Transparent and breakable

More dreams. They only get more twisted. Taking my hopes as hostage and rendering them listless. Making sense of everything’s nothing. And -nothing- makes sense. Rising up, more like a limbo., seeking to find what is it of truth I may know. I feel like I am reaching into a melting pot and the ideas are ripe and the fruit is not. How do I get back to the feeling of elevating where the words spoken are the rhythms validating love. Endlessly. Entirely giving more more more. Still wanting to give more more more. But silence, it is misleading. Gaps are filled with meaningless pleading to an empty space. The wetness is recognized by my face and the facing of history in retrace mode. Please, I beg myself. Do not implode. Not again. Not this time. Rise up and receive the divine. Maybe In Time I will see and we will see. Maybe in time it will all make sense to me. But while time dares to not pass, I stretch my heart thin and it shatters like the glass. The same glass that I built my hearts house with, transparent and breakable in the name of love. Transparent and and breakable in the name of love. Transparent and breakable in the name of love.

Whats in my mirror?

Where do I stand when I look in the mirror? My feet lost in the abyss and my mind in space. What part of me should I be looking at? I’m not sure what part to observe.

Do I start with my hair? The mane of a lioness that flows into the ethereal and sheds its warnings to poachers that I, have been here, this Space I claim, and I will return. The nest of knots that have interlocked and woven together with little outside assistance and certainly less time in process of realignment of strands to be side by side. The firey and wirey reachings of keratin and pigment that swirl and stretch, break snap , and grab onto the fury of expressions through the crown. Tendrils swaying lower and peering over my back and softly teasing my bosom.

Do I then follow the lingering locks? Loaded and unloaded, lifted and left empty breasts of past time beauty that will never have the lust again. Mounds of nutrient and nourishment now perused over like leftovers and cold storage. The swaying between sensual and supplementation has ceased yet the sloping has increased. Drippings of sustenance silenced and the yearning for connection screams. Etchings of years of experiences fall off the front lines and lean into a flattening scape of exiting excitement, lowering the gaze to the maze of the puddling of passions passed.

Do I pass through the ridges, over my roughened experiences of readiness? Rafting beyond the wild and untamed rivers that flowed out of the canal of my womanhood, where woman meets child and child becomes woman. The carvings in the rites of passage as the pathway was stumbled upon and often into. Paddling with fervor and full force embracing the waves and then, knocked out of the steady ship. Sinking deep into the plundering of what treasures would later surface to prove the journey is a darker blue than previously mapped. Out of the womb and wondering, now with proof of the seekers and the seers which now navigate the tides of life.

Should I lead with the lead that is in my step? Prying up the anchor of taking a stance and stabilizing with air underfoot I could focus on the pose of disposition. Repositioning the weight of wavering from flying and being pinned down my peddlers wane. Wanting to dance on the light of the angels flight but find the fight bringing the soul back to earth with the soles planted. En route, I am rooted and often rootbound, washing the soil off the arches where it still aches to curve in deeper from all the eggshells found in the gardeners path of composted dreams.

Ah, the dreamer of the dreams. The constant streaming of the “whats and what ifs.” Housed in a hard casing of in cases and protective barriers and screams in the middle of space. Pacing back and forth in the grey matter walking back and forth to the “what matters,” the equilibrium tipping the scale of reality and imaginary. The creasings, within ceasing to end the firing of thoughts full of delusion and fulfilling the illusion that the reflection of which the synapses connect recreate a connection. Direction of the waves dependent upon what is decides to replay. The brain, the sane, the same, the endless game of what is next and how to recollect what was witnessed as life.

Don’t let me forget, there is the life giver. The holder of golden slivers that are made with the dreams and stored as hope in the beating heart. Pulsing with the vibrations from the messages of purpose, proposing a rhythm to play to, sing to, dance with. Its warmth reaching through the entirety and simultaneously halting the course. Coursing with crumbles of ice cubing the cells intended to carry liquid thicker than water and bursting through barriers of self inflicted boundaries. It could be bound by the constrictions or confines of the coldness’ shiver. Yet, still it shimmers the prayers lining of reflections and silver.

