Why by Paramore
Lauren by Men I Trust
Margaret by Pomegranate tea [E]

The day’s hours were worn down and a sudden sunset, that resembled a master’s painted glimpse of Valhalla was upon us, its majesty of deepest blue, blood red and black.

From our tenth-floor skew, the river looked, for all, like a wrinkled sea expecting a storm. Boats moved to tie up before the dark body of windswept clouds arrived trailing a wall of downpour and flickering, electric thunder.

Our study group had run over, as they tend to do. Most of the members urgently moved to pack up (they’d be campus bound). An unpropitious rumble and fierce flare of light revealed that mild twilight had swiftly faded to a darkest stormy night.

My pinched-pleated curtains thrashed before this tempest for the almanacs, feigning a life they do not possess, like twin ghosts stirred to wrath.

“We can order in,” I offered, waving a menu from the downstairs bistro, as I closed my French, glass doors. “Why not eat here and wait it out?” I shrugged, “My treat,” I offered, “and I have wine.”

A pleasant embracement of relief and consent followed. What held more power, I wondered, the society, natures coerce or the gratis fare?

Later. as we parted, a young man paltered, repaying me with a quick hug and cheeky kiss. The valueless touch, was itself rewarded with a small grimace of a smile, but the sin did not overset the mood.
.
.
Songs for this:
Riders on the storm by the doors
Stormy by Classics IV

A man, dejected
with a broken heart,
snapped all the ties
from his world,
roamed about places
one to the next
in search of peace.

One day he found himself
in a distant Fairy Land.
The fairies were surprised
to find him amongst them.
One fairy asked him
what he wanted.
Taken aback by the question
he said ,"A new heart."
The fairy said,"Don't worry, we do have a heart shop."
She took him there.
There he saw all kinds of hearts-
Some made of gold, some of silver,
and some normal too.

In another corner he saw
a collection of broken hearts
beautifully kept.
Out of curiosity he asked the fairy
why they kept those broken hearts.
She smiled and said,
"They are the epic story tellers."
Amazed by her words,
he left with his broken heart
back to his world.