We open our minds to expand to the times not to pretend there is some end to confine the limits of prime; we defend to remind to dance to the trance we redefine to enhance not to surrender to chance.

We open our hearts to embrace the new space-time transparency, interdimensional race as we become united and one, open to truth we exhibit ourselves as one infinite youth, gifted and new, eternally pure evolved to endure no end to potential, perfect and cured.

We strengthen our bodies and build on each other we love ourselves and love one another we grow and mature and extend to our neighbors but as we think deeper our expansion is greater our planet is one and our galaxy peace to the opening worlds we bring wisdom and ease we do not enslave or deny or deceive but we share our pure knowledge our light and belief.

We raise up our souls beyond science and physics to evolve beyond consciousness confinements and limits our imperial nature shifts to emerge from the boundaries of body and smallness of Earth we expand our perception to include all dimensions from previous eons to future inceptions.

We shift our new world from finite to light, universal, infinite, natural, bright we embrace the day and welcome the night to work with each other to be perfect, upright, to evolve our new planet, our galactic mindframe to expand from micro to cosmically aimed to unlock the portals to open our brains to evolve from old gears to interdimensional spheres uniting creation without hesitation pure as clean water and deep meditation.

-Ryan Christopher Brandes

I'm struggling with what it means to be a woman.
Does it mean that I am always in competition to be the top of my species?
Does it mean that I need to be perfect without a single curve out of line in order to find love?
Does it mean that I am only defined when owned by a man?
Does it mean that I can only find purpose in childbirth?
Does it mean that I will forever live in the shadow of men?
Does it mean that I am an object invented solely for a man's pleasure?
Does it mean that I'm forced to confine to gender roles and live in someone else's story?
Does it mean that I'm supposed to accept it when I'm harassed from across the street?
Does it mean that I'm supposed to lie there silent when he puts his hands up my skirt?
Does it mean that I am only worth 77 cents to a man’s dollar?
Does it mean that I am defined by my looks rather than my intelligence?
Does it mean that I will never be capable of holding a major position of power due to my mood swings?
Does it mean that I am defined by how many men I have had *** with?
Or does it mean something else entirely.
It's difficult learning to love being a woman.
Obvious and damaging disadvantages are visible to observers.
We are regarded as second best, property of our man.
We are erased from history, our pain is minimized and forgotten.
We are oppressed and have to fight for our rights.
We are afraid to walk the streets at night, afraid for our lives.
We are harassed without care and without penalty.
We are ***** and murdered for refusing proposals.
We are expected to live on the sidelines as a housewife whose only priority should be her children.
We are expected to keep quiet in situations of domestic abuse.
We are expected to be perfect, and pretty, fresh for a man’s picking.
We can’t even advocate for our own equality without being demonized.
There are times where I wish I wasn’t a woman.
Being a woman comes with innumerable expectations, pressures, and responsibilities.
My existence is not defined by a man, or by the patriarchal expectations that have been placed on me.
I am breaking free of my confinements and I’m not afraid to admit that,
I'm struggling with what it means to be a woman. And that's okay.
//sarahmann

Beneath the surface of our daily lives, we are always asking the question, “Who am I, really, and where is my true home?” The answer to this question is so utterly obvious, so beautiful, so ordinary, and yet so profound, that like the nose on our face, we have a hard time seeing it. Because of our own self-imposed limitations, the answer to this mystery can only be revealed little by little, as if a great veil were being lifted inch by inch, until the truth is completely exposed. Yet, we are destined to receive this knowledge.

Today-all around us: the electro-magnetic field is active and alive, whether we feel it or not. Imagine all the electromagnetic-digital devices surrounding us! Take a moment to think about their direct or indirect effect on our bodies. Global warming is by far the most serious manifestation of the “collision”—and Mother Nature is making the evidence ever more obvious. Our bodies are like little vessels of light reflecting our bright birth right. However these vessels constantly need nourishing and care. These are amazing times for us all but we must take care of our bodies inwardly and outwardly, else we are left at the mercies of the “spiraling” energies circumventing the universe. Both scientists and spiritualists have verily presented groundbreaking evidence about what is happening beyond what can be felt, seen or sensed by human sensory perception. At times-you may feel odd sensations or more anxiety than usual. Breathe in slowly and deeply. Take your time amidst the “rollercoaster of the city’s rush hours”. Remember to connect to the “higher frequencies” of a positive lifestyle in healthy ways. Exercise, Pray, Meditate, if you can- use flower essences everyday such as: Silversword, Shooting Star, Morning Glory, Sagebrush, Snap Dragon, Cosmos, White Magnolia. Growing a flower garden has its rich rewards too.
Nature’s healing effects are unquestionable, for within nature we come face to face with the Divine infinite source of All creation-as it was, as it is and as it will ever be.

