A Strange Familiar Place...

Hello Big Mean World...

Sometimes our ideals fail us or is it that the world fails to adhere to our ideals?

Sometimes we stop thinking because there is too much around us that needs to be done.

Sometimes we stop letting ourselves feel our own emotions.

Because they're heavy or don't adhere to our ideals,

And to simply seperate our feelings from ourselves

makes the weight of the world easier to bear...

Sometimes we forget how to forgive ourselves for things because we are so determined to give forgiveness.

We forget that we need things too because there are too many others who need,

and to replenish the emptiness in ourself seems to be denying the need of another.

We are all invisible to someone.

And there is someone that we just don't see.

None of us is perfect.

Some of us cannot accept that.

Some of us will waste our entire lives watching the impossible never happen.

'Nothing is impossible.'

"You can not save the world."

'You can do anything that you want to with your life.'

"You can not save the world."

'You can be anything you want to be when you grow up.'

"You can not save the world."

I still wanted to save the world.

Still.

Fear is a powerful illusion.

Manipulation is stealthy truth.

Our minds section of portions of us to protect us sometimes.

They hide memories we cannot bear to see.

They make us forget

for our own good.

A sigh is heavier when you are alone.

Everything is hard when you are alone.

But whoever you are with only wants to here the good.

The mind takes us in circles like this.

Circles. Continuum. Orbit. Links in a chain.

You are the weakest link. Goodbye.

The air freezes in my lungs
And the world freezes to my face.
I hate the cold.
A striped scarf from Egypt-
Given to me by a friend -
Wrapped around my face.
I feel like a ninja.
Snatch the pebble from my hand!
I feel hidden from the world,
Passersby.
Like some secret treasure
or unknown layer
waiting for its possessor to return.
I am warm, secluded like
An uncharted island found once,
And promised to return to again,
But then mischarted and lost.

Breathing through the fabric, the air has
The chalky-sweet taste of incense -
Mulberry, Sandalwood, and Nagchampa.
I imagine that this is the way
The wind in Egypt tastes -
Perfumed by unnumbered,
Untouchable sources -
Burners, candles,
Shrouded ladies passing by.
Air. Hot and sticky
from the moisture in my lungs
made palpable by coffee,
And cigarettes and too little sleep.
All captured to rest
And nest comfortably in the cloth over my face.

The acorns near the sidewalk
Cling together for warmth
Their shells black with melting frost
Their topknots glittering bright and dull
As they raise their heads
To catch the long, warm rays of morning sun.
Their unfortunate fallen fellows litter the walk,
Crushed by indifferent travelers.
Their hot orange insides flood the eyes
With untold stories of carnage -
Brutality.
Stomped and smashed and pressed
Until the juices run
Out of the pulpy mess and
Stain the concrete -
The Grove's roadkill.
Their brown and broken bodies
Like cups of orange juice,
Spilling their concentrated futures
Into oblivion.

Their brothers watch.

Helpless, each full of the same potential
And yet, even those clustered in the safety
Of the roadside, will fail
To fulfill that purpose.
Will fall short of that ultimate goal,
And in essence be crushed and made worthless by
The feet of fate itself. 

Where do you live?

Where everything is warm and soft.

A home to ladybugs

Entwined in my bed sheets.

Where all is worn and safe,

And comfortable to the degree

That all is right with the world.

Where you are never more at home

With yourself or more sure of

Who you are.

A place where the truth of the world

Around you becomes infallible

Because this place has become a world

All its own.

Standing alone

And expanding ever outward

Despite its obvious limits,

Through the accordion folds within -

The objects it possesses and enchants -

The memories it contains and colors -

The beliefs it embodies and conforms -

The meaning it defines and defies.

Here is magic -

Living and breathing.

Unmoving, ever-changing.

Home.