shiva knew from ashes, what we from
baring bodies claim to know, that
down-dogs in the buff sets vanity aside,
if not by force then over time
along with any pretzel pose, or
tapas, work, or sweaty hopping
balance challenge deeper rhythm breath
revealing limits undenied and beauty
now revised for harmful lies to go.
beginning **** and ending ****
the mirror is the sun, the blue
horizon line of thought of one.
to bend is in the mind as well,
the keener meaning flexible
of soulful empathy of self.
the class ends in corpse and being
peaceearth-airsky-lovewind-all
apparels us only with the same light
we know and bow in namaste
to saunter to the beach and swim away communal heat.
i'm underwater soon,
three hours of dominoes
fading into deep greens
of algae kumbhaka pranayam. released.
the pond-bottom gasps at me with silt, such
delight shining darkly cool and shouts
jump in bubbles at the greenrays
piercing sweetly down to play our bodies perfect.
this is an existential feast.
old rocks on which to stand connect our feet,
waterslip awareness of the deep
and of the sky
gives rise to touching 'accidents' --
we clothe ourselves in thinner veils
we talk of history and elders, while
hormones sparkle greetings stroking clear we swim
in circles slowly, diving down and playing at pretend.
'adults being children' being adult in reserve
being 'natural' being ****,
discreet in underwater lust...
'i love you' our dripping eyelashes say
against the hot raft that burns our skin;
above the surface
neutral for the genitals we are
evaporate of self-seeing worry not
to spash each other's souls.
kindred lovers elsewhere whine possession
of us, but 'living, you said, isn't about being safe,'
seducing all, at every turn, an unabashed
reflex there to be desired in.

beachbathers, nubs of pink, tan and brown
shine unbroken at the shores.
occasionally waving 'nonjudgmental' waves.
sunglassed faces work away at being easeful:
assuaging fears of voyeurism far

i have set the wall to play vairagyam
naked in the open family value smiles
leaving me to judge our acts undone
or sensed beyond the moment in the center shade,
beneath our floating hiding place
our echoed panting speaking more surreal
than just the treading water in my space
you spit the teasing offer naturally
while hidden in the middle of a lake
our shocks of pleasure, gleaming eyes
in echoes brahmacharya pulls
with spinal lock of spiral loving this
we cannot have our vibrate bliss

i name it potently for what it is,
it cools the ***** enough for
feigning innocence

i duck in and out with image firmly planted
playing on an unreal living all
caution gone~

but not before imagining
the details stored away and swept together:
in that single moment apex entrance
of our carnal members swaying into
underwater yogasex.

the ladder slips along my sides
weaving up unbreathing giddiness, as
nubile, as young forever yearnings mar until
i hook my toes and float for you
clad by sun and sky, clearest ripples
flick the lips of vastness into grin
reflects your dive,
spread silouette above
you fly into my breath
to pinnacle the dance we live
without an act we guard propriety
until alone and years have gone
i'm here before a screen to live it over differently

My castigation was decided long before my backslide. And that is inexcusable, the righteous might declare "unfair". But I don't want any belligerent accusations against this 'unjust watchfulness' from above. Some entity must have understood that I didn't need guidance; I needed walls: some forcing to reach my destiny. Without my jailer, I'd have chosen one of three and let them lead me into a darkness that the pitiful call 'demons'. Claws and teeth? No, each monster was irreplaceable and I loved them. If possible, if they could comprehend a 'love', I vow they would have loved me. But the Warden took them: my punishment before my crime. Perhaps the disposal of these beasts seems considerate, but toss aside those foolish illusions because the burden has not lessened rather, it is unfamiliar. Omitting strength, for I  lost my foundation, I stand in fear with this hole. The Three aren't returning; I'm left with loose bindings - the knots are the songs of my memories. Beautiful Terrors, do I need you? Let me tell you their stories.

