He was younger.
Similarities shocking.
I found his Marliyn pictures.
There was a flower,
The same I put in my hair.
He reminded me of you.
We listened to old records,
He played The Doors.
I found a poem you once sent me.
It wasn't from you but he had it.
Same words.
I paused.
Thinking,
This road I have been down before.
It felt all too familiar.
There was a darkness to him,
Seemingly attracted to it.
Why resist?
I drove down the road to meet him.
He even kissed me like you.
But better.
He couldn't resist me.
So why fight it?
We didn't.
I'm reminded of you still.
I wish you would go away forever.
Erased away like some washed up
Has been.
I don't think about you like I miss you,
I think of you with deep regret.
And now you continue to haunt me.
Only because he reminds me of you.
This time I'm not gonna let you.
Friday, July 17, 2015
Sunday, July 12, 2015
A Thousand.
The smell of her haunts you.
Like she left notes on the sheets.
Kitchen pans she once cooked in.
The tasting of the love she sowed.
She haunts you when you close your eyes.
It's enough to make a man not sleep.
In fear of thinking you kissed her,
When you didn't.
Touched her porcelain skin.
Knew what it meant to lay next to her.
Waking up with disappointment.
A let down.
Because she wasn't there.
And never was.
You are the one yearning.
Just to touch her skin,
One last time.
You would wait a thousand lives.
Be pulled through the trenches.
Eat nothing.
Drink piss and vinegar.
Forget everything you knew.
Never take another breath.
Because you loved her.
In at least your dreams,
You are with her again.
And that's worth sleeping.
A thousand times over.
Just to be with her one last time.
You would sleep your life away.
To live in that place.
At least there she was with you.
A thousand times over.
You would.
Like she left notes on the sheets.
Kitchen pans she once cooked in.
The tasting of the love she sowed.
She haunts you when you close your eyes.
It's enough to make a man not sleep.
In fear of thinking you kissed her,
When you didn't.
Touched her porcelain skin.
Knew what it meant to lay next to her.
Waking up with disappointment.
A let down.
Because she wasn't there.
And never was.
You are the one yearning.
Just to touch her skin,
One last time.
You would wait a thousand lives.
Be pulled through the trenches.
Eat nothing.
Drink piss and vinegar.
Forget everything you knew.
Never take another breath.
Because you loved her.
In at least your dreams,
You are with her again.
And that's worth sleeping.
A thousand times over.
Just to be with her one last time.
You would sleep your life away.
To live in that place.
At least there she was with you.
A thousand times over.
You would.
Wednesday, July 8, 2015
Disproportion.
I didn't love you the way you loved me.
That disproportion wasn't a secret,
I think you wondered when the sand
Would run out of the hourglass.
Don't think I didn't feel that too.
So I guess we were just waiting.
Like grains of sand that collect on the beach.
Eventually picking up with the wind.
Going to separate places.
I went to the sea.
You stayed on the shore.
Always wondering of my return.
That will never happen.
That disproportion wasn't a secret,
I think you wondered when the sand
Would run out of the hourglass.
Don't think I didn't feel that too.
So I guess we were just waiting.
Like grains of sand that collect on the beach.
Eventually picking up with the wind.
Going to separate places.
I went to the sea.
You stayed on the shore.
Always wondering of my return.
That will never happen.
Friday, July 3, 2015
Come As You Are.
Since coming home from a big city to a small town the adjustment has been interesting. It brings up an interesting topic that has been on my mind. A topic I feel close to and one that I have given much thought to. It's called judgement. I think we get better at judging the older we become or at least we think we do. We are critical thinkers latching on to things that we can relate to and not so much to things that we can't relate to.
Needless to say my personal journey has been anything but normal and a good test for a small town. A town that most people never leave, which is to say is they're journey. All can be judged because as we age we think we know what's best. The real understanding is knowing that we all are on our own path. That it's no better or worst, it's just different. It's easy in the community that I live in now to all be doing the same things and for me I feel different. I am looked at differently or simply ignored for lack of understanding. It's important to note that I'm not complaining but rather observing That's the thing about individual consciousness, it can be short-sided and is based on experiences. It's finding the group that feeds you and understanding that no one truly has this figured out. It's also letting go of people that no longer share in your thought. This is a truly difficult lesson. It might mean your sister or your best friend. Once the mind expands it can no longer go back. Some people want to stay in their consciousness which is to say they will not relate to your new way of thinking. This is noones fault. Your way isn't everyone's way. Your way might not be best for me and my way might not be the best for you. I think that is the exciting part about life, that either way is a choice. Instead of thinking it's predetermined it bestows choices upon yourself. For the randomness of life this choosing is wonderfully powerful. It's a celebration of the human spirit and the power of choice.
