Met a robin
in the graveyard.
She was singing.
to the ghosts
The love and honor
We grace to our
I went for a walk
It was quiet
but it was
An ear can break a human heart
as can a word, an eye.
A ****** is inevitable
when perpetuating lies.
"An ear can break a human heart
As quickly as a spear,
We wish the ear had not a heart
So dangerously near."
I know that I can reach the sun,
I know you doubt and wonder.
But I can ride a thunderstorm
To catch the bolt of thunder.
I know you think i cannot
The truth yells from your eyes.
For they haven't learned to match up
To the part of you that lies.
For i see the sun as you do
It's only another star.
Too small and too distant
From where you stand and are.
From where I stand the sun is there,
Just waiting to be taken
By one that will distribute it
To the lonely and forsaken.
So that when its dark and overcast
They can take it as a hinter.
How there are times of less sun
In the dark and lonely winter.
But there's always enough warmth
In a world that stands and holds.
All the thousand stories
That it's people haven't told.
we fell out of love
as we fell in.
and all at once.
A broken heart bears witness to grace.
because the person you've shared it with now holds a part of it.
And though the person you've split your heart open for
might never even know
but this is the kind of broken heart that needs no healing,
because it is how we heal the world.
They said you cant put a period in the middle of a sentence.
Can't start a thought with an and or a but.
But I did.
And I think the best place to put a period is wherever it belongs.
Because life has taught me that not all thoughts have a subject and a predicate.
Sometimes an incomplete sentence ends in a period.
Or an exclamation mark!
And I've known too many people who's voices have been quieted midsentence.
Punctured by others who have punctuated their thoughts with a small and deliberate mark of ink.
Charcoal, the ashes of fire.
And I've known people who have ended their story with a period before having completed their thoughts.
For their energy ran out before their thoughts had run through.
and a period seemed to them like the only way out.
For they imagined they had run out of paper.
But I put a period in the middle of a sentence because sometimes a sentence is complete when it's imperfect.
Like I am.
and sometimes I put a period in the middle of a sentence because sometimes a sentence is complete even if others can't understand it.
Like God is.
to only be
To live among the Stars.
To dwell among the People.
i listen intently to the silence. I know it's telling me something. the silence surrounds me, covers me, at once serves to calm and stifle me.
for in the silence is steadiness.
and though i hope for steadiness, it is so unknown that it frightens me. so i don't tune in to silence often.
silence is the flat line on the heart monitor. The lone tree in an empty field. The small twinkling star in the black sky. The empty chair on the lawn.
when i do finally listen, the silence tells me that strength and power is in what an individual IS, more than what it does.
for silence is the world in a state of being. It's the cessation of all distractions and business that we involve ourselves in the effort to become. The silence tells me, breathe slow.
You already are.
I'm the zebra in a stable,
the salmon in a pond,
the only blue eyed brunette
in a group of all the blonde.
I'm the coke in an ice cream shop
the green leaf in the fall.
It seems as though I may Belong
but really don't at all.
I write in words and ink but live in blood and tears.
That's really all the difference.
Because my written thoughts are black and white and clear.
And my life is a whirlwind of energy and ****** oceans. Intense and swirling waters. Constant waves lapping up the shore.
Beautiful. Ceaseless. Sometimes dangerous.
And words written in ink may seem more perfect but life's written in blood. So I dare to write in blood.
Because blood is warm. And life. And connection.
And I want to provide warmth, life and connection more than perfection.
Because it's what I want to receive.
They say that blood is thicker than water. But I think that blood may be thinner than ink.
Because the perfectly spoken word can be as warm and connecting and life giving as the complete and imperfect human beings that I meet.
When in loneliness and hurt and low in energy. When the fear is in meeting with other people, in connecting with them. When I can't tolerate the warmth that might come from risking connection. Maybe because I fear burning up from the heat. and maybe for i feel like a candle that's been burned to it's end. And I am afraid that I cant endure any more burning.
Ink. On paper. When brought to my nearly dying flame, suddenly causes flames. I catch on fire.
I've found connection in people and paper.
I've found love in blood and ink.
Because in both I've found you and some new parts of myself.
I wonder at the ironies
of shadows and of light.
for the storm's shadow is a rainbow
and the sun's is black as night.
And i know where the rainbow hides
when the storm is dead
and i know where the shadows lay
after the sun has set
the rainbows sit in the sun
and shadows lay in the night
and i know because my life is
but shadows, rainbows, light.
John Green says 'a lot of things will hurt you, but only the last thing will **** you'.
Perhaps life's purpose is to maintain our curousity about that final, capitalized T, Thing.
Not in a 'predict your future' horoscopic sense, but rather as a barometer of 'is this the most awful event that is destined to be my last' scale.
Is this a merely a lost battle or is it a lost war?
Will this be just another difficult time whose intensity will ultimately fade in the dust that settles with enough sunlight and time.
I wonder often about the stories we tell about those times that hurt so bad, they nearly killed us.
Not the stories we tell others,
though those do matter. Just as well.
Rather the stories we tell ourselves.
and how they are remembered can matter more than how they really were.
For they may have only hurt when it happened.
But they may be the last thing that will **** you.
Don't let others play the tune for your finale
as your curtain comes down.
i dare to wish
and tend to dream
for the alternative would be
a life of limited to worries
and what i know and see.
And some say that hope is futile
a live yet barren tree
but i believe in the thousand stars
that light the dark for me.
And hope may be the thing with feathers
but whats not said, yet's true.
Is that the thing with feathers
can fly right up to you
it can build a nest upon your window
and lay a golden egg
and i grant myself these empty dreams
so that i at least have that.
Her grasses may be greener
but what you may not know
is she bleeds each night
upon her field
in hope for it to grow.
Her grasses are all poisoned
but look right to the eyes
that sees only
of a thousand desperate tries.
— The End —