'Who will love you?

Who will fight?

Who will fall far behind?”

Simple as these three lines may be, there is a lot of truth in them, something to keep in mind as we move forward in our lives.  It’s amazing what human influence in your life can accomplish, what forward momentum it can stir. Or at least, what we perceive as forward, because sometimes momentum isn’t always positive. Many times, that momentum is just digging a hole for ourselves.

And as we grow older, and start to think about what makes sense in our lives, we come to find our ideas of happiness, of sadness and of sanity are all skewed in comparison to those around us, those we care about. And as we listen, as we follow, and as we fall behind, we begin to dig those holes deeper for ourselves.

Towards mid life, if you’ve been digging, your hole is chest deep, and you have two choices: escape or keep digging. And those in that position many times tend to keep digging, not for love’s sake, or for the sake of their future, but because digging this hole is all they’ve gotten to know. For years they’ve been digging, whether it be for money, for fame, for love, and that’s all they know. And when you only know one thing, you tend to stick with it, and your choices are slim.

By the end of your life, your skin is sagging and you’ve become tired of digging. Your heart is heavy and your hands weary as you let loose your final breaths and lay back. You’re now alone in this world, under this world, away from everyone, and it’s of your own doing. Every choice you could have mad to leave the hole floods your memory, and you’re stuck knowing, from day one, you chose this. You dug your own grave.

A few young men throw gravel on you, and a headstone is placed above. A few kind words may be scrambled in, or just two dates, birth and death, and a first and last name, if you’re lucky. And the knowing truth that you brought yourself to this point.

If you’re looking for a happy story, this is not the story for you. There are so many ways to dig your own hole in your life, and you may not even realize you’re doing it. From love, to career, to the way you treat your body, your hole is being dug. You could be wiping the dirt of your hands at night, so sure you’ve done a worthwhile thing that you’d never even expect that you've been digging your own grave, plunging yourself deeper into the dirt and farther away from the life you deserve to live.

I can only speak on a small spectrum here, as I am young, and my hole shallow still. But I can say, with confidence, to find people who will fight for you, people who will love you, and get away from digging yourself into a hole. Find people who are the helping hands to pull you out, and who you can be the helping hand back to. And once you have those hands, don’t let them go.

All I can say is, if you want to be happy, stop digging. Stay together and build a treehouse instead.

driving south
to see trees in bloom
after a night of sleeping in the snow
& letting the hail beat up your face,
i can imagine is like
seeing color for the first time.

i am the new wick of a candle--
turned on by spring sun,
hot,
the light shows the beauty in strangers
like red-haired, shirtless Steven
whose eyes graced me with
the radiance of sunlit olive,
a shade i have never dreamed before:
gold & green globs twist in circles
in his irises, like magic

no wonder warm blood of new loves
is harvested in this season.

at the pink rock on the parkway,
i saw a collared corgi get lost,
enamored with strangers.
cannabis clouds coagulate
the air to power young hikers.
i spy front seat fever
in the car next to mine,
heads disappear
into the laps of their lovers.

for me, it is these woods,
the nurturing ways of the willows,
the numbing wind of unspoiled silence
by the glasshouse over the lake.

the bloom of new cycles
in the ancient--
what was always there,
like lovers that are always within,
part of you.
dogwoods crack open
to let us come together in a forested space
where all trails lead to treehouses.

this is my spring love,
this is bliss.

Trees, houses, Treehouses,
Abandoned.
                  beaches
                ­                 still
                                 appear the same as summer
but the sky's gone
                 Sunshine
to
                Windwine
                                  (Clouds and clouds, some much            
                                    larger than others, sometimes just one big cloud  
                                   mapped out between            
                                   us and rest of universe to the cascade horizon)

All the pets can tread cement
without
worry of burns and the two hundred calamities
of July are over.
                              Replaced with
                              rain and bums escaping to the
                              soup kitchens and
Churches
                                  (East side Vancouver, Pandora Victoria,  
                                                 astreet in a city astray)
Ashtrays freckled in the evening drizzle
common.

