I'm still me
And we're distant now
I've gotten stronger
And growing loud
Sometimes I wonder
If you hadn't gone
Vast beyond the sea
Collecting deep-colored shells
For a heart severed-to-be
Fallen stars on parched land...
Brought with them a piece of heaven...
The child in me ran to collect... in fragile hands...
To hang them in tender threads from the window...
So as to light up my heart upon a dark day!
Sometimes a sweet memory of the past is all you need to brighten up your dark day!
Vowels and consonants
Pool together into words
As my emotions rain down
The grim and grit
Of every memory clings
To each sentence
Until I step in
Then they collect on me
And soaking my tongue
I jump in
Splashing out thoughts
Until I am coated in my imagination
I stomp through
The puddles of letters
Saturating me with words
And sentences are dripping
From my chin
Time is a construct of
We cling to them more so for comfort.
Not realising that we're already
an echo just rebounding off
the moments that have conceded
to a passing that is bigger than us.
But still we live for those mere seconds,
And to show that even though we were
just a flicker,
we burnt brighter than a star.
Is burrowing a web
weaving a collection,
accumulating an anthology
For a far gone day
Stash them away
set them aside with a
what, when, why
rather than right
now ambitious zeal
Its the nature of the undertaking.
My minds an unavoidable reciprocal
Gratified by wasting time,
It’s just there filling space
Tucked away for a rainy day
In every nook and cranny
Tickling the fancy.
Affording a kind of intellectual gusto
that's borderline deplorable
accumulatively downright trifling.
even if it's unnecessary
I'll never get my fill
paper to hand typing away
uncovering all of life's mysteries
If I could collect every negative thought you ever had about me.
I would blow them away like a dandelion wish.
Sometimes I wish I could just start over with some people, the ones who judge me before they ever got to really know me.
I am mercurial writer
Whatever comes to mind
Gritty, dire, ******, dying, loving, funny
I am a wordsmith and a wordwhore
Other people collect shells and coins
I collect words
I always say the words
They may not be appropriately used
But I love the way they feel in my mouth
And on my tongue
I enjoy my unfettered mind
It seems I ***** out words
I love the long walks
I take in other’s minds
I walk around untended and welcomed
Enchanted by your beautiful thoughts
I hope you enjoy the traipse
I am trying to justify how I jump from topic to topic. And I can’t.
I am ok with that. :)
If only I could collect the rain,
Put it in a jar
And take it to God.
Then I would say,
Here, I found your tears,
They made the soil breath.
Every night, six ten on the dot
came the weary woman, collecting fragments of thought.
She pulled her green dumpster,
always on time,
waiting for the dependable
same-old twelve chimes.
Only then would she leave,
take her uniform off,
then the next day again,
dancing with the clock.
But some days she'd pick up
litter from a genius's mind,
and astounded she'd be with
her new precious find.
She placed these in her lilac box,
saved for the best of the best,
then, preparing for the next shift.
she would take a much needed
caffeine is a drug
Fingers laced together, I am a basket.
Take parts to build a heart: you will need
wild things, beautiful things.
Mostly you will need
things that no one asked for,
that no one expected.
Things that have no reason to exist,
Netted spiderwebs and nettle fistfulls.
Fish scales and cotton cattails.
Dragonflies skimming across the water in the early morning
and fireflies imitating stars in the somber dusk.
The eddies behind rocks that jut brashly from the river
and the ribbons woven wreath-like through wrens’ nests.
Hauled up by handles, dump everything somewhere
you wouldn’t mind living.
Apply heat, settle in somewhere
you wouldn’t mind leaving.
Let sit two to twenty four hours, stirring occasionally.