Number One:
I remember his voice calling for me. "Daisy! Flowers for you." It was our little game, and I'm sure he made girls jealous when he handed me a bouquet of roses.
My name was Petunia, but I hated that name, and I loved all that's yellow.
So when we were little he took my hand, and we went into a treefort, and he dubbed me Lady Daisy.
He was 7 and I was 4, and there began my adoration.
Then I was older and heartbroken, and I was calling him. "Waldon! It's hurting me."
He arrived so soon, I was still in hysteria - that of a 14 year old gone through breakup.
Then I cried harder because somehow my brother presented me with a tulip and declared, "It's an early present from the only boy who's going to love you more than I do."
17, and I understood fascination. And Willow (for though it's girly, I liked it more than Waldon, and he let it be) was entranced by a wild girl. She was a shockbomb - a warm sungirl that rocked stilettos and never littered nor waited past a minute.
He fell for her so hard from so high.
One day that girl kissed him straight on the lips, then jetted off to England.
Said he could follow her in spirit.
I couldn't hate her because she left his body, but it was hard to appreciate his body when the government took even that away, insisting he be laid beneath cold dirt. Then too many questions: "Why did you hold his hand for three days? Were you thinking of following? Petunia, why won't you buy flowers for the gravestone?" Then there were horrified eyes when I asked who Petunia was, because I had forgotten. Or, truthfully, there was no Petunia, only Daisy. And Daisy had Willow. The Flower and the Tree: that was supposed to be the story. So I refused to buy flowers, and without any sort of ceremony I stopped being 'Lady' and became 'Crazy Daisy', who talked to her demons. Now you see why I never wanted to part with Number One, because although he was a monster (you can't deny the terror of a body with no spirit), he knew me best.
Dear Warden, I've no suicide in me, and there's none left could lead me there, and it may be that I've grown taller, but I'm practically blind.

Number Two:
She was weak since I can remember. I'd say her vulnerability was pneumonia, which I can only presume led to my hatred of 'Petunia': two words incredibly similar when reason encounters a child.
And I liked her name "Maribel" because it sounded like a flower.
I mimicked my brother, but he was persistent that I must call her mother.
Again, this made no sense until 8, when I had a revelation that all this time I'd had no family. At least not in the heart of a girl, because Maribel wasn't a vibrancy to look up to., though she was my one relation.
There was just her in a bed. Sometimes a man visited but I never knew why Willow grew tense; all I saw was my mother acquire spots of brown. How I loved brown, because it seemed as though she was genuinely Mother, like all those other moms that the sun tans, or that could be given filthy hugs that left patches of dirt. In turn, I always welcomed that man, and he was a 'saviour'.
And Willow's father.
Death found both Willow and that man (I know, now, the difference) before I understood 'abuse', and try not to blame me because she never complained and I thought abuse meant people were unhappy, but I saw both of them smile. I laid her beside him, but with space inbetween: a ground for my casket. Because I'd gone slightly crazy and I was telling Number Two that if I awakened as a zombie, I'd need to be able to find his hand first.
That was nuts. But Warden, I don't fully understand. You stopped her bleeding, but I'm left with nothing. I hear their voices in my head, telling me I'm healthy, but I know I'm barely breathing.

Number Three:
I dealt Three tragedy. And in doing so, I guilted myself into worthlessness. Classic to the moral law is: it is not acceptable to introduce a roommate to a shady character. But I ignored the concept of shady - applauded my nonjudgmental attitude, because with my twisted past I would have also been a shadowy figure. With a sweet, sweet smile, I handed that bright girl over to a Peacock who promised to give her 'a good feeling.' And I ignored her tears, because he said he'd please her.
Maybe if I hadn't been loopy, the only way I could "be" with One, I might have noticed that me and he weren't the same, and I could have judged him like the others.
Annie, I'm sorry, please just shine once more.
Even if you're afraid of me and my wickedness, don't be ****** into the gloom, because I can't offer advice to resurface, when I think there's none.
Now, there's Zero for me to turn to, because that's what I am. I am empty. I suppose that's what happens when I trust a boy who leaves, yearn for one who's weak, and think I've the durability to rely on myself (but I've equaled a pitch black crater for a while now).
You're more clear now, Warden. I can understand why you've taken everything. Since nothing I had would give me my fairyland ending. But where's my reward? I need my gift first, because these feet don't know which direction to head, and it's more like I was holding onto rocks that cut me while they warmed me. My feet kick against the waves, but in this half-in half-out position I can't get a good momentum, so a hand now would be nice.