When I feel judged I take a deep breathe and say to myself " I don't judge you and I would like you to not judge me." Im not saying this always works but it reminds me to be kinder to my fellow passenger. We don't always know of a persons individual journey and I would challenge others to exercise a more loving approach to this experience. Our brains are wired to evaluate and judge and this is to say it's not always right. It's keeping love in your heart and an openness that comes from understanding your journey and the journey of others. Be thankful for the expansiveness of just being alive. All the other details matter today and maybe not so much tomorrow. The true test is in the support. An unwavering support to not judge but expand our minds to a deeper understanding. To not shy away from not relating but to center ourselves with those that might be different and learn something new.
As you are.
Needless to say my personal journey has been anything but normal and a good test for a small town. A town that most people never leave, which is to say is they're journey. All can be judged because as we age we think we know what's best. The real understanding is knowing that we all are on our own path. That it's no better or worst, it's just different. It's easy in the community that I live in now to all be doing the same things and for me I feel different. I am looked at differently or simply ignored for lack of understanding. It's important to note that I'm not complaining but rather observing That's the thing about individual consciousness, it can be short-sided and is based on experiences. It's finding the group that feeds you and understanding that no one truly has this figured out. It's also letting go of people that no longer share in your thought. This is a truly difficult lesson. It might mean your sister or your best friend. Once the mind expands it can no longer go back. Some people want to stay in their consciousness which is to say they will not relate to your new way of thinking. This is noones fault. Your way isn't everyone's way. Your way might not be best for me and my way might not be the best for you. I think that is the exciting part about life, that either way is a choice. Instead of thinking it's predetermined it bestows choices upon yourself. For the randomness of life this choosing is wonderfully powerful. It's a celebration of the human spirit and the power of choice.
When I feel judged I take a deep breathe and say to myself " I don't judge you and I would like you to not judge me." Im not saying this always works but it reminds me to be kinder to my fellow passenger. We don't always know of a persons individual journey and I would challenge others to exercise a more loving approach to this experience. Our brains are wired to evaluate and judge and this is to say it's not always right. It's keeping love in your heart and an openness that comes from understanding your journey and the journey of others. Be thankful for the expansiveness of just being alive. All the other details matter today and maybe not so much tomorrow. The true test is in the support. An unwavering support to not judge but expand our minds to a deeper understanding. To not shy away from not relating but to center ourselves with those that might be different and learn something new.
As you are.
Thursday, June 25, 2015
Do You Have It?
Did she ever have it?
The girl with flowers in her hair.
Dances with the moonlight.
Sings sorrow.
Sings of love.
Maybe she was.
Maybe she wasn't enough.
We hold memories of her,
Shining brightest like a sun beam.
She's gone.
Leaving those around her to wonder,
Where did the imagination go?
The glimmer of light might have been taken.
Or maybe it was a dreamless existence,
That took the light for themselves.
It's a fickle thing.
To dream in a world that's unkind.
We grasp to anything showing hope.
Then we can say...
Did she ever have it?
And she did.
After we have taken it for ourselves.
Shell became her heart.
She wasn't ever understood.
The songbird.
She knew at least one heard though.
She sang in the dark to an empty room.
Filled with only the thoughts of an even one ear.
She still dances.
When no one is looking.
When the manontany of life is so real now.
Where everyone waits to die.
She began to live.
Fly.
The dreamer.
The inventor of crazy things.
Wild thoughts ran through her like wild mint grew.
The crazy one.
It brought her to tears, sometimes.
Holding on to a secret she felt.
The world always had many no's.
But she did have it.
All along.
It was the way people looked at her.
It was as simple as people knowing she didn't belong.
Dear god, who belongs?
It's that difference that strengthens a soul.
Some people never leave that place.
Then she wonders if they ever had it?
It's noones fault.
We do the best we can.
I just would rather dream something crazy.
Then never dream at all.
Do you have it?
The girl with flowers in her hair.
