rude awakenings

she said the poem has two silences. the one preceding and the one following. But the silence I search for is the silence during. the captivation, complete and resolute soundlessness , stillness that seeps through the room like a blanket of snow. i long for my voice to take control of a room full of listeners like a boa slowly twisting but not killing. only holding each ear in perfect attention. and the silence remains, in totality, as I stop talking, taking a half step away from the mic, for a second longer than normal. before the spell is broken and the pause button released at the sound of a hand clapping, and then more until no one is still. everyone is moving and making sound. As i skirt shyly back to my seat at the back of the room.

the thoughts you instill in me are poisonous. and i try to extract them like venom from a snake bite but i cant seem to get the right grip. i cant suck, i just sip until the poison fills my mouth. and I want to scream at you as if i could convert this rage into sound and lose the negitivity around me. but i've never been able to speak my mind, i act like a mime trapped in a box i've bricked with my own trepidation. I layed down the foundation thinking I could protect myself if you ever threw another bomb my way. the way you throw away any sliver of effort I give. so i live behind my walls as if I'm Pink. And you think it's because I dont care. when you're upstairs watching tv with your headphones you break bones in the skeleton of this home. so I sit alone because I'm tired of being shut out. im tired of being cut out from your life like a piece of rotten fruit. You say you salvage anything. but when you threw out your ring I started to question your devotion. y

Had a talk with my mother, or rather she talked and i stood in the kitchen with eyes firmly planted in the soil of a piece of paper. I held the pen to the surface and let ink bleed in to the fibres the way I wish I could bleed out the guilt and let it exist on the page and not in me. I understood her every word. Had felt each emotion she spoke of, thought each thought she had thought. I lived in the country of her mind. I was a seed planted and grown from her earth. I knew the land for I was born from it. I absorbed her state of mind through my roots when I was most thirsty, sadness seeping like rain water. And I lived with it. I lived through it. came to love the familiarity of the vines that wound around our home like a slow motion boa, constricting the room for growth. I staked my own ground as it spilled out around us. the gaps getting wider like melting northern ice and we all ended up on our seperate pieces, floating away. I had found the beginnings of a new life. I found someo

today was a bad day mentally and emotionally. i broke down hard. couldn't hold anything in and i sobbed until Scott was hushing me so people in the other room wouldn't hear me. i felt unbearably pried open. We'd watched leaving las Vegas and a scene seeded itself in my mind and wouldn't let go. I tried to heal my past wounds but they will resurface regardless. now that I've muddied the waters of the subconscious, it may be a good time to pan for gold. find the strength to channel it into a vehicle of voice. find the words to build a bridge to cross the water for ever. Ive never felt him hold me the way he did after it all spilled out. so close. so strong. so comforting. as if his arms were brick walls hiding me from anything wrong in this world. warm and soft as sunshine. his anger. his wish for retribution. his testosterone fueled instinct to protect. and me the helpless doe crying. yet the love in his eye and how his fingers found mine. so gentle. when he held me

‘Creativity is just connecting things. When you ask creative people how they did something, they feel a little guilty because they didn’t really do it, they just saw something. It seemed obvious to them after a while. That’s because they were able to connect experiences they’ve had and synthesize new things. And the reason they were able to do that was that they’ve had more experiences than other people.’ — Steve Jobs

ever get that urge to write because you have more than enough inspiration, because you're with someone who lights up your whole world time and time again, and then when you attempt to create the magic that would do him justice you just can't think of the slightest thing to write?

sun casts petals of light across the open window. parts lips and inhales. her eyes open upon her first sight as she rises, dripping luminose urges, to all who drink her liquid light(?) She descends upon a golden staircase dances in thin legs across sleeping skin tip toes down the bridge of the nose slides onto the lips and off the chin. twists down strands of hair until with a flutter of a feathered lash she's pulled into the vaccum of your empty eye and is trapped firefly in a jar. you bring me the sun every time you look my way

I love you always I love you all ways. ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

it's getting better all the time. i love you a thousand different ways. ive adored you during countless days this love is happiness this love is pure.

Unbridled desire. Wild horses running into the eye of a hurricane without fear. suspended in a moment of pristine stillness. The world crumbled and everything fell away in a wave and we were submerged. A sand castle disolving against the tide. I caught his eye and lost my balance. I fell past him, past boundaries past my walls and landed inside. Spilled into an ocean. Tipped into an emptiness that inflated me. Cracking from the fullness and seeping into skin. Bleeding dye, dancing through him. And the wall's forever broken down.