And here I stand, in the reflection. The beginning and the end of what end to discover first. Which part interlaced within is the best and which is fraying at the ends as the worst? Through only the gaze of my view can I be observed. The iris interpreting what is pure and intentional or what is purely absurd. Refocusing and closing the lids of reality leads the creation of what could be seen upon the opening of the scope, my self microscope. Wipe the lense from the condensing vision of pleasing all other visions and watching as the singular is perceived as divisions. Left and right and pleading to combine the idea that the ideas are one. The view is changing, and as it is rising the veil too lifts to reveal the gaze back is mine. This is where from all time it ends and begins in self reflection.

Not an Angel

Reality depends a great deal upon one believing what he sees—or seeing what he believes. Either way.

Richelle E. Goodrich

This is Casino, a pup that belongs to a man I met in the park today. Halfway from my work to my car this man sat at a bench. He looked up from his occupying moment and said “hello beautiful.” As I approached his direction he had at this point told me I was beautiful and pretty about 5 times. I smiled and made slight conversation with him and offered him a piece of chocolate. He told me his wife had died. My heart sank and I instantly thought of my loss. He again told me I was beautiful. I asked him the name of his pup and said to him he has his own little piece of luck. He agreed and giggled. He was playing ufc on his phone and I chatted with him about kicking ass in the game. As I thanked him for his kindness and was about to leave to continue to my vehicle, he asked me if I was an angel. I smiled and said no, but he told me again that I was beautiful. He had at this point also said several things about his life and invited me to visit, coffee, breakfast, etc. I now know where this man lives. I realized this man had a different brain than I, and it functions in a different aspect than my own. Developmentally delayed is how we’d modernize it. But somethings struck me as more like, life had happened to this man. And perhaps stunted him in a way that deferred him from fear, given him a more innocent and childlike approach and expression of his thought. Unhindered. Unfiltered. And then I realized that maybe he was an angel. Maybe he was sent to me to help me feel like I actually was seen, and actually maybe I am beautiful. And maybe my worth was seen through the eyes of this man who couldn’t help but share his luck of insight with me.

Who we are

.

Heavy on my heart is this…

Who we are.

I think about as a parent, how often I get angry with my kids, and the tone i take, and the lack of patience or listening or showing of care to what they are showing. Yes I fail and slack. I lack the ability to give them all that I want to give and in turn get angry and behave against them.

I think about as a daughter, the many many times I feel like a burden, or i take and take, and religiously fail to give back.

I think about as a friend how I am not accessible to those that want to spend their blessed time with me because I am preoccupied with my stress, or my life, or trust reciprocates.

I think about as a lover, how I lack faith or trust or have high expectations. I’m difficult to love and put stress on relationships due to previous experiences that have proven me to be an idiot and leave me in doubt or constant questioning. Half truths and double standards.

I think about as a teacher, how I slack on preparation sometimes because I don’t have the energy to get it all together and give full attention to some lessons or self requirements I want to do for my class. How I am sometimes in my brain and less engaged with their precious minds helping them to my full capacity to reach their potential at the time given.

I think about as a community member how much I wish I could give more to the people who are around me, but find myself feeling like a self-hermitting outcast and pulling away from further communication or involvement.

And then.. in think about how I want to believe I am…

I think about much I love my children. How I would literally give my last breath to give them life. How much I support their wants and dreams and encourage them to be themselves in their fullest desire. I work hard to be there for them during all their times they need me or want me. I put time with them over working more hours and give as much as i humanly can to show them how to be a decent human being.

I think about how much I try to show gratitude to my parents. Being aware that they give so much to keep myself and my children cared for. Telling them I love them and raising their grandchildren to honor their lineage with respect and love.

I think about how as a friend I don’t judge anything they do. I am frank and honest but I always support their decisions in life and let them know they are amazing. I tell my friends what Blessings they are to me and how I am truly grateful they give me the time in their lives to help each other grow. And if someone really needs me, like I’m called upon, I’m trying my best to be there for them, or at least I hope I am.

I think about how as a lover, I love hard. I am honest, transparent and loyal to a fault. I give and give of myself to show how much I love. I don’t cheat and I don’t lie to my lover. I am willing to go be where I am wanted and extend inclusion wholeheartedly.