My hands are held by gloves and
                                 fingertips from half of
                                 Japan,
my lips are kissed by the                          comet
beauty mark on right side
bottom
                                                (Though this universe is attending
                                                  unive­rsity in a distant city
                                                  while I hold my own
                                                  practicing the Dharma,
                                                 or MAYBE none of this will happen!)
Everything is in its place
as it always was-
though circumstance has tried to
teach us otherwise the                        
                                     ­                            Blackbox
                                      made of star-rubber S T R E T C H I N G
Hasn't the concept
of          calendars or
                             Jesus or
                                medicine cabinets
                                                         Dentists and
                                                             ­               Saints.
Everything is in its place
as it will always be
        as it has never been...
(Ever)
SPONTANEITY of matter
                         Gliding thr-
                                          -ough matter.
What does it all matter anyway?
There's                    loving
and                    ­     experiencing,
                Music.
           Personsong.
         Do-no-wrong.
That        no-no           of making
             mistakes?
A falsity!
**** up

In blissful circles
to the         SOUND
                    OF SNOW
                    MELTING
on streetlamps front of my
House.
                                (A very silent orchestra performing
                                 Before collision and like dog whistles
                                 It's a sound we cannot hear.
                                The peoples got their poetry and
                                cognitive thought so the other
                                Animals get the REAL sensory
                                Inconceivables to write about
                                But the ******* can't)
In that
                        future
_____
basement house

Where the Van Gogh
                   Velvet Underground sit
P
O
S
T
E
R
E
D
on the wood-c
                        u
                          r
    ­                       v
                             e walls.
I'm in unfolding daydream
Thanking
HUNDRED THOUSAND YEARS
predating my
EIGHTEEN.
Thanking the
                              Beats and the Dadaists
                           and Buddhists and
                        Existentialists
                     ­ Post-modernists
                  Minimalists
                Expressionists
            FOR BEING.

Really, they aided
Me off
  the ^ ground
during
eight month unemployment induced depression where
I felt disassociated with myself
and the dynamo                                                       outside the front door..
Glowing via
         sunlight in the day window and
            headlights in the night window.
Either way
I filled up with
                                   (((Purposeless cynicism)))
The world bulb clicked ON
With/without me           there,
None of the corner stores
Or      airports
Or      hospitals
          courts and
          institutions
gave a rat's ***
what woes I be asphyxiated by
or that                 Farmquiet two lane
                                 tarnished path
In the country                       (in May)
      seemed fine a place as any
to     step a few feet to the          
                                               right
                            and
      left

of me and
                         .......DIZZY.......
by death traffic
old Buick polish
(Tragedy they'd say!)

While there midway in the firing line
I felt like
the wackos in      l o o s e
stone COLISEUM daisy cages
               Empty lots,
       Place where the beast of
  Emptiness cuffs to your sleeve
             and weeps
                      All over itself
                      that Sarte was right all along!
(No Exit! No exit!)

Autumn quartz moonlight                        O
Illuminated headstone repetition
circling musk fields.
  Skeleton wings
Of preceded seasons' timbers
Caught muttering the
Corpseconvo
as the               tumblecar
trembling             hot in
                           Music sauna HUM
Approaches life,
to the
                       paralyzed November air
of
Coffin bodies insulated
By roots N' six feet of terrestrial barrier.



Faces disappearing now
to Heavenly chandeliers of time
offering distant light future
and above my ponderous skull presently
                 dancing riverside to situations
                                                  and newness
                           (2016)
                  enigmatic spiral
  every                 color             every
                        possibility
every                rainbow          or
                      non-rainbow chromatically
                           webbed in Attic
                                          of secluded
                                Quantum Dimensions-

The big blue doors are opening to cosmic entirety,
cats everywhere are purring in their sleep,
somebody reads                          Murakami,
                                                      Picabia,
                                                      Joyce,
   ­                                                   W.C Williams,
                                                      B­erryman & Brainard too.
Big blue doors, rites of passage,
Aarti Varanasi twenty-seventeen,
             joyride to San Francisco (I wrote a poem on that once!)
Continuing self-exploration,
            reminding that soul to stay awake,
            the search for love-
Warmth when the year is
metamorphosed to cardinal leaves
       Sunset Summer!
      Autumnal transfiguration
      spiritual!
      Rearrangement of the concurrent reality!