Dances with the moonlight.
Sings sorrow.
Sings of love.
Maybe she was.
Maybe she wasn't enough.
We hold memories of her,
Shining brightest like a sun beam.
She's gone.
Leaving those around her to wonder,
Where did the imagination go?
The glimmer of light might have been taken.
Or maybe it was a dreamless existence,
That took the light for themselves.
It's a fickle thing.
To dream in a world that's unkind.
We grasp to anything showing hope.
Then we can say...
Did she ever have it?
And she did.
After we have taken it for ourselves.
Shell became her heart.
She wasn't ever understood.
The songbird.
She knew at least one heard though.
She sang in the dark to an empty room.
Filled with only the thoughts of an even one ear.
She still dances.
When no one is looking.
When the manontany of life is so real now.
Where everyone waits to die.
She began to live.
Fly.
The dreamer.
The inventor of crazy things.
Wild thoughts ran through her like wild mint grew.
The crazy one.
It brought her to tears, sometimes.
Holding on to a secret she felt.
The world always had many no's.
But she did have it.
All along.
It was the way people looked at her.
It was as simple as people knowing she didn't belong.
Dear god, who belongs?
It's that difference that strengthens a soul.
Some people never leave that place.
Then she wonders if they ever had it?
It's noones fault.
We do the best we can.
I just would rather dream something crazy.
Then never dream at all.
Do you have it?
Monday, June 15, 2015
To Hope.
It's been a journey. From a small town to a big city of lights. From a hippie beach town called Venice. Every chapter seemingly more exciting then the next. I live for experiences that have changed me. That give me something to write about. These eyes are not shy to the things I have witnessed. There is a time though of true darkness. Every great artist feels the brakes slam. Watches the wind pick up, feels a relentless rain. To say it's a low time is an understatement. Every artist, everyone if they are lucky will be humbled. It might seem like what you went through wasn't worth it but there's a small piece of you that doesn't believe that lie. Or some days you do.
I have lived from a suitcase for what will be a year in August. Bouncing around with what feels like a fallen plan. A plan unraveling as I write these words. I write from the room I grew up in feeling humbled. Most days I am here other days I am my old self in New York. The constant ache for a city that made me in a town that grew me. To say this is a low time is an understatement. To flirt with the idea of giving up is soul crushing. The highs and lows feel daunting. It's like walking in a foggy forest, every turn offering some hope that the clearing brings a road. But there is no road just hope. Maybe that's enough maybe it's not. It will clear though because it has to. That's what having a relentless faith does to you. It reminds you that you were your biggest fan first. That whatever you created was inside of you all along. Support helps the most and it's needed for moments when the fog doesn't seem to clear. When the rain feels like nails. No one said this was easy and that's why most never take leaps. Never fly or forget to dream when they get older. It's easy to live a simple life it takes courage to be brave. To dream something crazy, to do something wild.
It's terribly lonely but let's not pretend that everyone has it all figured out. We don't know what tomorrow brings but at least I hope the fog is clearing. My humble moment in the room I grew up where my first dream began as a seed and grew. Continues to grow like golden sunflowers under the sun, is my only hope.
I have lived from a suitcase for what will be a year in August. Bouncing around with what feels like a fallen plan. A plan unraveling as I write these words. I write from the room I grew up in feeling humbled. Most days I am here other days I am my old self in New York. The constant ache for a city that made me in a town that grew me. To say this is a low time is an understatement. To flirt with the idea of giving up is soul crushing. The highs and lows feel daunting. It's like walking in a foggy forest, every turn offering some hope that the clearing brings a road. But there is no road just hope. Maybe that's enough maybe it's not. It will clear though because it has to. That's what having a relentless faith does to you. It reminds you that you were your biggest fan first. That whatever you created was inside of you all along. Support helps the most and it's needed for moments when the fog doesn't seem to clear. When the rain feels like nails. No one said this was easy and that's why most never take leaps. Never fly or forget to dream when they get older. It's easy to live a simple life it takes courage to be brave. To dream something crazy, to do something wild.
It's terribly lonely but let's not pretend that everyone has it all figured out. We don't know what tomorrow brings but at least I hope the fog is clearing. My humble moment in the room I grew up where my first dream began as a seed and grew. Continues to grow like golden sunflowers under the sun, is my only hope.
Tuesday, May 19, 2015
Europa
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