somewhere inside
is eternal peace
outside of time
I am released

memories serve
a singular beast
who doesn't deserve
to come to the feast

It is useless to look back,
and see how pretty and smart
you were.

You are still
pretty and smart.

You won't notice till...
the chimes strike past.

You won't see it till...
you are looking back.

You wont feel it till..
you are unhappy with
your present,
the future.

Looking back at the past.
Wasting time looking back
at the past.

When you could be
creating memories
to look back on...

or not.

I don’t want to see anyone
Because I don’t want to talk
I’ve told my story enough
To those who’ve come on my walk

Am I scared of the judgements
that will come with their stares?
Or am I just sick of talking?
My voice is starting to ware
Am I afraid to stand up for myself?
Maybe I don’t know how

But maybe it’s all an illusion
For all there is is now
So perhaps I will go in
Confident in my now
And they will have no choice
But to say, “oh wow!
She really must be happy
She really must be fine
But if I will say anything
She’s really got it goin’ on”

here i am waiting for the flowers to bloom
waiting for the sun to come
waiting for the stars to fall
waiting for the time to pass slowly
waiting for the river to flow
waiting for the next song to play
waiting for the wind to whisper my ears
waiting for the moon that will eventually out there looking for me from a far away.

A girl slowly dancing on the pole;
I was not in the right position,
It was not the ideal place,
Something's wrong however we put it.

I still have the letter and postcards,
The PO receipt i keep it with me.
As I about to post this poem,
Am still hungover post-downtime.

Life is a present and as such
It can be given and taken,
Yet never owed.

I learn, therefore I have been.
I think, therefore I am.
I believe, therefore I will be.

I wake and it’s here,
in my shallow breath
the cold rising—
fear is all fingers, cold boney fingers coiling
squeeze lungs twisting muscles
greedy morning glory fingers reach
and wring

I fear so much—
being too cold, too hot, too fat
too hungry
untethered
too broken, too wrong, too right
unbending
giving too little, too much
missing the point
I fear 2028
rich white men
on top
waters rising, babies crying
in closets
I fear death, but pain more, I fear death
but leaving more
heights and small spaces, I fear losing
my freedom and the freedom I’ve lost
I only have one pair of feet

I fear the future

I fear the future fear imagines—
weeping mothers stinking waters
broken earth, apocalyptic
winners and losers, alone
in brambles or white rooms
passed over by
Wholeness

       My eyes tune in
to shifting light

Fear is all cold fingers and high drama—
cracking knuckles, it writes its own story
always the same score, sly rascal
and grandiose,
end to its beginning

       Feet find the cold morning floor
my fingers know the way to kettle and pen
I’ll write a different ending