My stories, did they surprise? I hear all this chatter about monsters, but I think we've got them wrong. Monsters simply have a hold one you, and there's no release before you've no choice but to part. They are strong, and it's true that I saw nothing stronger than the Willow.  Only my jailer saw my potential, and he directed me to Zero. He asked for recognition so that I knew my task was not optional and he raised my walls until I stood there, lonely - pushed into belief in myself. But now I am the strongest I know, and I am walking on wind, and from up here I cannot see a single barrier. But Warden, don't you ever leave because if those walls break for a second and I see my demons, I know I'll lose flight and beg them to come back. And that would be the end, because there's no chance Number Four.

☆。★。☆。★
。☆ 。☆。☆
★。＼｜／。★
Steal away my oxygen
Can't breathe when I'm next to you
Let me envelope you like a note,
Gravitate closer, be your atmosphere
Pull me around you like a warm jacket
Button me in
To keep out the cold
Of the night
Look at the
Constellations
Aren’t they so bright?

But, you know what I think?
The most beautiful skies
Are inside of your eyes

Stop, don’t blink
Let me sink a little deeper
I don’t need a telescope to see
That supernova
Expanding infinitely

Like a ripple that a pebble makes
The clicking shutter
That takes all of me in
Houston, we have a problem
I can’t escape this black hole
It’s pulling me in

I’ll reach out into that darkness
Brave all of your ice and coldness
For that little cosmos with veins of gold;
Shades of blue,
Green and brown,
So simple,
Nonjudgmental as a penny
That’s been left out in the rain
Many times before

Once more
I’ve caught your glancing flit
Asteroids approaching
I take a direct hit
Falling endlessly, consumed
Among the billions of stars in your eyes

Like Major Tom, I would accept that fate,
To float in limbo
Lost in that space
Out of sight

If worm holes existed
I’d sink through all that
Depth,
Come through the other side

And find that alternate universe--
The dimension where you would have me.
There is no corner of space to call home without you

Three.
Two.
One.

Lift-off.
★。／｜＼。★
。☆。 。☆。
☆。 ★。 ☆.

Last night the truth was in the bottle. It may be a tad bit cliché, but the stripping away of my cognitive functions was a relaxing endeavor. Okay, there’s nothing cliché about that last sentence. Still, there I was past the crowded living room, cluttered with soda cans and people, past the small kitchen and the three guys playing cards, past the three wine coolers sipped through a straw, and the mixed drinks, pass all that there was the truth.
Dropping the regular essence of me, I slid behind the idiot clown. I tripped and stumbled, babbled and mumbled. My emotions unguarded, I spewed love almost as much as I spewed chunks of a greasy sausage pizza with little chewed up black olives. It was fun. One moment of not thinking. One moment of not dealing with the concrete and the abstract, the struggles and oppressions, my realistic paranoia and dark observations. I plopped limply down on the couch then slid off the side of it jokingly. The ground shuddered with a soft thud.  My friends laughed. I laughed. The truth is I like the sound of innocent laughter. It is a relief. All those synapse spitting out calming fluids. Till, what little stress that was left disappears.

     Before that the truth was in caffeine induced writing frenzies. There were small interludes of creativity swirling around dark depressive moods. I pushed and prodded the black keys as if I was chipping away chunks of stone on a marble sculpture; exposing myself and my truths.

     Someone told me that to be a great writer doesn’t require me to suffer. I thought it’s a good thing they’re not mutually exclusive, because the truth is I was suffering long before I started to write. The doubt which comes from learning more and more bled me to the verge of insanity. Maybe it was vanity that pushed me to seek the truth.

     Before that the truth was in quiet walks. The strolls down old dirt paths and memory lanes, crossing the mental traffic of past and present. I lingered at the jagged grey sparkling stone markers, sitting on newly grass covered plots, just hanging out at the graveyard because it was quiet. I wasn’t some emo kid. The truth was that I just preferred the quiet. It was the same reason I raced through the day to get to the night. Night was as nonjudgmental as the pine infested graveyard. No harsh sun glaring down. No strangers staring at me until I had to turn my head to the ground. The truth was the quiet, and the quiet was liberating.

