August Platform

Awgust blooms it’s way onto the platform.
a different approach is taken.
i don’t dance yet,
my mind is stabilizing still.
trickles of frustration and anger
leak in.
i let them.
I am not afraid of what I feel
i am shifting control to me.
and Awgust will be my platform
on which to do so.

King Globe

Candy coated sugar kings,
we tell ourselves our own jokes
by looking in the mirror.

Would I rather be tin man
and rust,
instead of feeling these highs and lows?

Maybe I just sit on my gold chair
alittle longer each time,
waiting out the anticipation
of falling into mud again.

Is happiness more for the good people?



Bravery

The way you like it like this,
but can’t say the words.
The way it’ll throw you off course
You Tell me that at Least.
while your back against the plaid
that you gave me
How many years ago now?
Time trickles through the system
and we absorb and believe
that One Day,
we will tell it truly,
How we Like it.
And the Course,
will forever be Changed.

A Sure(d) Stay

When I have a heavy heart
I don’t feel fat or off the scale.
I feel my blood veins disjointed
And dragon sadness of a tail.

A heart with weight,
can also mean pure and full
Like explosion works of fire,
that create the half that makes the whole.

And if my heart is solid,
like that soulfire around your way,
I know we will be complete
before we start our stay.

Weather Woman

Thoughts are clogging up my brain chamber. And this is different then feelings pecking away at my heart strings. I am thinking critically and independently and finding solitude to soften and sooth as soon as it hits the back of my throat. My tin of tea has never been so empty.
It is coming together and because I know this, the mass of mind clouds in my noggin’ are okay to be there. The forecast ahead is the future I am wanting to be in and under. And beside myself I will be happy to be, because I have located a serenity within.

I begin building with my Weatherwoman tools.

Ebb and Flow

Sometimes I find myself in a closed room sipping on sugar cubes of my past. I keep taking from the same bowl, these perfect little fresh six sided sweets.
I feel the sides, I take the angles and I let dissolve and I let absorb.
Again
and again.

Like with too much of anything, my insides will begin to cringe and unfold their exasperation and disapproval.

Every once in awhile, I step inside this place where I roll in the mud of my past. I let myself feel awful for my decisions. I pull in blame and frustration and I coat the whole room in these colours. I am angry and I am determined. I can’t do anything but eat the sweets that turn so sour, to crawl into cave where all I do is feel bad and wonder how I could have messed up so terribly.

Deep down I know. I truly do know. I had to do my past the way that I did so that I could reach where I have. I do align myself with motivation and self awareness, help and understanding, yet these spaces of time come to me strong every so often. I don’t remember ever really pushing them away, but at least now I know that I have the ability to climb out. That in another day or four, I’ll be positive and upbeat again.
I’ll soak in my sweet sweet truth of my life; everything from my perspective to the actual. I’ll make myself sick with consumption of my frustration and feeling of stuck.
When I’m done doing that, I’ll lay in sun and let myself soak that. I’ll let myself be sick on content and the ever always, ebb and flow of life.

 

 

We Are All Really Great Fishermen

We catch colds and planes and ways to blame,
we catch glances and our breath, we catch wind of what comes next.
We catch ourselves being much too invasive, we catch ourselves between rocks and hard places. 
We catch waves and rays of sun, we catch snowflakes on our tongues.
We catch each other in lies,we catch each others eyes,
we catch each others drift and we catch each other lifts.
We get caught off guard, get caught on camera and caught up with the motion of the earth,
we catch ourselves belittling our own sense of worth.
We catch up on our paperwork, we catch up with our friends, we catch the last 12 minutes of a game that’s going to end.
Our world catches fire, our hearts do too,
after all we’re all quite the catch, and that’s the damn truth.