I turn 19 in October and
a procession of kind-eyed children
will be born in the moments
I blow the cake candles.
Light goes out!
light comes in!
Hanoi expects me still.

these hands,

these hands were meant
to melt in the keys of the piano
and not for pushing buttons
to operate complex machinery,

these hands were meant
to climb the plateau’s of New Mexico
and not for spilling a half bottle of
Dutch milk while the tv watches me
passed out on the couch,

these hands were meant
to build treehouses for my children
not to drunk punch lousy bums
on the slum streets and lose,

these hands were meant to
pick peaches in the orchards of Georgia
and not to be holding my **** as it
****** in the linen closets and China cabinets
while in the drunken state of befuddlement,

these hands were meant to
make colossal sandwiches
and not to swipe my card
in the drive-thru,

these hands were meant
to caress my wife and
waltz her through life
and not be defiant,

these hands were meant
for gumption and not for
delusions of grandeur,

these hands were meant
to make my own dreams come true
and not someone else’s,

these hands were meant
to have purpose, talent,
motivation, diligence
and not to be shoved
into the pockets of uncertainty and
suffering from indolent characteristics,

these hands were meant
for bigger indentations
in the world and not to be
tyrannized by simplistic minds

these hands,
these hands,
these hands...

but somewhere down the lifeline
of my palms
I had left behind
my spirit and my soul
a long, long time ago
and it’s never too late
to get it back,
oh no,
it’s never too late
to get it all back.

Gina and Dru, the perfect two
Killed a boy named Beau then went on the move
Maybe its sick, maybe its wrong
But for Dru, that Beau hurt his Gina, and love is **** strong
Pinned her down cryin, made her take it
Then those two lovers came back, as it went
Gina brought a tire iron to his head
And Dru was in shock, but wasted no time then
Got in his truck, set for a man named Carl
That new his brother Jaime, behind bars now
They ran and they ran, those two kids man,
But one day Dru passed out, and Gina was hurt again
So while her baby slept, dreaming of her
She ran the bath water hot, didn't care if it hurt
Slit her wrists snip snip, just like that, the end
And Dru woke up and found her, in that water running red
Yelled at the abandoned walls, "You took it all!"
Knees too weak, he begins to fall
Takes the knife from his girl, his entire ******* world
Slit his throat so again he could hold her
They dreamt of treehouses, bad dogs, forever
But in the end, after it all
Gina and Dru are still together

let's go search for guns
inside the rivers
let's go back to our kingdom
inside the cardboard
let's hide away our spirits
and only let our tellurian skin show
        let our derelict dialect drop and only speak in kisses
        and your eyes are commas, they make me pause for awhile
        and darling you may have been beautiful for awhile
        but i like to liken you to a starless night, had you've not opened
        your eyes for awhile

where treehouses took us above ground
        and our kingdom rested out in the rain
      and every drop numbs the cells and neurons
        inside my own mortal frame, you are the darkside
          the emptiness in the tattered bed sheets besides me
         as i lay asking myself what you could be
                and life is still wonderful despite the time slipping away
                        and me not knowing you enough

