wild dancing of palms,
rigmarole of rain goes on,
water flows gurgling!

The sky like the palm of my hands
Is clear and faint
Holding stars and then slowly digesting them
Just like I do with magic pills.


--Watercolour

Once i was seven years old, a dream had told me
one day i'd be married under palm trees
Once i was seven years old

I was a girl with a plan but you thought yours was better
You pushed me close to the edge then sent me sweet love letters
By eleven i was broken, crying in your sweater
Never again would i fall, you couldn't stand the pressure

Once i was eleven years old, my brother told me,
don't worry 'bout these boys just get your money
Once i was eleven years old

i always had that dream like my brother before me
so i started working, grinding, started stacking money
Everyone called me honey, cause i was still so sweet
I didn't let the riches change me, never folded in heat

Once i was sixteen years old, the parties got old
The morning after was always so gloomy
Once i was sixteen years old

I almost went to jail, almost ruined my future
who would want to be around a girl that's so stupid?
I had my boys with me, at least that was in my favor
Then those same boys went and put my ******* life in danger

Once i was eighteen years old, being alone got old
I went and found someone who was there at night to hold me
Once i was eighteen years old

Soon we'll be thirty years old, our story pretty bold
We got married barefoot under the palm trees
Soon we'll be thirty years old

Little ones learning about life, our love is constantly growing
I'm so happy as his wife, he's what keeps me going
Most of my friends are in jail, dead or close to dying
I did my best to save them but they just kept justifying
and its so hard to talk to someone when their ego's showing

If I reach sixty-years old, then he'll reach sixty-five
We'll sit back and reminisce of simpler times
When we were young and happy dancing in a waterfall
with nothing to lose because we'd already lost it all

If I don't reach sixty-years old, will my story be told?
Or should i write a book detailing everything?
If i don't reach sixty-years old

If I don't reach sixty-years old, will my story be told?
Or should i write a book so you wont miss a thing?
If i don't reach sixty-years old

Once i was seven years old, a dream had told me
one day i'd be married under palm trees
Once i was seven years old

Once i was seven years old...

You took my hand and asked me to dance,
But I was far too tired to do so,
The simple act of walking being far beyond
My limited capabilities at that point.
I had been reduced to hugs and kisses,
And tales of how glorious my past lives had been,
And holding hands.

I wondered if I should let go- it seemed so different,
From any I'd ever held before, that hand.
For years I'd held others with the sole
Intention of drawing pain away-
I am not capable of creating happiness,
And I've never claimed otherwise.

Your hand had no pain to draw away though,
Or at least none that I could find,
Which startled me (All the others held so much!)
I had thought I knew all there was to know about hands-
Their needs, and all the varieties they come in.
How they all needed comforting in different ways
For similar ailments- grief, loneliness,
Heartbreak, being among the most common.
I'd even learnt to hold phantoms limbs for a few.
I'd move the pain aside, lessen it, or sometimes
Even take it as my own, releasing it when no-one else was looking,
Into a stone, or an abandoned old house.

But your hand simply said "I am here to be held."
It shocked me so much I didn't realise I was
Walking again. You glided gracefully ahead
As I clunked behind, unsure of myself,
Holding on to you, trying to figure you out
In the short window of opportunity I had left.

I saw it as our interlocked fingers departed.
Somewhere in the webbing between your ring
And index fingers on your left hand
Was what I had been searching for all along.
I won't go into detail about what I saw
(Our pain is no-one's business but our own),
But I saw it though, far more beautifully arranged
Than I thought was ever possible,
Noticing you had stolen some of mine
When I wasn't looking, and wondering
How much damage I had done.

I don't know whether I danced with you or not,
The release answered so much while
Explaining not quite enough.
I watched you, enraptured by the way
The pain never once showed
Through those beautiful, happy eyes,
Which never seemed to break.

Now I wonder if I had held your palm
Not too little, but far too much.
The pain I saw was labelled thus-
"Life experiences- Please don't touch
All is well. Please remain calm."

considering the lilies of the field
palms laid down

blue white arizona desert flower
sweet blooming oh

considering sunlight
moonlight

mourning dove
hello

i ride into my jerusalem
singing

beautiful moment
full everywhere

"sweet agony
of 'spoken
for' scored
in the palm
of your hands;
mount of
mercury
harbingers
to traces
of us."
||shoo.shu||