The Highway Halfway Mark I wonder, I do. I cannot help but wonder what’s down the road from the place I have ever truly called home. The wood and grass and nails and bolts, the wet familiar dew smells and giggling baby sounds. The joy and the sorrow. I can’t help but observe and wonder. The funny, peculiar, crooked way of seeing the world that is all my own. The structure has cracks, fissures, and deep
There is a number, a precise hour, minute, second between the sun’s revolving door and the moon’s sparkly shine when the world grows quiet and lavender fields weep violet. Do not cry for me sir, no, no, no. You must never feel worried or woe. Do not spill your tears; I do not know my tempest time. Smile instead when you see me, a soft hello and gentle nod will
Do not believe for one second that you cannot make a difference. Do not shrink or cower in the face of adversity, ugliness, grifters, liars, abusers and rednecks. Evil does not dwell in the homes of well-meaning, hard working, honest folk. It hides inside the vaults of secrecy, power, greed and shame. Concrete walls smeared in blood and envy. Integrity still means something. Morality still means something. Patience and understanding
I had the craziest dream. Sweet Gardenia blossoms grew immense enveloping firestorms and chaos, masquerading all traces of ash and burn. The intoxicating scent of sweet perfume permeated the clean air, creating nursery rows of safety bubble greenhouses. A young girl’s innocence remained pure and virtuous. Flowering freedom rained dewdrops of kindness. There were no guns, no mass graves, no starvation, no rape, no death. No dead children. No hate.
Sometimes I think I should just quit. The world is too ugly, too sad, too dangerous. You know like most creatives, empaths, humans we question ourselves, we overthink incessantly, coming up with a gazillion reasons why. Why not stop. And, why not? You know what, fuck it. I’m not finished, your story is not finished. Our story. We’re in this chaos of crazy together. Stuck together. What is this one
I cannot walk through the grief for you. I would if I could. I cannot cry the tears that pour like a fountain. I would if I could. I cannot understand the pain, the weight, the fear and the messy emotions that consume your broken heart. Grief is yours, and only yours. The love never dies, no one can take that from you. Loss. I would carry that burden, I
Please do not underestimate the fragile girl who has been broken. The grown woman inside has climbed the barbed wire, jagged and cut, bleeding deeply shrugging off the scars. She is woke and not immune to the swirling, selfish world around her. Simply living the beautiful and worst kind of misery humanity throws at her. The best soft shoe tap she can muster. The soul dances firelight loud and quiet,
Chasing the Sun Don’t look down at your feet The answers won’t magically appear On some tiny telephone screen with videos buzzing megabytes and wasted seconds A billion unknown faces The unfamiliar bizarre millennium Scrolling fast and furious Thunderstorms and lightening threaten Look up and out and dig deep Go ahead look all around I dare you Eyes closed Lift your face to the sky and cry Right into the