Maybe I no longer want to fight.
Not looking like I just got out of battle most of the time.
Some days I want to be clean and at peace even when I'm still sad.
I want to be able to walk in a long dress with long dark hair waving around my face.
No tears or blood streaming.
I am a raven but I'm also a woman.
I want to walk with an old lover.
Or a good friend.
Through the field and sing songs even when they're sad.
Not always screaming through the pain.
But walk barefoot on the grass and embrace all the beauty that's surrounding us.
Not be blinded by my tired flooded eyes.
Not lie there exhausted by myself in a half dead place with my shoes full of mud.
My strength always being spent.
My head always swollen, covered in red.
Teeth grinded from the pain.
I want to fly as I walk in peace to the sounds that are meant to be.
Meant to heal.
Meant to nourish the soul.
And I want to share this feeling with the source instead of sharing an explosion of pain.
Every day.

You put it right in front of me.
So I will always know that it's there.
Maybe some day, some time I'll get to have it so I keep waiting.
Getting prepared for what's never going on.

I thought feeling lonely and sufferig all by myself was hard and unfair enough.
Untill you came along.
Just to always tell me something to hold on to.
To let me know that there's a deep connection.

You tel me at night that you might be coming to see me when you're ready.
But you either don't come at all or you just have a sip from my cup and go.
I know why it can't be different, we can't get caught.

But this is worse than lonelyness.
Getting prepared for nothing after years of feeling alone.
Tension without release.
Not being able to give up again.
Life always plays these tricks on me.

Can I let go of you and let go of this game?
I want to see what will come out of it.
But I can't live here waiting.
Not being ready wouldn't feel right to me either.
Cause I'm a mess that needs some fixing.

But fixing takes times and energy.
Which I'm giving now for nothing.
Let me go then if you can't come.
Or maybe accept the mess that I am.
But I can't always accept it when I want this one moment of freedom, one moment that's right.

I always do anything for these moments.
Sometimes I wonder why.
Is it even worth it anymore?
Hurting myself like that when my body feels exhausted, stiff, tired, out of it, completely lost.
Then just leave me in my space and get out of it!

You just leave me feeling so sad and disappointed.
Unsatisfied as can be.
Worse than lonely.
And you're not even to blame.
No one is to blame, life plays these games on you and me.
I was already falling apart.
Now my heart is too.
Worse than ever.

Put it in front of my face.
Like a spirit world that I can't go to.
Let me go.
Don't hold me prisoner.
All my life.
An unfair game.
A broken toy.
In pieces.

Then don't let me see it.
Let me sleep.
Forever.
Be comfortable and not pressured, prepared.
Let me sleep and let go.
Let me go in peace.

every start is just another way to end,
we live and in the trying
we find that living's just another dying,

how many lines will you stand in?

your patience wears thin
your skin does too
we're being fed on the scraps
in the rich man's zoo.

Ever looked at or felt the notches on your belt?
did you forget a better time?
every start is just another end in
the ending of another line.

Obsequious and fawning
their **** for brains
say Good Morning,
well that's not for me

I find it best to ignore them,
but
I always disliked the pinstripe man
with the pinhead mind
the greedy man who'd
disrobe the blind and tell them
it's Summer.

(last Friday)

My English class just ended and everyone’s packing up (18 students). The class is held outdoors under a tent due to COVID. My professor says, “Ms Vionet, may I speak with you for a moment?”

I froze, Oh, my God, I thought, is he about to tell me to quit - has he already identified some fundamental inadequacy in my work? The world seemed to go silent as I hefted my backpack and approached him.

“Ms Vionet,” he began.
“Anais,” I interjected.
“Anais,” he patiently started again, “We have a small professor’s choice (invitation only) writing group that meets every two weeks, 7 to 8 PM on Wednesdays - would you be interested in joining us?”

It was hard to hold back a pterodactyl screech of delight. “Yes sir, I’ll be there”

“Here”, he said, motioning to the tent classroom “weather permitting.” He had packed up, he turned and headed for some nearby stairs.

I did a twirl of joy.