We’re painting the roses red
Because the white isn’t good enough
It’s too innocent, too pure
It’s petals not yet touched by the crimson dripping from our hearts
What hearts?
Hearts we build out of plastic
So that bullets shot at us leave no drastic wounds
Only indents
Nobody says anything
We wrap lace around our rotten cores
Hopeful that beautiful will one day mean forgotten
And our mistakes won’t haunt us like stairwell ghosts
They’re band aids we place on each lesion
Doing whatever it takes to create shield of armour for our castle
Can’t you see you’re a castle?
A castle built on top of the ground you were pushed down upon
Where the white roses grow
Words are like arrows aimed at your throat
And you can’t breathe so you close your eyes
Covering your ears like a worried toddler
You hide and inside you build treehouses
With signs that read “No Trespassing”
Throwing stones at a fleeting reality that begs to be let in
But you’re terrified of what you’ll find waiting
Because you’re still just a child
Aren’t we all children?
Children left timid and quivering
Who pity themselves as lesser beings
Two halves in two worlds
Built only on broken roads that wish to bring harm
And their arms feel weak from reaching both distances
Somewhere along the way their compass was smashed
One hand pointing north, the other south
So they call themselves worthless and keep their mouth shut
But why does that make them the lamb and you the lion?
A lamb that counts their scars as they grow
And notice they all look like people
Snakes in mankind’s clothing
Who asked you to love them but their fangs sank too deep
They couldn’t see your innocence bloom in each petal
They assume that your heart is as damaged as them
Admiring the view of rose covered gardens all painted red
Where everyone wants to be different or dead

We, are the forest's rouges,
We live here bandoned by those
Who we loved, but no more, of course.

We all have left our homes, searching for place
Where we'd live with out a pain to face.
And so at last we found the place.

Here in the forest live
In treehouses mostly we live
So no one, trust me, will make us leave.

Under the ground we have our shrine,
Of luck, of freedom, of moon, let'em shine!
Here we greet our new comrades each time.

And we perform our rites every night
As we dance, as we sing, as we fight
Our souls keep shining bright

The forest is surrounded by ruins of an ancient nation
It's magic is our never broken protection
Not a chance for the intervention.

Sometimes we give moon the homage
Get home and take out fearless revenge
As  go on a bittersweet rampage.

Run away if you are where you don't belong.
At midnight come and find  a golden rose yet the search might take long
Once you do tell a story and sing 'bout freedom a song.

I learned of a love for treehouses,
And 8 mile.
Both the Detroit and Farmington sides.
I gave up deepthroating and cigarettes for New Years.

I developed an attachment to bridges.
Morrison, Hawthorne, Burnside, Steel, Tilikum
All pacing my afternoon runs.
Ambassador.
My favorite thing about traveling is coming home at the end.

I met another soul mate, one I don’t kiss.
We read our poems between English classes,
Scrounge up quarters for midnight subway runs,
Bond over an old love of car rides and vampire weekend.
She says
Life is excruciatingly painful,
And as your best friend I’ll let you know
“I only smoke **** with you, on tuesday evenings.”
(“And I only cry in public bathrooms at noon.”)

I learned home is where the heart is,
And my heart is always with my mother
I inked our love onto my skin in June.

I know now, that ******* is less scary and more of a sad college kid thing.
(But ****** is just as scary as it seems on TV.)
I met the pigeon man on 6th and Yamhill,
Swarmed by hundreds of grey flying rats
Kissing each one on the head before setting them back down.

I finally lost my father.
It didn't hurt half as badly as I imagined it to.

I invited too many girls to stay the night.
And one too many boys.
But I never regret holding you all close because friendship is ******’ magic.
Thank you my little pony.

I learned no, you can't flush toilet paper in Asia
And yes, elephants are incredible.
That spinning on a pole makes you an artist before anything else.
That embarrassment is worth it.
That therapy is worth it only sometimes.

I learned a language where I can finally be quiet.
Admitted to
Guilty pleasures
In pop music
And fried food.
My body is a temple that can handle some mac and cheese.
And beauty is much more loving your current state than anything else.

I love my current state.
Rain, and no sales tax,
and a candlelit home.

