We are on intricate paths, from all walks of life, and I'm pleased that we have intersected with delicacy, here of all places. Hello beautiful, precious souls.
I love exposing my breasts to my lover in beautiful places like the park
So intimate
loving
longing
nature lays atop my skin
radiating energy
This life is so precious to me
I tend to enjoy every minute of it as best I can
Among the trees, I feel so free
Poignant
Disoriented Discombobulated Mishappen Askew Blurry Dazed Topsy Turvy Running through the fallen leaves. Dancing in the streets Lights galore laughing and smiles So many new faces looking at the same art holding my own gaze Wondering what they are thinking, where they come from and where they’re to Exploring life Diving in Blurring the hard edges Thinking clearly in a hazy room comes out with a half constructed thought but I did my best and that counts for something Street and neon lights ablaze I sure love sculpture pieces I sure love to love
We are all so alike and so human
we look ugly on the inside with our guts and blood
but taking a closer look at hope intricate our systems are
shows that we are really quite magical and glorious
as well as how similar we are to everyone and everything else
the animals, trees, plants, insects, dirt, earth, planets, everything
we are all so the same
and it is so comforting and beautiful to be physically a part of something so much bigger than everything going on.
And spiritually a part of something so much bigger than anyone could eevr fathom.
is such a precious, fragile gift.
pansexual and polyamorous is the only life I can grasp.
Like warm sand under your feet,
when you embrace who you are,
life becomes a mountain range and a beautiful sea and blossoms of flowers
and beautiful waterfalls of color.
Stay true to yourself
and happiness is in all that you do
Pulling my separate ethereal entities together.
Working in unison, crystalized in love and glorious life
I get the sense that I’m not just trapped in floral bedding.
It goes so far beyond that.
I’m lost in the words as they flow from my lips.
I’m disconnected and I’m floating with intricately wound reasons
but they don’t fit just right and I feel myself overflowing
with mental incapacity and I’m curious as to why I’m so upset
when it’s just a minor foible in the tapestry.
I can’t seem to speak as fast as they are coming and I’m loosing the art of it.
I’m exasperated trying and my biggest feat will be when I have mastered my eloquence
I will die happily and without fear when I can say what it is I think
all of what I think
for now I am among the dust collecting on every surface in my room
I have dust collecting on my heart and in my thoughts
the dust covers the ridges of my inner self and makes me appear to be gleaming
one flowing woman when I am really the patchwork of a life and lives to come
I’m only a piece but I’m dripping blood sweat and tears to be meaningful out of the meaningless
I stress because I know it is planned and yet I work against the grain which is really the way it was meant to be anyhow. I’m going in circles fighting the nothingness that is our predetermined makeshift humanity.
Colossally life is impounding and imploding and exploding and conforming and rising and falling and moving side to side and over mountains and under the whisper of soft sullen lips and screaming from insanity and pressing close to others to cling to its essence, inside all of us.
Galaxies inside all of us. Worlds and mountains of thoughts and feelings and words and experiences and things to do and new ideas and so much more I can not begin to wrap my mind around.
But I try
And I realize that this is not just my story, I am only a small part, a meaningless role, a nonexistent role at times. I wonder who is the main character and what goes on in their minds. If they know.
I’m caught up and I have hit a nasty wall that I could see from miles away. I cringed during the entirety of my sprint. I ran and danced and cried and begged, but it only got closer. When I hit it, I hit hard. I fell. There is no moving on for me, this is my brink. For now.
But I plot, believe me I plot, and I scheme and I search for anything around me I can use. I claw with my fingernails until there are nothing but bloody nubs, and I keep scratching until I am shaking and dizzy.
We are a species that prevails. We do not give up until there is nothing more to try and then we rot away, and go back to earth.
I scream until there is no more sound to be screamed. No more noise. There is no life, except that beyond this hellish wall.
It is my sanity, all my hopes and dreams, my one enemy, my one love. The challenge among challenges. My torment and anguish. the story among stories. The pinnacle of my accomplishments or the demise or my entire self.
Do we all experience this? I should think that to feel life in its most raw truth, you should be paired with an impossible force and overcome.
When there is no longer the option of perseverance, and death is gently tapping at your spine, you must abandon the morals and ethics and survive.
My mother always told me to do what I have to do to survive, for when that is questioned, you must stay alive.
I don’t want to die. I don’t dream of dying and I don’t look upon it fondly. I want to be clawing for life all the way until death breaks my natural neck.
