We exist
As a reflection of the creative force
That drives the universe.
It imbues our cells,
Our molecules,
Our spirits.

As children, we did not hesitate
To pretend,
To imagine,
To make up songs and stories,
To paint and draw,
To dance and sing -

Another joyful voice in the choir of the universe.

So tell me why
Do you hesitate now?
Why do you hide behind self made limitations and fears -
Excuses that become the walls of your cage,
Your prison cell -
Your tomb.

Why do you say
that you are not one of THEM -
The gifted, the talented, the artistic -
(As if we were not all made from the same stardust)
Repeating it over and over like a mantra-
that could absolve you of your responsibilities,
Your role,
Your unique harmony in the song of creation.
Oh, what arrogance!
What hubris!

The undercurrent always weaving,  
massaging upon the shores of each other.
degrading upon the other, so subtle in its whispers
upon the others embankment.

Thinking that with exploitation it is rendering it
susceptible to its whims.
But as light becomes more obscure, feathers of
impure tears collect eroded in impaired hues.

Two become indifferent to what was, but what lingered
for so long was now not as either had envisioned.
Diluted upon the verges of their joining, neither
now singular but an amalgamation of neither each became.

As each crested upon the others being, becoming less of
what they were and what was an eventuality. These feathers
of diluted halves would give flight to another born of neither
but both. the paradox of what was earned neither would exist.

"We wish to repeat ourselves on others,
*"Only to find the refection wasn't our true observation of our self,

I'm frozen.
Standing in place,
my feet still on the cold concrete I once called home.
I can see the spinning wheel.
Constantly turning,
but never changing time.
Like a vortex without energy
or a lamp without light.
It's nothing,
just there.
It exists.
But,
do I?

Sadly the man said
In a casual tone
"The mind is a funny thing.
It can produce wonders beyond my conception. Yet as with all things the scale slides both ways. If given a knife and a hand to hold, the mind will surely consume the soul."

If,
They,
Kissed me,
Right here,
On my face,
My,
Objections,
Wouldn't,
Exist.

begin with a
disinfectant wipe
and wash your eyes
right off your face

(it might sting a little
but that's a small
price we all must pay
before we die)

next grind your
toenails down to a fine
sheen using only the
shower curtain

(it may take hundreds
of years and that's why
i'm telling you to
begin immediately)

let the roots of your
hair dig down into
the ground and slowly
bury your face

(at this point in the
procedure you may
pass out from lack of
air or lack of hope)

finally tattoo morse code
messages behind your ears
with a rusty safety pin and
old charcoal art pencils

(it doesn't matter what it
says because nobody can
read it back there nor
do they actually care to)

and submerge your
nose into isopropyl
rubbing alcohol just
to smell poisoned

but most importantly
of all when you begin
to experience pain so
intense you do not
have words with
which to describe it

always tell yourself
that nothing is real

n o t  y o u
n o t  a g o n y
n o t h i n g
i s  r e a l.

then take down the
noose hanging in
the back of your closet
turn off the light and
fall into the deepest
sleep of your life

*(whether or not you're
real or not doesn't matter
it just matters what you're
telling yourself to stay alive.)

She's tired..

Like a flower slowly withering as the cold wind goes

She needs the sun again.

She needs moisture.

Or maybe it's time for her petals to fall.

So let it hit the ground

Softly and full of grace

For she may flee

With the beauty of the wind

and be gone

but exist

*forever..