I had a dream
And in my dream I saw petals
Rose petals
That covered the floor of my room
Yet never wilted
No matter how many times they were crushed
And outside they masked the dirtiest of streets
Shades of red and pink and blue
I liked the blue the most
Id never seen them before

I saw where they came from
Roses growing from the highest of buildings
Greenhouses on the roofs of skyscrapers
And young men and women who plucked them
And let them rain to the masses below

The roses grew back quickly
Each time more vivid than the last
Until the streets were covered
Masked in red and pink and blue

After morning the roses stopped growing
And the men and women headed down
Where they stood amongst the petals that coated the ground
While everyone smiled and talked
And the sun shone brighter than the days before
As I walked along the trail of red and pink and blue

In my dream we all just watched
And felt the breeze from the street corners and rooftops
We sat on curbs and power boxes
Leaned out from windows and treehouses
Cars and shops
Bikes and offices

And together we watched the petals fall

“Suicide doesn’t stop the pain,” “It gives it to someone else.”

- [ ] 1: We would miss you

- [ ] 2: It’s worth it to be alive

- [ ] 3: It does get better, believe it or not it will eventually get better.

- [ ] 4: There’s so much you would miss out on doing.

- [ ] 5: You are worth it don’t let anyone, even yourself tell you otherwise.

- [ ] 6: God made you for a reason, you have a reason.

- [ ] 7: There is always a reason to live!

- [ ] 8: So many people care about you

- [ ] 9: You are amazing

- [ ] 10: I don’t even know you and I love you

- [ ] 11: I care for you

- [ ] 12: There are plenty of people that love you

- [ ] 13: You're literally perfect!! <3

- [ ] 14: There are plenty of people that care for you

- [ ] 15: God loves you

- [ ] 16: God cares about you

- [ ] 17: Sometimes life is hard but it will make you a stronger person don’t worry!

- [ ] 18: What about all the things you’ve always wanted to do? What about all the things you’ve planned, but never got around doing? You can’t do them if your dead.

- [ ] 19: I want you to be alive

- [ ] 20: So many people want you alive!

- [ ] 21: You won’t be able to listen to Music if you die

- [ ] 22: You’ll never be able to listen to your favourite song if you die.

- [ ] 23: You’ll never be able to listen to your favourite singer if you’re gone

- [ ] 24: You’ll never be able to listen to your favourite rapper if you’re gone.

- [ ] 25: listening to really loud music

- [ ] 26: Killing yourself is never worth it, you’ll hit both yourself & the people who care about you.

- [ ] 27: There are so many people that would miss you, including me

- [ ] 28: the clouds

- [ ] 29: You are gorgeous

- [ ] 30: Someone out there would die for you :’)

- [ ] 31: How do you think your family would feel?

- [ ] 32: Proving people wrong with your success.

- [ ] 33: Watching the jerks that doubted you fail at life.

- [ ] 34: You’ll never have the feeling of walking into a warm building on a cold day.

- [ ] 35: You’ll never have the feeling of walking into a cold building on a hot day.

- [ ] 36: Being stupid in public just because you can.

- [ ] 37: Helping other people.

- [ ] 38: You have a future to live for..

- [ ] 39: Being alive is good

- [ ] 40: thinking about happy memories

- [ ] 41: Finding your soulmate.

- [ ] 42: All nighters!!!

- [ ] 43: Sleeping in all day

- [ ] 44: You can look back at yourself later in your life and be glad you didn’t commit suicide.

- [ ] 45: Nobody could ever replace you

- [ ] 46: You’re unique

- [ ] 47: pets

- [ ] 48: petting pets

- [ ] 49: Netflix and movies

- [ ] 50: Decorating the Christmas tree

- [ ] 51: Dreams that make you smile

- [ ] 52: Breakfast in bed

- [ ] 53: New clothes

- [ ] 54: New shoes

- [ ] 55: New books

- [ ] 56: Sunrises and Sunsets

- [ ] 57: Friends

- [ ] 58: The ocean

- [ ] 59: Sunlight

- [ ] 60: Your family

- [ ] 61: Inside jokes

- [ ] 62: Birthdays

- [ ] 63: Christmas

- [ ] 64: Family traditions

- [ ] 65: The taste of your favourite food

- [ ] 66: Favourite tv show

- [ ] 67: Favourite movie

- [ ] 68: Going to new places

- [ ] 69: The ability to peruse what ever you choose (there are over 7 billion people on Earth, don’t be afraid to be you)

- [ ] 70: To earn money and rewards

- [ ] 71: You can always flip your life around.

