The smell of camp fire imbues the air and each time it gets harder to say goodbye to you.
We sit, we laugh, we smoke, we talk and each time I am reminded of the hole you leave in our lives.
We sit and wait for you. Baited breathe frosting our windows, and this is the price we all pay. The loss of each other, the loss of freedom to see each other, all because you chose to fight for the freedom of us all.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Crowd
The crowd seeps past me.
Flashes of color, hot, flashy, golden, and pained.
I stand there in my underwear, polka-dotted, ripped in the seam, slightly too big.
The crowd moves faster, the edges blur, and something bumps my shoulder.
I am forced to the ground, brought to my knee.
The ground is muddy, trampled, hard packed, solid and heated.
I feel the gravity of the Earth, pulling me closer to the ground. Almost as if it wants to swallow me whole. But I push my head up, crooked neck to stare longingly at the sky, and I see.
Finally see the people's faces as they are yanked pasted. Theirs faces a torrent of different emotions, fear, confusion, joy, anger, hate, ecstasy, guilt, and all of them delicious, but strained. As if people do not even realize that they make these faces. I notice that their bodies are changing as they rush by. Blood gushed from wounds and heal before my eyes. Little slices, and I see that those slices are being made by words. Snipets of conversation, cutting into the very flesh, some deeper than others. The cloud of words circle people as a bee to it's hive, some coming from others while some coming from within. And these words change these people's expressions. Manipulate their life. Words like, SHOULD, RIGHT, WRONG, DIFFERENT, CHANGE, and for each person those words mean something different but they all look the same. Should live my life the right way. If I am wrong I will be punished and those who are different from me are wrong. Why would I rise up and stand for those who are different if they are wrong? Things are never going to change.
And this why I/people can watch the news all over the world and watch people die over my/their breakfast in the morning, why I/we go to bed each night and feel no pain.
Because we believe we are I's and not WE's-what hurts one, hurts all.
Flashes of color, hot, flashy, golden, and pained.
I stand there in my underwear, polka-dotted, ripped in the seam, slightly too big.
The crowd moves faster, the edges blur, and something bumps my shoulder.
I am forced to the ground, brought to my knee.
The ground is muddy, trampled, hard packed, solid and heated.
I feel the gravity of the Earth, pulling me closer to the ground. Almost as if it wants to swallow me whole. But I push my head up, crooked neck to stare longingly at the sky, and I see.
Finally see the people's faces as they are yanked pasted. Theirs faces a torrent of different emotions, fear, confusion, joy, anger, hate, ecstasy, guilt, and all of them delicious, but strained. As if people do not even realize that they make these faces. I notice that their bodies are changing as they rush by. Blood gushed from wounds and heal before my eyes. Little slices, and I see that those slices are being made by words. Snipets of conversation, cutting into the very flesh, some deeper than others. The cloud of words circle people as a bee to it's hive, some coming from others while some coming from within. And these words change these people's expressions. Manipulate their life. Words like, SHOULD, RIGHT, WRONG, DIFFERENT, CHANGE, and for each person those words mean something different but they all look the same. Should live my life the right way. If I am wrong I will be punished and those who are different from me are wrong. Why would I rise up and stand for those who are different if they are wrong? Things are never going to change.
And this why I/people can watch the news all over the world and watch people die over my/their breakfast in the morning, why I/we go to bed each night and feel no pain.
Because we believe we are I's and not WE's-what hurts one, hurts all.
Monday, July 25, 2011
5am
5am and I still smell of you. The stale sweat sits on my skin, my hair, my bed. My body bruised from your teeth/indifference. Alone. At last. Free to cry, free to mourn, free to wish, to hope. I wish I had never met you sometimes. When you are gone is when I miss you the least. When I can feel your skin against mine I am lonely, clutching you closer to make it more real, wish your heart would push through mine and then maybe we would be touching. Maybe once we are bleeding and broken. Sullied and sad. Torn and taken. We will finally be there. In each others arms, holding on tight to the memory of the moment itself. Grasping for the reality we have created in the deep secret hours of the morning. Just trying to find a way to feel, when we both feel so alone.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
For him, For me
People's eyes roam right over me. It is almost like I am not ever there. Almost. All I want is for you to notice me. All I want is for it to be you. But are you a bandaid for my life? Or are you just something I want/need? What is the difference? Why can't I tell and why can't you? I just want something real. Enough to tied me over. But will it ever be enough? Or can it ever be enough because I am in a haze, Walking through the twilight and all I want is for you to find me. I want you to come over and find me and there I will be beautiful in my mended manner. Sometimes I wonder if someone feels that way about me. Out there or in here and I just can't see it because I am in my own haze, my own twilight. Every day I wake up praying. Praying that today will be different. Today I will find my path, my love, my life and just like that it will all fall into place. But each day it feels the same, goes the same way. Each night I go to bed hopeful that tomorrow will be different, but how far will hope take me? How long will faith last?
Monday, July 18, 2011
Every night I walk the halls.
Running my finger tips along the walls littered with sensations.
Bit of him there, bits of me.
And every time I see him I wave. It is no big deal. I wave. Because day to day he is gone.
But when the day is over I dream of him. I walk that hall, touching bits of him.
I don't know why I dream of him. He was hardly there for me. But I dream of the way I wish he was. The way I hoped he could be, and then I wake up, tired because I walked those halls all night and I remember that for me, he was never there, for him I was never real, and for both of us, it is like it never happened, except for when I dream.
Running my finger tips along the walls littered with sensations.
Bit of him there, bits of me.
And every time I see him I wave. It is no big deal. I wave. Because day to day he is gone.
But when the day is over I dream of him. I walk that hall, touching bits of him.
I don't know why I dream of him. He was hardly there for me. But I dream of the way I wish he was. The way I hoped he could be, and then I wake up, tired because I walked those halls all night and I remember that for me, he was never there, for him I was never real, and for both of us, it is like it never happened, except for when I dream.
Monday, July 4, 2011
Lonely
Just admit that you are lonely,
I whisper to myself.
In the dark, here in this safe place, it is ok to admit that you are lonely.
It is so hard for me, you see, because being lonely, must mean that I am weak.
Must mean that I believe that I do not have everything I need in this exact moment, and I choose to belief differently.
If I am lonely it means that I am succumbing to my most basest "human" emotions that I associate with what is wrong with our society and therefore ourselves.
But the truth of the matter is...that I am lonely.
And no matter how I paint the picture I just...am...lonely.
All those other things, like it meaning I do not have everything I need, is just meaning. Meaning I place on my life because it helps define me.
Instead I could just be lonely.
Just...be...lonely.
And not have meaningless words, meaningless meanings, define who I am and give myself the freedom and joy of just...being...lonely.
I whisper to myself.
In the dark, here in this safe place, it is ok to admit that you are lonely.
It is so hard for me, you see, because being lonely, must mean that I am weak.
Must mean that I believe that I do not have everything I need in this exact moment, and I choose to belief differently.
If I am lonely it means that I am succumbing to my most basest "human" emotions that I associate with what is wrong with our society and therefore ourselves.
But the truth of the matter is...that I am lonely.
And no matter how I paint the picture I just...am...lonely.
All those other things, like it meaning I do not have everything I need, is just meaning. Meaning I place on my life because it helps define me.
Instead I could just be lonely.
Just...be...lonely.
And not have meaningless words, meaningless meanings, define who I am and give myself the freedom and joy of just...being...lonely.
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