I hereby declare
That you shall not have a fare
Towards this land of beauty and fair
For you have put me in despair
Never have I been so clear
To put you out of here

I didn't turn the faucet off
And thought about life flowing
How it can see me dripping hitting splashing and then going 
Only in the second there in all my glory showing 
But the beauty blends into the norm and life it gets on towing

I turned the faucet on
So I could hear it flow again
The weary travelers eyes focus on old light in a new friend
It's the same orange sort of glow comes after nightfalls had its end
And the drips remind me of the way this planet it's days sends

And we spin

Drip drip drip drip drip drip drip

And we spin, and we spin. 

I kick up the sawdust
So with the dirt I'd see the sun
And watch the pieces hang, floating silently and fun
Hoping knowing when they settle
This morning isn't the only one
Oh no, you all are just a bed for something only just begun

I start to make more sawdust
Building what? I've yet to know
But I know that if there's something there I cannot be a hole
So that in the same when I am buried may I not be cold 
And that sun will people sing of me, when my stories told

And we spin

Rip rip rip rip rip rip rip

And we spin, and we spin.

You can take what I have
You can hurt me into nothingness
You can speak about me in that foul way

Use me, berate me
There's no one to inflate me
You can grab my hand
And tell me you hate me

That I'm unworthy
That I should be dead
That my birth was a mistake
That I should go to church and pray
That I'll die today

But let me tell you something
You are a piece of dirt
Would I stoop to your level?
To get trod upon?

I think not.

But you will never be better than me
You will always be the filthy person who,
Untrue to their words,
Will never be something great

I will rule a nation
I will organize a society
I will be recognized.

You, however, will be the beggar on the ground
Begging for scraps
Your wild hair specked with mud,
Your hands covered in dirt.

You will remember when you treated me like I was the dirt beneath
Your expensive shoe-clad feet
When you thought you had me beat
You thought your insults were sharp spears
Ready to impale me,
To **** me.

You will look at yourself
A ***** person with puffy, ****** lips
Tattered rags that hang on your body and show what is under them
You will cry,
And it will be a bath.

You can tell me I'm not good enough
You can tell me I'm a spawn of some horrible creature
You can tell me what you want.

But there will come a time
When you look at yourself.

Anguish a and dread come into my system.  I can't breathe, my lungs are deprived of oxygen. I feel his hand slightly stretching and feeling my tight, and I resist the urge to scream and slap him hard across his face. I stay still, pretending I don't notice his finger tips touching well-known places once again. I cringe and his eyes find mine. He smiles wickedly and the lump in my throat tightens . His hand slips away from my upper leg and he takes it to his face in a smooth movement. He winks at me and I almost loose it, but I stay calm, trying not to let my disgust show. Poker faced, I stare at him, a loop-sided grin still playing in his lips. His fore finger touches that revolting mouth of his.

"Shhhhhhh."

We are at work, and anybody could hear me if I shouted for help. But his oh-so-charming personality would make me look like a lunatic. Everyone loved him, and he loved everyone. He loved women in general a bit more than he should. Specially the pretty ones. He cherished them a bit too much. His enchanting face and easy talk made him get away from every awkward situation. And I wasn't going to be an exception.
He seemed to know where my thoughts were heading, because a look of superiority took over his fake, innocent expression.
He stood up and unzipped his low-hanging jeans, pulling his ******* free. I shuddered and instinctively took a step back, hitting the concrete wall behind me. I was trapped between him and the office's structure. I swallowed and looked straight into his eyes. He was definitely enjoying this. He stepped forward, getting me up against the wall. I desperately tried to find a way out of what was going to happen, but I couldn't find one. I closed my eyes as I felt his entire length easing through mi insides. He was smirking now. Minutes seemed to be hours. They were large and tortuous. I was numb. Every stroke was deeper and faster. His muffled moans were all I heard. I kept my eyelids shut tightly the hole time. He finally stiffened and let out a fairly loud sound of pleasure.   I cried softly as he stepped away from me and put his pants back on. He smiled one more time and left me there, feeling weak, shattered and covered in dirt that wouldn't come out of me, no matter how hard I scrubbed myself.

A man once told me earnestly, I was dirt.

And my mind got all unbalanced with distraught.

What’s the worth of dirt?

It was not until lab nine that the comment touched my heart.



“Composting and Soil” hit an emotional spot.

I am dirt. I am the feminine form of Adam, Adamah.

Biblical Hebrew for “Ground” and “earth.”

The chosen medium of the Father’s formation.



Water, Sun and Air

Father, Son and Holy Spirit

Entering me daily to heal me, grow me, thrive

the seeds He is planting to reveal His vine.



In a very figurative and literal sense.

Daughter, wife and mother ground

Purposed for *******.

Saturated in Christ, piercing love and bearing children.



Teach the fruit only the Lord develops

Through Christ, soil once unworthy, is valuable

Such as man’s duty is to cultivate the earth

I am dirt, Cultivate me.

I can see her breach the horizon.
Finding her way down a dirt road, that's familiar to me but not to many others.
A mare, powerful and strong.
No saddle, no reins, just her own natural force directing her where to go. She is beautiful, and her freedom makes her just that much more so.
I want to go to her.
I want to be where she is, in her world. I don't want to tame her. I don't want to fence her in, to exercise control. I couldn't even think of how to try.

Her magnitude is inescapable, but I must keep my distance. I want to approach her, but I cannot. As much as she attracts me, I dare not interfere.

For she is wild and free, and I am not. I wouldn't dream of poisoning her perfectly pastoral existence with my minutia. My world is one that moves too fast for her to be included in it.

So on the horizon she must stay, with all her liberty to walk on whatever dirt roads she pleases.

Writer
[noun]

someone who cultivates raw dirt to produce a single flower, blooming from the depths of their soul;
but grows addicted to its presence --beauty amongst darkness.
and in attempt to conceal the muddy reality, develops a garden with lavish, beautiful flowers--
of assorted variety, with unique traits of every flower and indistinguishable as stars in the night sky;
but harsh winter tramples with intricate footsteps, the petals tragically withered and torn as the writer's heart
their watery eyes acknowledging the dirt once more.

The taste of her lips the feel of her hips the way she loves me makes me want more my hands on her the soft moans she makes the whole room quakes love passion and lust screams and pains a must