A Pandemic to Cure all Ailments…

You know, during this pandemic,I’ve realized a lot of things.

The things I chose that made me unhappy, though in the moment I never realize why; the many things I should’ve been grateful for; the things that I thought I had wanted but didn’t.

I never could have predicted what was wrong until I felt the difference when things had already changed.

An effervescence. A bitter sweet taste.

Soap that suddenly turns to bubbles to reflect the world in a rainbow.

It knows how easy it can pop.

I’m happy. Really, really happy.

I worked too much. I forgot the things that made every day exciting and worth life.

I’ve been in quarantine for 4 days.

And for once, I have time to sweep the patio. For the first time since I was a kid, I cut back all the brambles hanging over the deck. I finished an entire page in my colouring book.

An ENTIRE page.

I MEDITATED.

I felt this CONTENT.

This pandemic,

It’s ironic how only in the moments that we fear our end, do we realize the things that we don’t want to.

People are going to be lost….

It’s the inevitability that’s pushing us to be proactive.

However people have, and still will be lost…..

I wonder,

How many at this moment,

Contemplate their morality ?

Suddenly we realize….

What we’ve created, might be all we get to leave. How we’ve created it, an example someone might seek to follow.

I don’t know who I am.

But for once I don’t know why I ever needed to.

I prayed today.

For the first time since I can remember.

I forgot to give thanks, so I’ll give thanks now.

THANK YOU◦ For all the blessing and curses you’ve given me, oh glorious universe.

Føcus

Rust corrupts the floor through a presentation of bubbling rage. Focus flees from me as I attempt to grasp it like wind. Cold coffee from a dusty old can and a paint stained binder, touched by many finger prints. For poetry, I attempt to persevere, though even my writing lives amongst chaos. It’s as if I am the tree, my thoughts the twigs compiled into a jumbled mess and I’m left wonder if the eggs inside will ever hatch.

The prophet, my second attempt reads. What if the answers I need are hidden amongst the pages ? Waiting behind the black stripes on the cover. My mind flits to you like eyelashes fluttering under a blinding light. You’re a pitcher of water filling my glass, but we’ve hit too close and now I’ve cracked. I can’t ask you to fill me faster than I leak, simply an old poster of a once beautiful scene.

Withering away from the environment. What again ? Was the dream that it portrayed ? I asked the golden sands what dream it had gave, but for me he had nothing more to say.

Sometimes I wonder… The mountain tops we see, so calm in their sleep. I wonder if they willingly fold so that we might climb and for a moment breath. Then the highest outlines leading to peaks to which we wouldn’t dare to creep, are simply unwilling to deceive us into thinking they’re simply rocks compiled to sit under our feet.

There are many languages I’ve begun learning to phrase. All have yet to assure me that words will ever really be enough. We see the collision before it occurs, but in truth none of us really look. I could write you a book on all the things overlooked, but that would entail that I myself am not also blind. In reality it seems all this questioning is simply rather deafening to my mind.

How many senses do we each really even have ? I wish to be touched but reject the scenario because I have yet to be touched in a way that skin can only mimic in this tangible world. I crave to taste, for at least when I consume there is something left inside… inevitably breaking down like every other fickle thing we perceive as strong.

Only improperly do I call them things. Though I suppose a thing is what I too am. Does anyone care to debate ? I close my eyes and as a prophet may perceive the future, I remember my past.

My darling sandman, how could I have left you so dry ? I asked you for a dream when you were already mine. Now rather than a pitcher, you’re regarding me like dry sockets where tears can no longer cry. I think now it is time, I learn to focus in my own right. Then maybe we can share an ugly truth rather than a beautiful lie.

THE WORLDxYOUxINSPIRE…Culd we all be friends ?

Tried rooting my beard

Seems youth seeds no longer grow

And now you can’t have nature

Without a credit cards flashy shows

La vie en rose

Is now a perfume everyone knows

I just wanna dream of you like sweat and soap

They say the land has eyes and the lashes tickle your feet

Please be kind it whispers…

As the wind blows garbage to a place your hand can meet

We all make mistakes

Simply for you to make up for them it seeks

I know you guys are friends

Introduce me to someone could you please ?

You corrupt my mind

But with you it ain’t free

To be with you indefinitely

A pretty penny I’d have to be

The world wants more

So in turn we need your friend

But you’re the only one that can help me

Like no else could even pretend

I crave your scent like soap and sweat

They say the land has eyes and the lashes tickle your feet

Please be kind it whispers…

As the wind blows garbage to a place your hand can meet

We all make mistakes

Simply for you to make up for them it seeks

I know you guys are friends

Introduce me to someone could you please ?

Snakes’ Skin

Branches were sewn together by green

a DNA strand elongating to new lengths

Wrapping around us like Saturn’s ring

Conformity overwhelming as you try to slip from its grasp

Gasping and grasping for leverage

Control is fleeting and ego is panic

But why ?

Would you want to shed your skin.

My palm told me a future

And a planet experiences it with grace

I cut my finger and blood fell with intent to stain

Then I glanced out the window

And down came the rain

A paper plane to show the path in which these thoughts came

Shredded to the wind

They stuck to the earths surface like a chemical reaction to the nearest brain

June 13th, 2024.

In five years from today I’m going to send this blogs link to a friend of mine.

June 13th, 2024.

No one that knows me currently follows this blog.

I won’t share my name.

However one day when I’m 80 years old, I’ll have 3 foot long black hairs dangling from my chin. Dragons tattooed on both upper arms, flying as I jiggle my chicken fat whilst chasing hooligans down the street, naked save for a diaper and clacking tongs, screaming “I’ll get you for this”.

I will release my true name.

In five years from today I will change my identity as my current one becomes associated with this blog.

Then when I become that 80 year old woman, I will reunite with this me I am now, and I’ll address you lovely people once again.

~NaeNae~

Wave on, Little Tide.

Around that finalizing bend of straight and narrow path where you can hear the wallows song.

The bristling hair rising to meet the wind caressing my skin.

The blues, greens, golds and reds,

Flaming past us like a current flowing down an unobstructed path.

I can feel the heart of nature beating.

Engulfing me like a drum sounding so audibly that you cant help but sync yourself to the sound.

My breath is distant with the tingling of the cold spreading over me.

I feel both whole and disassembled at once.

Like a dotted page that you must only connect with a thin line for the hidden image to become apparent.

I’m scared.

Terrified to keep stride around that curve.

To embrace the unknown like a new pair of pants I simply need to slide into.

But oh man will it be beautiful.

I can feel the potential screaming in my bones like this path was engrained in me before me was a reality I was given.

I don’t have the luxury of hesitation.

So onward, because there is no more gain in moving back.

So gracefully I’ll dance forward to greet the incoming turn.

And oh man,

Let me tell you.

As I reach the time in which I await.

The sight,

The feeling,

The taste,

The smell,

The energy,

Everything.

Is breathtaking.

I.Me.You.Us.

What does I mean ?

What do I represent when I say that I think this or I resist that ?

Is it my body and brain that speaks ?

My heart ?

My conscience ?

How do I speak ?

How do we speak ?

We’re united I’ve been told and that’s what I’m beginning to believe.

But what do we mean when we say I ?

I, Who is I ?

The single letter word I’ve now said 9 times not including I’m.