      Before that the truth was in books. Kernels of wisdom locked in works of fiction. Little leather bound universes creeping in and transforming my mind.  Now, I prefer biographies; back then I loved the fantasies. Though in truth all nonfiction is fiction, because all reality is perceived relatively and written thusly. So, I stashed book in my back pack and back tracked down old alley ways to read away the lonely days. I sat in those dark corners, the dusty gravel biting my big bubble ****, but I was there for the quiet.

      Before that there was science. Beakers and Bunsen burners burning out atoms, and chlorophyll. I never really felt I had a talent for their postulates or formulas. Yet their subtle certainty, mired in uncertainty was appealing. They offered ever evolving truths. The strange transition from one logical position to the next and I was willing to adapt to any new facts.

      Before that there was god. I was his egotistically elevated idiot child. I could converse with adults on their level because in this they were as juvenile as I was; those ancient books that no longer make sense to me. Then it was the emotion of loving unearned certainty. The comfort of cowering beneath the awe and love of an all-powerful and all-knowing father figure, I called it the truth.

      Sometimes, when I couldn’t sleep, cause a life’s worth of anxiety was hounding me the truth was in the music. Soft sounding syllables serenading me to sleep, moving to the rhythm of a calmly flowing beat. The music gave me something to focus on. It was a converging point to calm the chaos. Once in a while the music would play out some story or point out some struggle. My Tracy Chapman that was the truth.

       Sleep was preferable to the waking madness of daily living. So, if I was tired I slept. People used to make me feel guilty about it. However, I realized that sleep healed the body and the mind. Sleep let me dream. Dreams let me do things beyond reality. They directed me to grand fantasies, or pointed out painful truths about myself. I could wake up crying, or I could go to bed sad and wake up content. That was the truth.  

       In-between all these things I pondered relative and certain truth. Was it constant or changing based on perception? People passed, none returned. I got older. Now my teeth are starting to rot right out of my face, but I still devour information; listening to the wild tales of strangers. Sometimes, I trust too much, other times I trust no one.

      The truth is I exist, amidst whatever this existence is. Beyond that I cannot clearly define this reality. What is the truth?

Throwing Away The gift.. {Poem}
Love this wealthy intangible invisible gift.
Yet you hide it deny it seek to do away with it.
Toss it in the trash like a disposable rag dirtied with stains of, I don't believe this gift.
I don't have time in my life right now for this gift.
The stains of Unappreciative feelings for this gift.
Ignoring the prize of the infancy the baby in this gift.
The newness of  life in this gift.
Like a deadened zombie with no feelings at all to recognize the gift.
How can you throw away the richness of such a gift.
The desire to grow with you grow in you, be nurtured by you of in this gift.
There's  innocent of life in the gift.
The failure to protect the power of this gift.
You dropped it away like disposable trash, Millions of uncountable blessings in the possibilities of a freely given precious value of soul..
You need love for the shattered Soul.. Will you Throw the baby out with the bath water.
It's trying  to Rescue the hearts that walk away from these gifts...
Blinded hearts wounded spirits. Deaf ears that can't hear it, can't feel it.
Can't savor the love of gifts...Stop and try to feel and believe this gift.
Gifts of hearts, Gifts of souls, nonjudgmental.. Precious Gifts to behold.
This is a GIFT!
Selinasharday_H.E.R/Poetry 2020-4-12

You say I'm irreplaceable.

Where else will you find
unconditional love
a nonjudgmental ear
and genuine selflessness?

You care when it's convenient.
I know a lot is going on in your life.
"The struggle is real," you tell me.
So much is going on in mine
yet I still bend over backwards.
For you.
For anyone who "needs" me to.
Sometimes you ask.
Sometimes you don't.
But I will always come when you need me to.

You can be selfish.
I'm angry.
But I can't be.
I am the one who can't stop myself from doing whatever I can to help you.
You are my dysfunctional, amazing, beautiful friend.