Yogi Paramahansa Yogananda once quoted:

Harmony with nature will bring you a happiness known to few city dwellers. In the company of other truth seekers it will be easier for you to meditate and think of God.

There is a magic about periodically moving out of the “city’s confinements” to the richness of and around nature: forest walks, boat rides, mountain trekking and much more. The main essence is in feeling a refreshed aura around and within you-an indication that the city and all its toil on you have been left behind. We have to try to get rid of the notion of time. When we have an intense contact of unconditional love with nature or another human being, like a spark, then we can truly understand that there is no time and that everything is eternal.

Other simple ways of raising energy levels include: silence in isolation and more “interaction” within you inner spirit-your Higher-self. There are always two forces warring against each other within us and we can bring these forces to a balance during silent personal introspection.  In order to relate properly with and to your inner being, one must follow the “truth of imagination.” From the word-imagination, we find the word-image, which is the manifestation of our physical form and body identity.

As William Arthur Ward said:

If you can imagine it, you can create it. If you can dream it, you can become it.

More than ever before on our planet, there is now great need for interpersonal sharing and the acknowledgment that ups and downs are a vital part of our everyday life. This process is internal as well as external. The “key” is a flowing pattern that is beneficial to all concerned. Take good care of yourself, your relationships, and your health. Exercising both mind, body, and spirit can bring you the agility to incorporate balance, whether you are alone or with a partner. Life can seem like a seesaw existence, but you can still have a wonderful time if you maintain a playful attitude.

The “image” we carry of our self within our mind and heart carries the power to bridge our highest ideals into our everyday practical life. On the other hand, attachment to a poor image of self condemnation and suffering carries the potential to destroy our right to joy and abundance. Which do we choose? Practicing the laws of “visualization” is not unlike the practice of prayer or meditation, where the seeker opens oneself to channels of higher guidance and inspiration. Ideally, we are given the opportunity to walk through the gardens and forests of the earth with astute concentration and attunement, opening our opportunity to the light of healing and service, each and every day.

Whatever your tradition or practice, however you offer your skills to the world, trace your roots and find the center of stillness and peace within. Only from this grace-filled place can we restore the health and well being of ourselves and our planet. Become one who engages the full power of the mind, heart, and spirit in the interest of alleviating suffering and making our present world a true “Garden of Eden”

Remember to build the world around you in a practical manner. Is your spiritual, mental, emotional, and physical universe anchored in truth and wisdom? Follow the “call of the wild” and listen to your inner voice within that guides you to fulfill your higher destiny. Take time to make weighty decisions. Realize the implications of your acts for the future. Stop wasting your strength by criticizing others. Recall the ancient adage “Judge not, lest you be judged”.

Reinforce your positive, upbeat, and inherently good nature so that the dark elements of this world cannot break down your resolve and dedication. For those who have suffered emotional pain from all sorts of physical or spiritual abuse, If you are to walk the path of consciousness, enlightment and empowerment, you must go beyond your “old wounds” and accept this golden opportunity to metamorphose into a new “body of light” – one that rejoices with the understanding that all aspects of life are sacred and it is in the weaving of the dark and light within ourselves that we find our true wholeness. We heal ourselves and others by first contacting the inner nourishment or the "water fountain of life" within us which sustains our ability to create beautiful things in the world as well as to act from the depth of our hearts.

Imagine opening your arms to upward spirals of your divine existence like a beautiful chalice and ask that all love pour into the vessel of your heart. This love is abundant and rich, offering the fertile elixir of passion and creativity. These are exciting time and we must accept the challenges offered to humanity at this time; in it all: Unconditional Love, Peace and Unity is the answer. Change all bad habits-those that leave you with tingling bits of guilt. Cleanse your body and home and adore the “temple of beauty” that is your embodiment: your real reason for being!

