Star-Crossed

Love of writing, that is what propels me here every time
Every time I am lost
Words take my hand, and lead me back
with warm, dry touch
Take me home to the home I know

Sharing the seat, sipping my tea
I listened to you talk about meat drums, shellfish, and sex
Homeboys, and dubstep
I marveled at your command of language and
wished I could be eloquent

Then I remembered this.
My haven.
No one knows about my Descartes.
My premise.
It is an ethnic hole in the wall restaraunt when you are starving
A red tinted light when your head throbs near explosion
That cool, blue breeze

Where have you gone, my sweet treehouse dear?
Come sit on the greening wood with me
Smell the dampness and the moss and the magic
Moist oak
Sweet leaves
Nirvana

It was there where I first put my head in your lap
Held your hand
Was honest

Those summer nights that were so deep blue with an outline of purple
My dreams make them glisten silver
Truth and love, maple and oak, stars through leaves
That was my Six Pence None The Richer
That was my tireswing

After you left, I sat there
The trees and I. We were never alone.
One day I stood at the top of our home, and looked down
Down
         Down
                    D
                      O
                         W
                            N

Till I splintered the wood and broke the skin on my ankle
I couldn't do it
I had to keep living so I could meet you again
To die in this limbo would condemn me to purgatory
A middle ground without you
Might as well be Hell

That one night by the sea
You kissed me for the first time
You were scared, but the moon gave you strength, you said
You were sacred
Like deja vu, I will always love the salty breath
Sand in my toes
Rush of the water

That moment is Holy was Holy will ever be Holy
the angel fish marked it in their kelp books
with a coral pencil
are they human because they look at the stars
or do the stars look at them because they are human

+

Kiss Me

The cheshire smile of the moon draws the clouds into the great and eternal jest.

That glimpse of some celestial humor was unintentional and the laughter is shielded from my view

How fickle the moon

That sublime jester

How resplendent are the rays of silver that open the world up

The air clears of everything and you breathe into you the life of the universe

The stars fill your lungs and your exhale expels all traces of mortality from your slender and fragile frame

Pause

Feel the light on your face.

Sense the clarity that comes what you sift your thoughts and allow the heavy ones to stay?

The weight of them keeps you grounded.

The scale of them lifts your head to the sky

Dreamers never belong in earth.

Their mind gives them wings

But the coolness of space frightens their warm hearts

The traveler knows the coolness and loves the way the breeze washes over skin

Everything becomes sensual

Feeling is absorbed through every possible venue

You hang there, suspended in pure and ethereal sensitivity

Cerebral awareness is a new sensation

This.

This is what it means to be alive.

Everything becomes possible in a moment: ---|---

Swinging on a tireswing

Floating on a river with a summer breeze

Eating buttery corn on the cob

running through a barley field

screaming

dancing with one hand waving free

giving someone a hug

silk sheets on your bare skin

sand in between the toes

someone’s hand in yours

being kissed

kissing someone back

laughing into someone’s hair

sharing something you have written

Laying on a porch swing

Finding love.

Be alive.

Find that time in your mind to allow your mind to roam.

To fly.

Life is too short not to live it fully.

The Fascination Construct

Spinning, spinning, spinning.
My head encompasses the circumference of many world
and moons.
Entire civilizations exist within the folds of cerebrum.
Wars are no more than small, charged neurons that vanish faster than
a speeding semi or a final breath.
The neuron has one goal and focuses solely on the accomplishment of it
oblivious to the paths of other neurons. Only focusing on the path already laid
before
by previous neurons. They have already made the
connection. History repeats itself.

Dreams, then. What are dreams?
Nothing but figmentations of an idle imagination.
Fight or flight, most stay knee-deep in mud while never looking at the sky
to see what might have been.
You can change, you are a thinker.
There is a brain in your head that possesses a magnificent universe of knowledge
if you only would use it.
Do not let that intelligence fade to a dull roar. Let it pound, let is scream, let it
laugh so hard your head spins. Live. Let that knowledge fuel you because
when you are there, nothing can stop you.
No one can possibly know as much as you because you are incredible.
A touch of divine.
Let that spark grow and grow to the point where it burns you
and you have to fly.

Coals are the hottest part of the fire, let your fire burn
hotter than another person's coals. Work hard so that as your fire begins to slow,
your coals will burn brighter than anything you have ever done.
The beginning of the end is a zealous time.
You want to experience everything before it is burned forever,
let it. It becomes a part of you and burns at your side.

Spread your flaming wings until your feet are freed of dirt and grime and you look to the
blue above.
Wash your heels in the water of clouds and then dry them in the sun.
Why read Utopia when you can find your own above the Redwoods and Twin Towers?
Because everything is transient. Everything except
your soul.
If your soul does not burn, then it will simply be the gray, stationary asbestos
that watches the world fall to pieces and yet cannot lend a helping hand because it did not
so many times in the past.
Allow yourself to be touched by the sun, the clouds, and even the mud.
Let it all become you and make you into who you were destined to be. Do not censor that which you do not understand because it could be what allows you to create the perfect life.

The best part is this living is different for everyone
there is a different canvas, different mediums, and different logs for each person.
And yet, we are all artists.

Frick Me.

Romance is unfortunate.

I cannot get over how much I want it and despise it all at the same time. I want the stories. I don't actually want it to happen to me. When it happens to me...that means that it is over.

I want to be with someone who smells like salt water and clean laundry. They must be warm. They must be able to pick me up and spin me around.

WHY OH WHY must I keep going back to this one kid that I went on one date with...?!? There is something about him that just makes me want to be with someone. All I want is someone like him because I can tell that there is something else to him than what people see. But I have completely ruined it. I gave him one too many crappy CDs. But oh dear goodness do I want that boy sometimes. I feel like he makes me a better me. I felt intelligent, special, and kind of cool.

But there goes everything. He is gone and there goes that chance.

I would really like to find someone like him, though. Please?

I'll have to write some great stories about this...