We're both not perfect.
I'm closed.
You're open.
I'm always hurting.
You're always dramatic.
I overgeneralize.
You're superstitious.

Apart or together, we stay close.
Sometimes I think the only thing that could tear us apart is me.
The balance of our friendship is off.
And I am about to fall.
I don't want to take you down with me.
I never, ever want to disappoint you, or hurt you.
But I can't stop the inevitable.
I've already disappointed myself.

One could thirst
For something unimaginable

One sip of a starlight dipper
Could quench a parched tongue
For years
One could wait
But never find
A picture so diverse
So nonjudgmental

A canvas.

Split by a single road that roughly
creates a populous throng of glimmer.
Tempting even the savage to shy away
Taming any evil with just one look into it's never-ending depth
and everlasting shimmer.

One sip of light.
One taste of the night.
Could quench a parched tongue

For years.

One could wait
But never find
Something as satisfying
Than a dipper of starlight shine.

If you promise not to hurt me
I'll give you all I have
Don't you dare desert me
That'll only make me mad

Never break the circle of trust
It will merely make me angry
When in doubt, shout out loud
You know that drives me crazy

Turn in your keys when you're done
Be sure to lock the door behind you
Take all of your belongings
I ought not have to remind you

I'll be waiting with open arms
For your anticipated return
Nonjudgmental looks of censure
Only unyielding concern

That you return back to me safely
Unscathed or worse for wear
Humbled, yet aware
Till our love is mended and repaired

I've only ever aimed to please you
Bring you joy where there was none
Day to night and night to day
Under moon, the stars, and sun

I promised to provide for you
Protect you from all harm
But nothing ever seems to go as planned
It's what gives life it's charm

Mutually agreeing
No battle to be won
No making up excuses
What took forever to get done

There's a sensible explanation
Why things are the way they are
No boundaries or obstacles
Could make me feel I've gone too far

The end from our perspective
Maybe a minute, week, or years
It's unknown what's in store for us
Don't be suppressed by fear

Spread your wings and fly my bird
Embark on dreams set way too high
As you soar up into the open sky
Happy you're alive.

Do you remember
Our first date?
I spent so long
Deciding what to wear
Cliche, I know
But I couldn't help it
I felt like a little girl
Had been quite some time
Since I felt like that
And I loved it

You picked me up
In your beat up car
I loved so much
You wore a red striped button down
And took time
To make your hair look nice
Such boyish charm
It was something I hadn't
Seen in you
Before
And I loved it

I was so nervous
Didn't want to say the wrong thing
But probably said too much
We talked about our dreams
Our goals
And everything in between
While we held hands across the table
And sheepishly looked away
While we ate
We sat long after we finished eating
Because I got carried away
In a story
You smiled, never said a word
And I loved it

You tried to kiss me
Remember?
It took everything in me
To say no
You always were persistent
But it was a different kind
Of persistence then
So sweet and innocent
Nonjudgmental, unassuming
sincere
And I loved it

We ate ice cream
And talked
And sat in that beat up old car
You looked at me
The way every girl wants to be
Looked at
Gave me that bashful grin
And I couldn't resist
I surrendered in that instant
To you
We stayed out late
Not caring about
Tomorrow's obligations
And I loved it

We laughed when the car
Wouldn't start
You were so embarrassed
And vulnerable
Remember?
I miss that
You were everything I had wanted
That first date
Was perfect in all its flaws
And I loved you

We are asked to be nonjudgmental,
for the failures of others especially the aged. Even when they have wasted their whole life with foolish acts. How are we to blame when they have failed to understand the game. Angered at our positive criticism public turn against us.
This attitude of the crowd spoils the chance of at least one fallen mend his ways. The ladder to survival is steep and long making it difficult to hang on. We trick our mind into believing in fate convincing ourselves with words such as that's his fate non can change.