The mystery of the universe is within and without us. Love the world...Love yourself...Love the change. Anticipate illuminating insights from places deep within you. Let the inner truth of your radiance come shining through. Most importantly, focus your attention and thoughts and blossom like the beautiful morning-glory. The yearning for our lost perfection, the urge to do and be that which is the noblest, the most beautiful of which we are capable, is the creative impulse of every high achievement. We strive for perfection here on mother Earth because we long to be restored to our true oneness with Almighty God.



Muhumuza Kenneth Ezra.

don't be afraid you're already dead

for he was not lucky enough for the train to take the other track
the pills were not vitamin C
the gun did not shoot water
and it was not, instead of him, me.

we are no longer the kids with capes crinkled in knots around our necks
but in their place are the rope burns of our selfish regrets

only attempting to rid myself of the crushing weight of confused sorrow
the dreams in my head have fallen to the floor
he placed his in patterns there

searching for adjectives inside a dictionary
where only nouns are found
lonely, the adjective being
the one word to describe this
is trapped in the moldy basement of a frat house

he taps at the window
sliding through its confinements
back where he was days ago
a silhouette of the clock

plucking at your hairs
chickens clucking that their scared
they keep changing this cyclorama
but it's always ripped and torn

walking into the abyss
singing his cares away
thinking himself sick
will we feel like this for the rest of our lives?

who owns this beating heart,
it seems to have been misplaced

you'd written horror stories on the sides of elementary schools
superfluous thoughts were rays of sunshine
that only cast shadows in your head

don't be afraid you're still alive

A beautiful contradiction
a necessary part of the machine
left weak and unprotected
except for a fickle flesh barrier
dust diminishes them to nothing

A beautiful contradiction
immobile yet moves all the same
from within their confinements
are plural yet act as one single unit

A beautiful contradiction
useless alone
yet the body would be crippled without.

Kylie D

She was taught from a young age that beauty was having pale skin and a bright smile,
But she wasn’t trained to see that beauty itself was somewhere in the writings of a fragile, broken heart.
She was raised in a society where thin bodies were attractive and big bodies were a disgrace
As if it was worse than the crime against  Jews, homosexuals, and the colors of race combined.
Belief that beauty was only found in painted faces with blinding teeth was planted in her brain at such a young age that she forgot how she looked in the mirror because she was too afraid to see her own smile.
She forgot to brush her teeth in the mornings because she was too afraid to ask her mommy, “Mommy, am I as pretty as the ******* the magazine?”
She’s too afraid to hear her mother’s reaction, or her siblings’ reaction, hell, even her father’s reaction.
“No, you’re not as pretty as her,”
That’s what they would say,
But she left before they could finish their sentence:
“No, you’re not as pretty as her. Pretty is an understatement. You’re pretty **** amazing, pretty **** talented, and pretty **** gorgeous, but you sure as hell ain’t just pretty. You’re not beautiful like the distorted girls in television screens, and you’re not beautiful like the chicks on those photoshopped magazines. No, you’re beautiful because you don’t ever see it. You’re beautiful because you hide in the flaws we all grew up in. You’re beautiful because you write your heart out on paper, and you’re beautiful because you give a little piece of your heart out to every person you see. No, you’re not as pretty as those prostitutes like to think they are. No, you’re pretty because you have good judgment and know when to give your heart out to strangers. You’re beautiful because you leave an impact in everyone’s lives, whether it’s good or not, intentional or not. You’re beautiful because you say you aren’t and you believe you aren’t, but you’re pretty **** beautiful for telling everyone that they are instead of saving some of the compliments for yourself. So, no, you will never be as pretty as they are because that’s what they will only stay as - pretty.”
Pretty in photoshoots and pretty in covers,
But they will never ever be as pretty as the girl with the heart too big for its confinements,
Heart too tiny for the world to see.
No, the world will never ever be as pretty as her,
But someday the clouds will drift away,
And the rays of sunshine will come out,
And it will shine on her,
And it will show her that beauty and pretty aren’t just the superficial things she was taught from day one.
Beauty is someone who will leave a mark on this soil,
And she will never look back to see it.
Beauty is someone afraid to believe in everything her parents told her to stay away from.
She doesn’t believe in love because love is too powerful,
And love is too kind, and love is beautiful,
But beauty is something her parents told her not to believe in either,
Because beauty’s an illusion and no one sees the obvious even if it’s right in front of them -
It will be blurred by smoke and ***** and the images that come from drugs.
She was taught to hide beauty or it will hurt you because society doesn’t know how to appreciate it.
They don’t know how to love and find beauty in everything around them,
They all just ignore the girl with the tear tracks on her cheeks and a broken smile and a note on her back that says,
“Beautiful”

