I tripped on words over
days that wouldn’t end
And ideas that didn’t see the light
except in my mind
when the sun went down,
And I whispered,
“Tomorrow.”

I couldn’t wait to work
on fantasies that I believed
deep in my core could be
realities
But then I woke and
all I had were tired lids
my mind on slow,
and a pessimist sitting in his
throne,
saying,
“How silly was that?”

As the day rolled on
and ordinary pulled me
apart so much that room was
made once again for fantasies
I day dreamt with what
could be
And the sun went down
and I whispered,
“Tomorrow.”

This little demon
has set-up camp in a place
where they ask he get a permit.
Yet he parked illegally
but no one hears the noise he makes

But me.

When I arrive
they just won’t believe it.
Confidence pouring from
the seams
tearing through a room,
that puts its gaze on me.

He giggles,
I grimace.

“Don’t you hear it?!”
My pleas
with responses of,

“No.”

“So what you’re saying,”
she says,
“Is that despite the tightness
despite the noise
you’re managing
to get it all done.”

“Yes.
Managing.
But
I’d rather have it
that there’s nothing to do.”

The harsh breath pierces the
waves of my mind.
Frantic.
Panic.
Regret for the past
fear for the future.
“You fucked up!” he screams.
“You fucked up!”

Silence.

The man sits in the corner.
His breath
sucks in the words of the
other.
They come out
smoothed over
reflected upon.

“There is no such thing.”
He whispers
as if to me...

You don’t hate cooking. It’s just that, like most things, you like to do it in solitude, with music filling quiet spaces.

It’s totally cool that most days, you’d rather spend your days with books than with people. But remember, people wrote those books, so make time for them too.

Always buy a round trip ticket for business. Or you’ll pay for it in the end.

You may always be the one to hold on tighter, communicate more often, and fight to not let go. Stop looking at this as a curse; your desire for connection is a blessing.

Be more flexible. Or…be flexible. A change of plans is not the universe’s way of giving you the middle finger, it’s a change of plans.

Maybe not everyBODY is meant to be vegetarian. That doesn’t make you a terrible person, just as they aren’t terrible people. The best you can do now is shop mindfully, and be grateful for every animal that feeds you.

...

My dear creative being,
I wish only that you learn to live,
To be,
As if life depends on your being.

To see,
Not those mistakes,
Dark specks,
But the light within them.

To respect a control beyond yours,
Which does not wish to control,
But merely,
To be.

To take light,
And make life.

To be tethered,
Unmoving,
Yet ever changing,
Always reaching for the light.
Chemical reactions,
From inability to take flight.

Oh how I wish,
You were,
This simple,
Yet intelligent form.

That lives,
And dies,
Like you,
But suffers less.
As it hurts,
But doesn’t spend its days,
Contemplating pain.

This face was not made to be hidden,
Skin covered,
Barely breathing.
Unable to look in a mirror,
Unless the tone was even.

And scars unapparent,
Not distracting from eyes,
The color of the soil,
That made me,
That I wanted to alter,
To the color of the sky,
That would take me.

And these eyebrows,
Were not designed to change with the seasons,
A bold Russian look,
Minimized with tweezing.

And the courage it takes,
To walk out with a naked face,
Not the kind that was painted,
To look natural,
But the kind that was,
Washed,
Cleansed,
Of man made beauty,
That ruined me.

Now I must create new habits,
That don’t allow me to damage,
Because I have the power,
To cover up.
But I want the power,
To stand naked,
And fearless,
Without chemicals,
That make me spiritless.

A power that comes from,
A core that is created,
Not infinite commercials,
That leaves mankind...

I am peace,
Radiating through dark spaces.
I am a yes.
An experience.
A lifeless, yet life-full form.
Untainted by worldy falls,
By worldy climbs.
I know not of ups and downs,
I only know of never-ending balance.
I have not tasted water,
Or felt a need to quench a thirst.
No,
I am fulfilled by mere existence,
And not consciousness of such.
Just simple being.
I breathe,
Though unaware,
As I do not know an exhale, from an inhale,
Nor suffocation.
I am everything.
I am nothing.
I only am.
And I,
Am not aware, of what it means to be.

As I am free flowing,
Unhindered,
Unattached.
I am space, and all that fills it.
Imagine,
Light that enters darkness,
And darkness that holds the light.
I am void,
Where there is none.
And it’s beautiful to be.
It is beautiful to be.
I float,
I move, but have no direction.
As I am not running from a past I do not know,
Or crawling...

At that age, it seemed freedom reigned,
The rules set by the sun.
They gave us colors, they gave us brushes,
They let us paint the fun.

Then that day came,
I don’t remember when,
But all we had was ink.
It was blue, or it was black,
And they told us how to think.

So we thought, their straight-edge thoughts,
We filled bubbles on the test.
They told us what to memorize,
We put our art to rest.

Years went on, we learned nothing new,
Just that already taught.
We followed rules, we went to class,
A system seldom fought.

Then one day, the rising sun,
It reminded me to play.
I picked up paints,
I colored fun,
And art was here to stay.

The dark tugged the sun down.
And we aren’t sure if it was actually pulled,
Or pushed.

We were innocent, playing in the street,
And then, it’s like it was stolen from us.
Children, unable to wait to grow-up,
Not knowing the sun would go so quickly.

How they disappeared.
I stood there, hugging myself for warmth,
Wondering where they all went.
Like when love disappears into hurt,
And you can’t find that defining moment.

They’ll tell you it’s life,
The sun will rise again.
You can start fresh, tomorrow.

Tomorrow shows up, but I can’t shake the cold of last night.
How terrifying, knowing it will get dark again.
How nothing lasts forever.
Though, somethings, somethings feel like they do.

This knowledge of darkness,
How it takes the light before it is physically,
Pulled,
Pushed.

Yes, somethings last forever.
Damned.
They are cold, they are dark.

I stand here, hugging...

Just four days ago I lost my mind.
I lost it in words of, “There is no fucking God!”
And he wonders why I lost faith.
Because I watched them go to church when trials were among us, and the oldest was behind bars.
Why I don’t have faith?
The trials never ended, the cops always knocked, and I have more faith in a jail cell than answered prayers.
And today, today, we call the cops ourselves.
That’s how you ended up there, and God didn’t widen the space between those bars holding you back.
No, you waited on a system that operates nine to five, weekdays.
Too bad it was Friday, and God couldn’t speed up time.

Why I lost faith?
Because God never helped me put down the bottle.
I released my grip when I removed that cross and realized that the only person holding on was me.
You say it hurt you dad, but your God would have killed me.
So take that with a grain of salt, the smartest thing I...

I sat,
Watching her speak.
Listening to a story I’ve never heard.
The type I read about in those history books I held,
Unaware those history books were holding me.

Knock, knock,
On their door.
A search.
Findings.
A letter from Poland.

I don’t recall the details,
But, ink on a page,
An unaccepted address.
So they put her father in a cage.

That was the last she saw of him.

Knock, knock,
On their door.
“Your father was ill,
Your father died.”
Then I think of my father,
Full of that Russian pride.

That Russian pride,
That killed that man.
Great grandfather,
All for the Motherland.

War,
Based on the pureness of your blood.

And I sit in this house.
A war between floors.
Bloodshed from my fist,
Hole in the wall.

A mother in tears,
As her family falls apart.
A daughter, enraged,
Watching parents part.

A man,
Full of pain.
Missing his home.
Unwilling to...