If this emission reaches anyone acquainted, strange, or foe; this is where I currently am in the universe. This will be boring to anyone, especially strangers. Im afraid this will also be mostly depressing.
I'm tired of being ill. I know longer take or use anything to numb the pain in my legs from past worker's compensation injuries. My tibia is never not aching. The muscle in my right bicep has been stiff and rigid since my last steriod injection over a month ago.
I'm stuck at home mostly. I constantly disappoint my friends, or so it feels. It has nothing to do with them, but I have anxiety when I try to respond to pleas for visitation. Allie is the only creature I can talk to anymore. Although she is a dog, I feel, or personify, that she knows on days that I'm feeling depressed.
I still haven't been working regular jobs, I don't know if I could. I've been doing odd jobs and various things when I'm able. The vegetable garden is doing great, so far, this year. All the different plants are planted almost perfectly along what part of the lunar phase that they need. The flower garden started off well, but is going through a rough patch. One knock rose bush contracted a disease and died. About four more have been ravaged by ants, even though better food sources have been provided. Wasn't able to attract a colony of Martins again this year due to sparrows being aggressive to the scouts. Barn Swallows moved in instead.
This paragraph will just be miscallenous things. No longer do I have any social media accounts, besides this place. If anyone from Twitter still reads here, I didn't block you I just deleted my Twitter. I've started to make a habit of getting angry at myself and getting my head shaved. I'm still a vegetarian. I squee'd like a little girl when Eel Hamburger was crowned the Super King of the Spring season of  Fishcenter. It has been in the years, I think, since I have been photographed. My current avatar here is from age 19, and I'm now into my mid to late 20's. I have no romantic interest at the moment, but I don't think I have much to offer to a relationship besides vegetables, nonjudgmental attitude, and odd ramblings. I'm also not really "on the prowl" for ladies. I own a model boat now! I've also became a fan of saltybet. My anxiety for being touched hasn't gotten any better. I hate being touched or hugged by anyone, unless they ask. That is something that started and got a lot worse in the last year or so. I've been lazy about following this baseball season. Rain is something I still wish for more. My love for various beans is still growing. Eel Hamburger and Earthbound fan art are things that make me smile the hardest at the moment.
Now we get to the biggest turn off of the things I talk about. Where am I in the dream world? I'm still working on being an active dreamer. I have a few reoccurring dreams. No point in explaining those because they are uncontrollable and purely anxiety preparation dreams. There has been people that I know that are often in my dreams. One person that I always wanted to talk to in reality, but I don't force my presence of that person in my dreams. Often I try to get away from thrm to leave them in peace. Friends are often there with a few lines or in the background. The most frequent setting is the mall, which I rarely go in reality. That is also where I see that person the most, the next frequent is a field.
The most curious thing about recent dreams is the appearance of two items. One is a white fleece blanket, and the other is an eight speed mountain bike. The blanket first appeared in a dream that I felt cornered. I folded it neatly into a layered square and set it on the floor. After staring at it for a few moments, I sat down on top. I instantly knew what it could do. Without any physical effort, I began to slide across the ground at great speeds that I can control. I can't leave the setting, but I can go anywhere in the setting. This means I can think of what will be there when I arrive further in the setting. I have found this item in various places or in my hands in many recent dreams.
The second item is a little more unstable. I found the bike after grinding down an escalator on the blanket. Putting the blanket under my shirt, I got onto the bike. With this I was to pedal into the white abyss from anywhere. I could crash the dream there or channel my thoughts into making a new setting. I could then shoulder the bike on my back and ride around the new setting on my blanket. I had a dream in the mall that I was hiding from that person. I took a nap in my dream on a mall bench. I woke up and my watch said 6:04. Looked up to see two men running away with the dream bike. I have not seen it since, but I still have the blanket.
Nothing else in my life deserves any greater detail than what was given here. Sorry to the strangers that read this. Best wishes and luck to everyone out there. Remember to find joy in all the seasons. As long as it shines the moon or brings rain, there is no reason to complain.

You have to accept that some people are not made for deep conversations, or for holding you together when you’re about to fall apart, or for keeping you from unzipping your skin, or for talking you out of suicide, or to love you through the worst moments of your life.

Some people are made for shallow exchanges, and ridiculous banter, and nothing more. And that’s okay. That doesn’t make them horrible people because they simply aren’t able to handle a storm like you. It doesn’t make you a bad person because you won’t divulge all the gritty details of your horror show. It makes you smart.