The wind will howl
at our agonizing fall,
The tides will lash at
their confinements;
and suddenly, inevitably
*we will be torn apart

He looks out
Looks outside of himself
Looks out at the mirage
A world in which he is stuck
Within the confinements of himself
There are words he wants to say
But are trapped between his cage of a mouth
Words must be filtered and scattered and discarded
Through his mind
Like product in a factory
In the end, all that comes out is a
Frustrated cry, a swing of his arm and the confusion and a guilt-ridden apology afterward.
But he sees the outside in a different light
He sees it as a world outside of his own
It's a planet that must be travelled to by space ship
Luckily,
He is an astronaut
And he has people who believe in his rocket's take off.

The frames
Tunneling us enough to cloak the rays of diversity, of possibilities
The normality shaded a charcoal black, sprayed over us
Stinging the eyes of those who could see the spectrum
Blinding the ones who walked down the colored roads from the coliseum to the Twin Towers
People hung up on the walls, stapled to the confinements of society's critics
As if a snowflake would make them unloved, unseen, unwanted, unworthy of living and chasing happiness

Nobody can be there to comfort you
No one can be there to let the rain ease
Nobody can make you smile
But yourself
And the book's stacked on the sore shelves have taught us the opposite

Through the words strung around your front door
And the shades covering your walls
You can bust that choking frame apart that you might be trapped in
And create one that doesn't shift to make the papers tell society you're normal
That nothing's wrong with you, that you are not a sinner, and that you are not hell bound

Spiraling, collapsing, destroying, breaking, slashing
The ideas of ties over flat chests and the long hair to the ones with the *******

Finding your spectrum may **** off the clouds
And you may be blinded
But the colors come out from beneath your feet

And

Diversity thrives in the wonderland
That not everyone comes to witness

Follow me down into the rabbit's hole
To discover your frame, your life, your portrait
Your spectrum is not society's

Stinging eyes to the ones who see the spectrum
And the scars to the ones who have already painted their own
They have more to tell

Conspiring behind
those confinements
of morality,
justice and sincerity.

A suppressed philosophy,
born from the social elite;
Political correctness at it’s peak.

We seek truth in absolution.
As they round the troops.

In Confucius dreams,
the wisdom is hidden
within the aphorism.
The definition defined.

"Do
not do
to others
what you
do not
want don’t
to
yourself”

From provincial son,
to exile in the sun,
policies,
followed by
astrologies
patterns,
and swallowed by the black holes,
of unexplained notions,
the nature of the soul
and all it’s inhabitants.

Oh sweet Mandarin,
where do we begin?
It’s torture to breath,
and it’s gorgeous to sin.

She cannot see what I see,
I cannot show her what I see.
I show her the trees and the mountain sides,
She shows me a Lamborghini passing by...
I show her the sun set on the horizon,
She shows me a luxury cruise on the ocean.
I tell her how good it feels  to have a coffee on the roadside bench with friends.
She tells me, how great it would be to have a chat over tea with the President!
I show her the openness of the vast sky,
She shows me the confinements of a villa by our side.
Then she says,
"You cannot see what I see".

