As I sit here reading words that ring so right with me I am still afraid
What is it?
none of the folklore makes sense to me
Yet the fear prevails
how can I not let go?
Why can I not let go?
Seeing truly that we are nothing but our beliefs
... I am missing something
Is it a belief
A belief of frailty
I can not seem to put out of my person that I would not have chosen my childhood?
only my perfection would choose that existence
And if it is not what I remember why would I remember it?
It makes sense the Christ
- but why the circle ness?
and how does that create ?
The ones that spoke to gods were speakers, teachers , mediums sensitive
What made them valid then was but the people's beliefs
If that is indeed the case then we truly are doomed
all are so entranced by the gruesomeness of it all
never the joy
We want to share bad
It is the energy that creates the chaos on a global scale
But how can we shift it?
by ignoring it
if the devil was indeed cast out of heaven my question is which one?
And has it just become a game of energy?
each feeding the same source?
yet we choose to feel and spread only chaos?
in fact then we are the fodder for existence
or all that is
if it's all the same
why do we keep perpetuating it?
I see you
perched and peeking
Behind goblin clouds
you like me
Seek just a trifle
to allow your beams
it is apparent
your just decides
To show your full
A limited view
and we the few
and we can play
And your reply
oh nay nay -
you see my friend,
~ like you
prefer the day
follow your bliss-
Follow your heart-
the heart that is shattered?
selecting a single splinter?
you must trust yourself
you must know yourself
I lay my thread bare soul on the ground and stare.
shredded, tattered and dingy
what else must I do
To be me?
is this me?
is this me?
still when cornered like prey
contempt and remorse
oozes from my pores at once
You did this-
BUT YOU DID THIS TO ME!
how could you-
why would you?
what did I ever do to you?
it's me alone
distracting and attracting
always hiding- waiting to be found by the dense shadows on the outside.
my own back in which repeatedly and magically stabbed
the stench of regret
wafts up knowing engorged nostrils
I've pierced myself once again -
barely relinquishing a dab of the putridness, greedily turning and twisting the pain in my fists
wringing the sopping rag out
in hopes of just one more use...
with the always present possibility
of finally spinning this life story
we form our own reality.
I see it now- everything is truly what we believe it to be.
And that sheer knowledge has made my inner balance teeter of late.
there is just so very much to understand...and then reference. ----that it becomes daunting.
I can see that it's truly my thoughts but I never seem to be able to slow them down fast enough when I so need to.
It appears to be an unending thirst to play-
to know what I want -
to have the patience to propel the desire.
It's humbling when you realize it.
All that is- is on a grid of sorts...
And that there is something you should enjoy but yet can't keep you wheels in the same direction long enough.
It's spaciously lonely.
a fork in the road that joy appears to be chosen
but its bricks always lose their guiding yellow.
And when you look inside there maybe really is nothing except what you've been told and now they are your beliefs.
I always seem to end up beside the river of beliefs.
And I can see why man had to create a savior.
It's hard to realize how much pain you've inflicted upon yourself -
selfish painful jabs at ones that betrayed you as well.
Never even coming close to an ember of their being
shredding yours in the poignant process.
You were told you were bad because you were bad
and then you became worse
and it gave you purpose.
You were good at being bad-
you like the spilled milk and spiked brows.
You were the beautiful one.
It was not nurtured properly.
I can see glimpses of it-
yet completely out of reach.
I like it turned down a bit now
I look at my skin to find the very same dots found on the fern
I can find them in my sleeping thoughts as well as wide awake
Even behind resting lids
the spindly lines on the leaf match the blue on the forearm
the ridges of a nail
does the elm recognize my follicles as grass?
I want to be able to sit in the complete middle of nowhere -
have no where to be and no one to sooth
And somehow know how to do it
To be sated
And quiet -still
A piece of it all
And still sustain breath
— The End —