You have to accept that there will be people that cannot give you what you need. It doesn’t mean they are not worth keeping in your life. You just have to figure out who these ones are before you’re disappointed. And you have to keep them at arm’s length. You cannot expect everyone in your life to understand, to be nonjudgmental, to get it.

But that’s okay, because not everyone was made to impart wisdom, or wax poetry, or speak on politics and the depravity of society, or discuss how crucial it is that the stigma of mental illness be abolished. There are times when you have to get away from all that heaviness. You have to. And you will need superficial conversation about Kim Kardashian’s ****, or a debate on the colour of The Dress. You will need those ones.

So don’t go round cutting people off and dropping your friends. You need people for all your seasons. You need people or you won’t survive this.


Gaze into the eyes, what do you see?
A shadowy dark soul menacing the clear night
Or, maybe a figure summoning ominous fright
Time to run and flee, taking an uneasy flight…

Gaze into the eyes, what do you see?
Compassion submerged in life’s insignificance
Only shrouded by a light earning false reverence
Where ego rises, nurturing contagious pestilence…

Gaze into the eyes, what do you see?
An empty shell masquerading in warped intention
Completely engaging views with the utmost attention
To inspire decency thru an engineered convention…

Gaze into the eyes, what do you see?
Maddening sanity fueled by the vengeful frost
Over the devotion to love, land, possessions lost
With frightening results to life, no matter the cost…

Gaze into the eyes, what do you see?
Someone weary of the moments becoming fundamental
With glaring fear and hateful people being monumental
To the naive minds striving simply to be, nonjudgmental…

Few words of comfort
Few words of validation
Few words of acceptance
Few words of humor
A nonjudgmental listener
An unconditional love
An all weather friend for all the above
What one needs to avert the suicidal thoughts.....

I like to think I'm constant.
I'm constantly unselfish (thanks mom)
I'm constantly stressed.
I'm constantly nonjudgmental,
yet, admittedly, I do judge those who judge.

Aren't I just perfect?
When I worked, people hated me for being good at it and expecting the same from them.

Humility? Not really my friend,
I don't boast, but I don't deny my abilities.
I don't deny my shortcomings either.

I was educated in a system that demanded your best.
Now I live in a country that puts emotional wellbeing before education and ability.
I constantly struggle with this.

This dilemma is my constant companion.
Perhaps even my constant friend/enemy.

I constantly love all my family.
I constantly give people the benefit of the doubt.
I constantly form opinions of strangers.
I constantly cage myself in a prison of aloofness.
I constantly pretend disinterest.

I'm constantly afraid of the world, yet I constantly want to explore it.

Yes, I'm constant.

Let me sing Amazing Grace as it’s never been sung before.
Let me rest upon the top of the mountain and touch the sun.
Let me dance as if there’s no tomorrow until the bell tolls.

Let me feel the delicious fur of my nonjudgmental pup one last time.
Let me eat as many perfect peaches as I can, hand to mouth and repeat.
Let me hear Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto in E until it is in my heart forever.

Let me learn to express my love without even a twinge of self-recrimination.
Let me breath from deep in my soul the pure and newborn air of freedom.
Let me….let me… one last hour, one last minute, one last second.

It’s easy for them to slip into the ice,
the big crack of nonjudgmental water,
absorbed entirely in the joy of now.

First winter blankets them, then the frost,  
the quiet, until the last of their woolens,
the black and red squares of their scarves,
their blue and pink pompoms trailing down
become the final gender reveal, the last
memory of their life that skates grief circles
in the frozen lake of their parents’ memory.

The water will lift their lost children
back into their parents arms,
the only mercy the lake will grant them.

Some will replace the weight of
their grief with other newborns.
They will watch them put on weight,
watch them weigh them down,
always keeping their new ones
from the cold weight of water.

The rest will dream every night
of the white cloth that covered
their small and silent bodies.
They will leave a light on hoping
their children will open the door
and come home again—

not lost
in the dark water,
come home again,
not lost
in the eternity
of their blue life.