With outstretched arms
a blank canvas for you to
fill with your color
hues of sentiment
whisper the words only
lovers dare utter between
confinements of silk
tangled diction echoes
reverb of hidden messages
hearts choked
I promise you it won't only
be this time.
eternity
the beauty of  
confession
I swear im not going
anywhere.
pour your fears and trust
into the kisses that grace the  
barely open lips and skin that keep
us apart.
Your face the sky in someplace
when I sank somewhere
halfway between asleep and awake
my fingers etched between yours
laced with good intentions
not intended to be misconstrued
please don't go
I wasn't finished

The orbs are comfortable
To lay within the glow
Rounding up and over the moon lit by
Nightly prayers from the children and the whispering ambitions of the aged

Will we ever fit in
Well, fit out of the confinements we dredge to make it all okay when the family cries
Each of us have all been strapped with Velcro from our Day 1 to fit standards
But does it mean anything..
For if we fall short, it hurts more than falling long
Why must we hurt and bleed and scrape against the bottom when we're trying our hardest

Age holds no value
When the interlacing branches of the forest
All look the same
Because we cannot dare differentiate ourselves
What it is to live "normal" and society's "regular"

Maybe we hide ourselves
under scars and lyrics, between role lists and bus seats
Maybe our orbs are colored neon, or maybe a lingering Oregon grey

So maybe, clicks and groups and minorities
And maybe even the "freaks"
Are all synonyms for "normal" and "regular"

So please, these orbs have become comfortable
Don't hang your head and hide one minute more.

An autoimmune of a nation,
why are you letting your wrath
stemmed from crisis
burst open like lysosomes?
Why do you digest
yourself and one of your own?
Don't you take pride
when the one who has the same
nation weaved on his skin
uplifts the wavering flag of your land?

Why would you mute
and suppress them
rather than water them,
like the beautiful nature that
blooms from your own ground?
Why would you steal
and harm your brothers and sisters,
letting your mentality succumb
to toxic-narrow confinements?

moving between stations
with newfound aesthetic in every window
strangers take seats and lock themselves
in their headphones

tickets are checked in the mundane gloom
of Mondays
beautiful faces stare into the seats before them
exposing their gaze as hushed uncertainty
silent in the prospect of arrival

when overhead lights flicker
darkness is delayed by illuminating smartphones
providing soft-spoken information
of news headlines and Snapchat stories

hands slightly quiver as Penn Station
takes collective precedence
cups of slightly cold coffee
rise with unflinching confidence

pages of poetic conscience
lower their standards
and admit they've overstayed
their welcome
taking shelter in backpacks

strangers disperse into confinements
of populated territory
their energy birthed in the helpless framework
of time clenching its withered fist

The cube of your quirk
swaddles the malleability of each
gap, whistling bones in your mouth
sensing each flicker of the tongue,
where the start of commas halt,
and periods huff their first breath.

When you pause,
the temperature of Chicago's
bittersweet icing shivers once more,
good-bye's of sodden mittens
lacking any human warmth.

Let me tremble again,
an aura a sense of plowed gratitude
that reaches the confinements of
wingless teachings.

If your pupils would embark
to the shameful crumbs of soil,
passageway to mass of mind,
I'd delve deeper to blinded chambers,
the cooing a menacing siren.

sometimes we get lazy
wrapped in the confinements of our own
so we send fellow seekers
to kiss the ground above.

and i won't say i despise kids,
because really, i don't.
i just like to misplace their laces,
knotted, rotted laces
and command the ants
to dissolve Hallow's candy

away they pray,
in God's sanctuary

i respect Him,
because really, i do--
just as much as politicians
when they decide to drop out.

you can say i'm causing
lust to pilfer upon a window,
or betting on the next
world war nineteen

but all i did today was
take a swig of bourbon
and drown my pen.

I would tell you my story,
but then you just might believe me,
when I tell you of the cages and bars that I desperately keep myself pressed against,
of the voices that so desperately plague my dream,
attempting to leave laughter,
but fleeing with nothing less than a scream.

I would tell you my story,
but then you just might feel the pain,
of tear stricken cheeks standing alone in the streets,
screaming of hopes and dreams,
left alone in the sea of fallen aspirations and breathes,
swimming so desperately for a speck of land,
offering a hand of anything.


I would tell you my story,
but I love you and I wouldn't want you to worry,
that the mad binds of society would cease my limbs,
and tie me back from the grip of you,
that my mind might break from it's confinements
and come after you.

