writhing and screaming i dreamt in smashed hearts and scarlet eyes in it, i glimpsed all the love and support i had bled myself to accomplish was thrown out in favour of a greener man. indeed instead of growing firm from my current status as a support beam into the proper foundations you chose to forsake me for one so much more accomplished than I.
often horrid foresights of this nature plague me a small tick i cannot rid myself of each time I dedicate my heart to one, and one alone
the genesis of this disgusting anticipation might easily be traced to the progenitor that first yearning i felt so many years ago it was early in my youth i fancied myself smitten with a newfound human after childishly condemning myself to romantic solitude at the onset of puberty
she taught me the intensity of infatuation the lovely languish of being head over heels and not a fortnight later sent me into the deepest depths of despair for what she had sworn to the stars she quickly replaced with a decree to the devils "I found one better"
in my guilt and misery i blamed myself and forced a conclusion of the following: these tools i fashioned to show love do not fit any existing mold. i, must love too much must care more than can be beared must support, beyond what is norm.
yet as I awake, i breathe in my surroundings and remind myself that this fear though cacophonous at my lowest is nothing more than old hurt desperately clinging for relevance in an existence where i know the gifts I bring are appreciated by those who surround me and that eventually they will be welcomed by you. when you are ready to accept that which i know you deserve.
Had a night terror that a person I care for a great deal left me once they had achieved a place a positive mental health. I do not support them with hopes of reciprocation, merely that they will recognize I do so because I love them, and that maybe, they deserve love too.
the first time i placed my lips onto yours i chanced a gleam into what could be immediately, i found myself blinded and in my cold sweat felt unworthy
it was then. you taught me a lesson not easily forgotten love is quite unlike the way others say it is it starts as a masoner's quest the foundations of trust, respect, and compassion must be strong. only then, can you begin the process of forming into what it could be.
so dear, take my hand help me build the cornerstones and transform us beyond this tired dynamic of part time lovers. our one kiss showed me all we could be.
when you leave you do so gleaming and gracefully the words on your lips conveying a sweet, careful goodbye
it was today. i breathed a sign in the air as it filled my lungs, the vision overcame me marked with deserved happiness a light, perhaps from the heavens that this union is yet another pillar in the ever growing foundations of what will surely become the place i am destined to be
if not in your arms, than in the generous love of a friend whom daily, reminds me of what i could be, what i should be, where my dreams could propel me should i follow the ***** you so gently remind me i have.
In July, I collect stardust And text dust I linger in Shakespeare’s shadow And who knew He had a home in Oregon I walk along his stairs Finding myself hovering in front A trio of theatres, tall witches Brewing a cauldron of magic Each performance, enticing Crowds from every corner And I follow in suit Getting lost in the magic That makes me want To not return home
watch the sun set red through wildfire smoke from the roof of a battered minivan that's weathered all the storms of our Oregon mountain home-- we find ourselves here, repeatedly. lost on rocky dirt roads by the cliff's edge, trying to figure out what it means to be twenty in a world that more and more these days seems to be crumbling around us-- drive us somewhere never listed on the map, with music blaring through broken speakers we'll make our own destination.
Close your eyes, take in a deep breath of the salty air. Now open them.
With fresh eyes, looking out you see the deep navy blue water and numerous waves in the distant water. Crash, crash, crashing into each other. Pristine white cross-hatching sea foam patterns scatter and reform.
You have been walking towards the waters edge and haven't even noticed. The soft cream colored sand starts to darken and harden as you approach the water.
The wind is loud enough to drown out near by conversations and passing cars. You are in your own world. Nothing from the tangible world can touch you. The cool wind constantly battles the suns heat on your face and hands causing your skin to tingle.
You reach your arms out and close your eyes, lost in the moment.
Breathing in the salty fresh air you let go of your troubles, if only for the moment.
If the United States made an Ireland . . . It would be somewhere on the coast. It would have massive blue rocky cliffs to hold back the ocean. It would have fields outlined with shallow rock fences.
If the United States made an Ireland . . . There would be every shade of green as you walk down the street. There would be moss dangling from the trees reaching out to you. There would be rain, lots and lots of rain!
If the United States made an Ireland . . . People would be sailors, fishermen, and drunkards. People would be cautious and friendly in the same moment. People would be the biggest jokers you ever met.
It the United States made an Ireland it would be in Oregon. . .
There is a bay on the Oregon coast, Shaped like a scallop shell And ringed by rounded stones. And from the darkening sky Droop billows of blue and gray Hanging and lit like Chinese lanterns. Humans in the damp Northwest Appear to drip from the clouds In rain-washed colors Of blue and violet, Whose tattered clothes Are softened and soaked From ragged wool into rich satin. Still others bask on shores Of pebbles rolled by the sea, Bone white and cloud-gray. Down and up, down again The light rays vault, Painting bipeds into the land. There are no reflections But rather water in the air, Looking like rain Even on cloudless days. Their world is saturated Like the scarlet gowns Of Waterhouse’s Ariadne And the ponds of Monet, Green as the British Isles, Blue as the Aegean And white as the Pantheon ruins . Much like an ancient tomb, The majesty of mortal lives Commemorated in stone Is here splashed in the air And in every forest or cliff. Hushing people into silence, So they conduct the most Serious customs in whispers, Knowing how voices echo along Water droplets And mountain shadows.