- [ ] 72: To find the perfect job/career for you

- [ ] 73: Pizza

- [ ] 74: Kittens

- [ ] 75: New haircuts

- [ ] 76: Moments you can look back to and laugh at

- [ ] 77: The clouds

- [ ] 78: The world is better with you in it

- [ ] 79: Roller Coasters

- [ ] 80: Showers

- [ ] 81: Cake

- [ ] 82:Growing old

- [ ] 83: Growing old with the person you love

- [ ] 84: Singing

- [ ] 85: Sleeping

- [ ] 86: Icecream

- [ ] 87: Cookies

- [ ] 88: food in general

- [ ] 89: Movie nights

- [ ] 90: Candy

- [ ] 91: Popcorn

- [ ] 92: Daydreaming

- [ ] 93: Happy moments

- [ ] 94: Halloween

- [ ] 95: Sleepovers

- [ ] 96: Parties

- [ ] 97: Having a good personality

- [ ] 98: Making people happy

- [ ] 99: Bonfires

- [ ] 100: Sitting on rooftops

- [ ] 101: Vacations

- [ ] 102: Hearing crazy stories

- [ ] 103: Telling crazy stories

- [ ] 104: Treehouses

- [ ] 105: Starbucks

- [ ] 106: You’ve changed someone’s life

- [ ] 107: If you’re gone how will you achieve great things?

- [ ] 108: Everyone has talent including you

- [ ] 109: Eating crazy food

- [ ] 110: Hanging out with your friends

- [ ] 111: Nobody could ever replace you

- [ ] 112: You have so much to live for

- [ ] 113: Your dreams need some fulfilling to do

- [ ] 114: Living life to the fullest

- [ ] 115: Heck, I would miss you like crazy

- [ ] 116: Your family and friends would be devastated if you were gone

- [ ] 117: Someone out there is constantly praying to meet someone like you

- [ ] 118: Your future

- [ ] 119: You could save so many lives

- [ ] 120: You are too beautiful to disappear

- [ ] 121: You are bigger than any of your problems

- [ ] 122: You are never alone during this struggle

- [ ] 123: Tomorrow is a new day!

- [ ] 124: You are worth more than you think

- [ ] 125: Last but not least, the final and most important one is, just being able to experience life, because even if your life doesn’t seem so great right now, anything could happen

when we were kids we used to play outside every day,
from dawn till dusk,
we used to blow dandelions and watch their seeds
fly in all directions,
we were letting the wind carry them like delivery,
to random places,
where they lived the rest of their simple lives,
it fascinated me,

when we were little we saw the world through
heart-shaped sunglasses,
we used to stay up late playing football in the yard,
and build treehouses,
now we buy neither lollipops nor fruit jelly beans,
but cigarettes,
i used to jump in my unmade bed, full of excitement,
but not anymore,

when we were kids we were careless and happy,
we wore smiles like every day,
we saw the world through star-shaped sunglasses,
from dawn till dusk we played,

everyone was happy back then.

Children played,
in the woodland today
Acorns spread across the ground
Treeshouses lots to be found
Crunching of the leaves,
provided a blanket to support feet,
but be careful of the mushrooms,
proper foraging retreats
This unexplored woodland,
could provide lots to eat,
expert knowledge,
must touch the cooking ***,
in order to enjoy the delights,
that the woodland has got
So let's continue to explore,
and, play,
finding those treehouses,
with arched doors,
that will provide,
Imaginary play
Then sit on tree stumps,
on the ground,
while eating packed lunches,
listening to the sounds

© 2021 Carol Natasha Diviney