I would tell you my story,
but would you go mad with me,
or would you be smitten,
tackled to the ground by the essence that reminds,
that nothing is as dark as the tale
that you wish to embark,
would you reach for the positive,
in fear of the helpless bodies chasing behind you,
claiming of love and lust
but...


I would tell you my story,
but the mad man fears of discovery,
the brain wishes not to be unraveled,
and have pain and tribulation traveled,
the soul wishes not of company in misery,
but of embrace ever so gingerly,
to continue the warmth.

I would tell you my story,
but the fairytale is so much better,
dreaming of sunsets and warm sweaters,
dancing in the stars and running with the breeze,
but now,
I'm afraid I've told you my story,
and we've gone and ruined the glory,
of the long told fairytale,
of a pale vail,
and love, oh don't forget of love...
but you wanted to hear the story,
of a mislead heart,
passionately wrought and then torn apart.

casually breaking your heart

i was walking the line,
inside those guideline confinements you marked out on the pavement in chalk all those years before.

I still see them x ray vision,
when i sneak by nostalgically,
less and less as the years go by.

I didn’t know at the time,
but it seems I was casually breaking your heart.

Gradually time heals real wounds and feelings,
exposure to the pain grows alongside the overgrowth greenery.

Picture the scenery,
and all that you mean to me,
as i’m casually breaking your heart again.

So long to the honey drip,
another quip yet to come.
We emerge ensured bacteria,
surrounded in the Somme.

Here I'm at this point(the present) standing placidly and astoundingly glancing at the zenith with wishes of reaching that peak and pinnacle of success. One step at a time, till you learn how to fly and I've heard a few say "patience is a virtue" and I believe so too,I believe patience is a harvest that's fruitful and can only bring forth happiness. Greatness takes time to acquire and for you to discover it within you requires qualities such as determination,patience and ambition. Those play a vital role for you to embrace that greatness.




As I reciprocate to my thoughts and reminisce about the years gone by,a phenomena occurs..I get a vivid glimpse of the future. Marvelled at my willingness to catapult beyond confinements. I give thanks to my inner peace that sources of this confidence so I could unflinchingly go toe-to-toe with any obstruction that gets on my path.


I live my life aware that with each breath I take I'm blessed therefore I'm appreciative of each day I get to live. I strategically calculate the steps I have to take to land me on the podium. In patience,occurs unnatural omens which signify the skies never receiving your hope. So even if I fail along the way I could never be inclined to give it all up.


P A T I E N C E = G R E A T N E S S

I have never been a fan of the way jeans hug too tightly. The fat on my body has always found a way to spill over the button or stretch the seams until they are near ripping. The way we have constructed things to hold in what we cannot or do not wish to see astounds me. Jeans are like the confinements of connection where one person connecting with another person is like two legs joined only briefly at the hemline. I am a truth too hard to swallow, the type that cannot wallow in confinement. I do not know bounds; I have never been good at colouring within the lines.  Where we know we can only hold so much before breaking, we constantly seem to be biting off more than we can chew and filling the jeans more tightly than we mean to. I am constantly spilling over the edge with anticipated words and phrases that are often too much of a burden. I am stuffing and stuffing and stuffing that leg full with promises I can only keep within the boundaries set by the fabric of your blue jeans.

don’t underestimate my sorrow,
for you do not understand the depths
of this broken body that lies here
in the confinements of not knowing.
i do not want your pity
or your condolences. let me weep in this orchard
where my life has begun to grow, and stagnate.
i feel like this is necessary to lie in the grass
until it wraps its lacy fingers around my neck
and breathes my breath for me. i am volatile
now; i will not bend to your weaknesses.
so please, don’t underestimate what i am
when i walk through those doors to greet you.

If I could pick flowers in a winter storm
They'd probably look a lot like you
Rough
Tumbling
Perfect.

There's something to be said
Of the way your jaw
Curves into neck,
Something that could be hidden
Something that could be kept.

Lips
Placed gently
On my cheek
Across my freckles
On the tip of my nose
I wish
I could catch
Every smile
Put them in a box
Look at them every once in a while.
Your hands
Stroke through my hair
And I feel
Soft
The gentle kisses
On my neck
Spark up and down my spine
We get excited
We clash
And re-align...