I think about as a teacher how I go into it with the heart to help our humanity. Molding minds. Showing them that there are people in this world who love them endlessly and want to see them grow and succeed. Giving thought and care into what I show them and how I treat them so that they too, can be a loving individual as they live.

I think about as a community member how much I enjoy knowing the people around me. I greet them and wave and hug as often as I can. I give much time to our youth and support as often as I can. I involve myself into our town and participate where I’m needed or wanted. Most of the kids know they are in a safe place here.

My point is this…

You literally never know when the last time you might see someone or speak to someone is. This is in a lot of hearts. Particularly for me, since I lost a daughter that never got the chance to live the life we all take for granted.

How we treat people. How we love people. How we act when we are hurt, sad, angry, joyful, happy, loved…

so, accept where you fall short and then push on to be the better you. Be the person in private people think you are in public. Be who you want people to believe you are. Because the reality is, I’d rather be the person that when someone last saw them or spoke to them, they knew I was being honest. They knew I was grateful. They knew I loved them. And there was no doubt that I was anyone other than who they thought I was and who I believe I should be to them.

Love hard and live honestly.

Graphed Out

Graphed out. Exposure of pointed frames. Framed by the idea of what is translated as the same. The axis of x is different than the axis of y and why Is what I ask.

Graphed out. Exposures of the brain. Powered by the motivation of what is played as a game. The dice rolled as the movement some times the move comes too fast.

Graphed out. Saturation of emotion. Hues of intention pixelate in their space. The rise and fall of painted expectation is a selfish race.

Graphed out. Representing the vision. Giving a shutter to shudder from the incision. Pushing the speed of rejected or accepted implication.

Graphed out. Transparent with force. Presenting an expression of stifled composure. Giving the inside a chance for its external exposure.

I’m the asshole

What does it matter if my brain falls apart. Every time I express more shatter happens to my heart. Grief is overflowing and the day just goes on by. So what does it matter if again, today I cry. It’s been stated, already heard, so what is the importance now. Life keeps on moving for everyone, and for me I’m not sure how. I’m sad. But aren’t we all sad about something too. I’m the asshole that compares my pain to you. My trigger makes me lack the empathy I need in the moment. My anger makes me see the lack in me, I guess I should own it. But I’m in grief. I try to share for some comfort, some relief. But the day just keeps on going. I’m the one left with my pain growing. But hey. Tomorrow is a new day. Hey. Tomorrow it’ll probably go away.

Grow or Go

I KNOW YOU’RE NOT READING THIS. I KNOW YOU DON’T CARE. BUT IF YOU COULD DO THE WORLD A FAVOR AND TRY TO BE FAIR. DELETE ME ENTIRELY OR FACE UP TO OUR TRUTH. BE A BETTER EXAMPLE OF LOVE FOR OUR YOUTH. LET THEM SEE MATURITY. LET THEM SEE GROWTH. LET THEM SEE THAT IN YOU, THERE IS A FUTURE OF HOPE. SHOW THE COMPASSION THAT COMES AS NATURAL AS THE ACT. HAVE COMMUNICATION THAT SHOWS YOU DO IN FACT HAVE TACT. WELCOME GROWTH FOR YOUR SOUL, THE KIND THAT MOVES MOUNTAINS INSIDE. SHOW SOME LOVE AND LET DOWN THE HIGH PRIDE. BE WHO YOUR SOUL CLAIMS AND LET LOVE LEAD THE WAY. SILENT DISREGARD IS A FOOLISH GAME TO PLAY. IT PRESENTS OPPONENTS RATHER THAN TEAMMATES OF THIS EARTH. IT SETS LOVE ASIDE AND LEADS ONLY WITH HURT. YOU GIVE TO THE WORLD BUT REFUSE TO TAKE PART, IN OWNERSHIP OF LOVE OR IN THE HEALING OF WOUNDED HEARTS.

WHEN IT COMES TO ACCOUNTABILITY, ILL TAKE IT OVER AND AGAIN. BECAUSE GROWTH IS THE ONLY GAME WHERE WE SHOULD TRY TO WIN. I HAVE SO MUCH CONCERN FOR THE EXAMPLE YOU ARE GIVING AND MY HEART BREAKS FOR THE CONFUSION IN WHICH WE’VE BEEN LIVING. PERHAPS ONLY I AM THE ONE WHO FEELS THE SADNESS AND LONGING, OR PERHAPS IT IS ONLY LOVE THAT I WISH IN BELONGING.