I am alone here in my sheets and my thought, and my robes and my socks and all my other fabricate, fabricating an instance by which grips my mentality, constantly. It is debilitating on a level I will try to explain. I can go about my life in a way that is not comfortable to be.
morbid facades,
dust cascading the cavities you can’t quite reach with a duster,
and wouldn’t anyhow, if you were me.
I feel safer at any given time if a layer of grime and dust and skin cells is coating me and all that I touch.
It feels more like life and there’s nothing I would trade to be closer and closer to life.
I crawl inside this life like I would a hole in the ground, to take shelter.
Oh beautiful world, I am lost, I’m lost in the words as they flow from my lips.
Lost in the romanticism and the macabre.
I am so alone, and so shrouded by everyone and everything.
Like a flower bud tightly wound, pressed together by two blooming flowers.
I will open, I may be deformed, but I will find a way to survive and show who I really am,
and then I can die in peace naturally, and eloquently,
incased in the remnants reminding me of all my time and all my breaths,
clinging to this life while death takes its toll,
once more awaiting my beautiful and strange rebirth
Unwoven fabric of this new millennium, where have you been? Everyone has been on your time schedule meanwhile you are nowhere to be found. This new water comes straight from the alps, and it’s only five dollars for a bottle. So we’ll raise all the prices and limit all of the resources until the population is stable. Don’t you consider what all that entails. I was unaware that this was a tragic tale of death and dying. I would have rid this world of myself ages ago, if I would have known that. Natural disasters wouldn’t be o bad if there were nothing in their paths. Natural disasters don’t kill people, the buildings that collapse and the vehicles that get thrown around do. Where are all the dinosaurs and where did the oxygen start coming from. How are we here, it all seems like such a far leap, ridiculed by the minuscule. Why can’t we fix anything, instead all the seems come undone. Like an unwoven cloth that was late for it’s arrange date. No one stopped to wait, we we all went our own ways to our respected homes, and nothing was done that day and the fabricate of our reality stayed discombobulated until we all perished.
I found a dead butterfly when we went walking and it’s death inspired me to cherish this life beyond the bounds to which we sometimes fall.
I carried butterfly’s body the entire walk, to keep it’s soul lingering near me.
It severed such a purpose in it’s life, allowing me to see more clear, and feel more strongly. If just one person feels this powerfully, then it’s death was not in vain. He or she may return to this world as a tree, or an amphibian or even a human being. I would like them to return peacefully, knowing that someone cared for them, even after death
and was moved to love this life even more.
Falling apart at the seems was never this amazing.
I want to carry out my life as I please
If that were so, I would dress up every day.
and cover myself in fake blood one day, like Carrie,
and lovel life, and feel death.
There is so much deeper meaning here. So much.
This is entirely true:
I once had a vivid dream, where I was made entirely of compacted sugar. It was a nightmare. In this dream, my entire body ached every moment of every day. You see, it ached because of the texture you get when you rub two sugar cubes together. That texture dominated my entire self, from walking to just moving my eyeballs. It honestly made me appreciate and value every moment I forced myself to make. Every night I had to lay uncomfortably between to body molds to keep my physical shape in tact, or risk falling apart, grain by grain.
I couldn’t go outside, period.
Too sunny and I would caramelize and too rainy, I would dissolve.
I made the mistake of going to rinse my hands before eating, and watched them disintegrate before my eyes. I was crippled so instantly in nearly took my breath away. And such pain, I have never felt anything more agonizing. My sugar crystal hands washed down the drain and took away the only ounce of normalcy I had left.
Soon after I began harming myself; sticking my arm out my bedroom window in the sun, feeling my burning skin caramelizing and drip off like it had never been there before. The pain was all I wanted, because it took the place of vitality. It became the only thing keeping me human, the only thing I could feel.
I ran and jumped and lost clumps of myself, I dipped my feet in the bath to remember what warm water used to feel like. I drank and ate and disgusted my translucent, white self with chewed brownish globs of food and holes boring through from iced tea.
Disfigured and constantly aching brought burning tears down my face. I went to lick the salty tears and tasted sweet, invoking flavors from my childhood. Memories of your parents giving you ice cream after you get your tonsils removed. Sweet treats calm all wounds. I licked again, and then nibbled and bit then gnawed. I could feel what I feared most taking over and controlling me. My will to live was no stronger than my will to collapse into myself. So I swallowed whole gulps until there was hardly nothing left.
And I rolled my stump of a crumbly, sugary head out the door and into the rain, and dissolved. I washed down the sidewalks and over clumps of dust and dirt, and down the drains and gutters and into the raw, digested belly of the world, and made it a little sweeter.
Life envelops everything. All the freakiness, all the fetishes and all the sexual desires. That is life.