Testing
The confinements
Of our bodies
We strain against each other
The desperate lover
Tangled up parts
Trying to fuse together
Hearts.

My eyes are open, or are they?
My heart is beating, isn’t it?
My spirit feels trapped,
My mind boxed in.

Caged and frantic I feel out of control
Lost and alone, longing for reprieve.
The world around imposing limits
And confinements abound.

I can’t feel the breath enter and leave
Only the emptiness in between
My legs are weak and will not hold me
As I fall weeping to the ground.

Strength has left me, replaced with disregard
The will to fight is only an idea now
A trait I used to know inside of me,
Now only stagnation swirls around.

Words fail me, and escape through the cracks
Inspiration dying like the leaves on the trees;
Falling, spinning without a net,
As it meets with the cold hard unyielding of the earth below.

They search for a pulse, just
A simple sign of life
But what they do not yet know
Is that where life once flowed
Is now just a flat line;
A surrendering white flag from my soul.

Closing my eyes I hear the sound,
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Inhaling one more time, I let go
And exhale a final time
Before the sound just turns to
Silence and all that exists
Is a flat line where life once was.

i tend to fight these small battles every once in a while. small details of daily routine that trigger a foul part of me that doesn’t seem to stop until it grows tired of hurting inside. i never seem to get a grasp of how long it lingers in me until i finally feel the sun on my face again.

the point is, i get sick. i try to pretend as best as i can to jump and smile to show the happiness i enjoy in everyday…but at the end of the day…all i want to do is curl into myself and try to swallow the bitterness that eats me up inside.
my mother termed it “the funk” and it tends to come sporadically. it became obvious to her that it will always be my inner struggle to conquer. she lovingly and patiently lets it play on in the daily routine while standing on guard from the sidelines. she’s been through this before and will get through it right there with me. she’s a soldier and i pointedly take after her. i am her daughter.

i’ve discovered through experience what triggers it most of the time. it’s him. the lingering thought of him. once again coming into focus from a blurry image from my lens of perspective and i spot the difference. i sense the change. i see what’s missing all over again. and feel that familiar pain. soon the rain starts to trickle down from the angry cloud forming quickly above my head. and i’m gone.

snippets of images recorded in my head are then returned to me. words and phrases repeated from another that doesn’t match the baritone or time it was once said. that he once said. to the lady in charge, or to the siblings…or even to me. and i become confused. then hurt. then lonely. then angry.

never ending process that has become all too familiar for the girl who has enough estranged thoughts swimming around in her already chaotic, messy mind. once the thoughts are set in, the pain settles a little longer in the mess of my heart and the images become all too painfully clear to see.

he becomes everything. he’s sitting at the dinner table. he’s watching the basketball game in the room. he’s fixing the washing machine. he’s driving in from working a 14 hour shift. and i can see it all and even hear it sometimes. i hear him humming the songs from the oldies station. i listen for the quiet chuckle after mum attempts a joke at the kitchen counter.

you are correct when you say i seem to be a little off. to imagine someone who has not been in my physical presence for years and yet can appear at random times of my day to painfully remind me…that he has not been there. it hurts too much to even breathe.

you are also correct when you say that i have not found that closure yet. but searching for an answer, all the while re-affirming the steps to the plan of salvation…does not fill in the rest of the time of my day when a memory intertwines with this very moment. and whatever i say to myself, the mantra i give myself daily, cannot justify the emptiness echoing within the confinements of my funked-up imagination.

however, i am trying. i am improving. instead of the flashback brushing against me in spite. i allow it to remain. i allow it to connect. to coincide. to remind me of all the many great things that can become of this past reflection of him. i invite it rather than despise it. i turn forward and welcome whatever else my mind can remember of him. i learned to cherish it. i learned to cherish him. his past with my now.

songs, smells, places, time of the day…i watch for them most carefully and take a moment to myself to learn from it. raise my face to the sun and finally feel the familiar warmth again.

i know there will be more bad days. more painful reminders. more hiding under the covers and suffer in silence. but i know for myself that there’s always room for improvement and a chance to take that single opportunity within stride. it’s still here. he’s still here.

**and i’m finally okay with that.

Trapped
within the confinements
of self built
walls

I am both prisoner

and jailer...


a cell without a door

a skyline without a window

Visited by faceless voices
my only hope
of escape

Is You.