SUCCESS COMES AFTER MASSIVE FAILURE REARS UP. BUT ONLY IF REFLECTION HAS BEEN OBSERVED THROUGH THE EYES OF AWAKENING LOVE

This is the face.

This is the face of love. Each time my heart is touched by love it is etched in my soul. It creates a path of proof through the smile’s lines of love’s joy and laughter. Then wanders through the brow’s furrow of love’s wonder. It penetrates the pores pouring from love’s pain. Love looks like this.

This is the face of desperation. Pleading for the pain to process and bring peace. Begging for release from the bindings and shackles of shame from continually feeling this way. Bargaining no more, but blinded by defeat. Desperation looks like this.

This is the face of hope. Recognizing that this is a moment of an awareness of raw experience and reality. Lit up briefly by the reflections of the tears sweet brilliance of beaded reckoning. Relinquishing the idea that I have to keep it festered and vested in the cavity my soul reveals as wounded. Hope looks like this.

This is the face of disgust. Putting too much sacred deliverance into a space already self filled. Giving with relentless effort to offer more just to prove worth to the takers who’ve passed on praise. Inflicting a self imposition and acknowledgement of misalignment. Self, not self. Disgust looks like this.

This is the face of bewilderment. Standing in a cleansed body state of muddled mind. Perceptions shifting and breathing brings only moments of mild mannered transitions. In disbelief with feeling of washed over and sharing poses more as imposition, overlooked and taken for granted. Bewilderment looks like this.

This is the face of strength. Grimace and regrouping, bawling and growing. Perseverance begins to permeate after repeated experience. Going in as a dove, coming out scorched dark, now a raven, yet continually still it flies. Rising to the challenge baffling the deliverer of discourse. Strength looks like this.

This is the face of grief. The sudden onset of not understanding that operations continue. Disbelief of lack of attentive heart compassing language and cognition. Wayside, left in wonder. Sad overcame by weight weighed by a judge of less caliber. Cast aside and left alone in the debris of dismantling. Grief looks like this.

Running joke

It’s not safe here anymore. Maybe it is safer. I feel stuck between loving myself and being a self hater. Traitorous to what is reality mostly because I am confused by the indiscrepancies of what I see or think is me. But who am I kidding? It’s me, I’m the joke running. Only fooling the messenger who is delivering the ammunition gunning my own self down, I’ve stitched a target in the threading of each gown that I wear, each item I put on, it’s just a matter of time, I’m not sure just how long it will take for me to be blamed for another mistake. Another settling down from the the shit I create. The things I make up in my mind. It comes cued in, right in time and in line with any hope that “I’m better” … in short that’s the descriptive head letter. Short hand expresses the energies lessened and the dread of resent is moreover presented.

Unprompted

It should be Pretty obvious, but still you stay oblivious, with your disposition sitting in ignorance, your aloof stature coming off as righteous. But it’s not. It just divides us. It pries the ties that try to keep us united and offers me the insight I need to evaluate the efforts from the undecided.

And deciding these realizations have been provided.They all seemed to be coinciding and practically implied that I am being denied the most profound happenings that bring me alive, offers me vitality. These are the most of upmost important expressions that are the genetic coding of my humanity. This is the way to offer interest of genuine connectivity. Yet your soul seeks out mine Inactively.

In the lack of action I see all the offered time for our connecting to align and reveal the divine purpose of hearts like yours and mine. I thought of this as intertwining with the grand design. Perhaps it’s not. Or perhaps it’s just one bit to combine into a book of truths we loosely bind.

Now bound together with a single thread, common to the past on a path we have to lightly tread. The destination is clear, it should be near, instead, I’m ridden in bed with an illness born from retaliation from what I expected. in my head, we are growth oriented and selfless love lead.

Leading me to feel an emotional haunt. An escaping of a hope that what moves me is also your want, wanting my passions to be on your list to flaunt, proving you crave more of me and use the tools and let our love create a new font. One that is read every chance the eyes have to seek to be closer, driven to know more, without prompt.