January
I told myself this was the year
My heart was sore and my thoughts were heavy
I kept to myself and hated being bothered
I didn't like living too much

February
I admitted I was my own problem
But I sat
And I waited
For my world to change for me.

March
Feeling unbelievably numb to life
And watching time go by in flashes.
I learned to observe and I learned that writing soothed anxiety quite well

April
I didn't write.
I don't remember what I did.
It must have been dull.

May
I dreamed about escaping my personal confinements.
However, I didn't.

June
I loved the sun.
I got a job.
I felt indifferent.

July
Possibly the peak of my self hatred
I let their words get to me
I tried throwing up. I failed.
I spotted a boy at work.

August
I turned 17
And knew I needed to change.
I created courage on a not so special day
I forced myself to talk to the boy.
And I felt ******* powerful.

September
Junior year began
I did things I loved and
Quit things I didn't

October
I slowly realized
That if I loved myself
The world will too

November
Boys lined at my door
But I never cared for them
I cared only for myself
And I loved every second of everyday

And now it's December
And I've learned that I don't need a new year, new month, or even a new day to start over
I am not bound by any measurement of time
And if I want to change
I have the power to.

I felt like a scotch tape stretch screech screaming out to hang pictures of tigers teeth

[Teeth dripping of the colorful swirling primordial ooze that is forming and foaming in the corners of your mouth.]

A slightly sickening substance you don't perceive as gathering worries reminding you saliva leaves a maniacal residue

[A film of acidic copper coats your mouth as the tension in your mandible builds with each passing milisecond relieved by jagged popping motions, but if only for a moment as your hands melt into the carpet making a pool of creamy peach nothingness, but if only for a moment.]

The ripple relief is tension relieved yet a remix of images perceived as water washing over eyes cleansing and clearing obscurity but still obstructive and obtuse overwhelming

[The filter is flipped off,conscious activity roams free as if it were a rain dance of visual, tactile exploration of serotonin amongst limitless creativity. Never ending like the far reaches of space but just as tiny as a molecule.]

A never ending meandering mingle of the mind with minuscule details coming to life and finding a force unlike anything you've climbed, realizing the mountain of motion and the commotion of sparked senses is a let loose expression of deep down inner desire

[Teasing its way to the surface and tingling under skin like ants in an endless procession of drone servitude. Consume, ****, die. And realizing the meaning of it all, the sole driving forces of life is *** and death.]

An endless one by one two by two march in line behind other droids digging lines in the sands of time again and again obeying their inner desire design by the man with the magnifying glass in the sky. And all we can ask is why don't we just be us, ourselves and fly saying **** the confinements of our meaningless antennae lives we have wings and all we must do is express it in jumping and believing in flight

We are butterfly's and birds feeling wings we once thought worthless and it's because of this substance stance we are taking and the dance we are waltzing that we get to have this enlightening experience

Rain falls.
Like the way a drop of water may change the course of a river,
How a seed planted not here but there may for some form of life provide shelter,
How something as simple as a smile may prevent a name on an obituary form,
The joy relief brings when your first, second or third child after 9 months is born,
When one attempts to separate themself from the confinements of society.
When you look into their eyes the truth is seen so in yours you say "Just lie to me",
Not because you love the way they lie but to stop the rain falling from your eyes.
When you say goodbye for the last time and a lump forms in your throat,
You know and they know too that when they're gone you may not cope.
When something as precious as time gains realisation through nothing but death,
When all you have is time how much do you really have left.
Like a single song in your heart which teleports you back to the start.
The choices you made to get paid, get known or even get laid.
How a flower is tall in one season and how it begins in another.
When you woke up this morning but you did not see,
Such a trivial thing as opportunity,
Like a heart or a beat,
A hello in the street.
Rain Falls.

Spear my years with a nail or two
to disintegrate the partings of rust,
and with honey foretelling lacking short age,
creates a fine wealth to adjust.

The confinements of rails
seek some sort of wayward point,
breading, kneeding,
in absence of hunching mirth.

So when the 2's and 3's
speed up to fine 6's and 7's;
remind me. Remind me to
seed kind water and properly place them.