Wildflowers penetrate the porous dirt
Mingling with the grasses
Unafraid to assert their presence in the fields. Wildflowers dance freely,
spreading seeds through the air
Along the music of the wind.
Wildflowers; bright yellow, purple lilac
A great contrast to the uniformity of grass.
Wildflowers rise wild, brave, and free. Alive.
“You’re going the wrong way!”
“The school’s that way!”
I trod away from university
A universe lies between me and the others.
resonates in my mind
resonates in my bones
resonates in my soul.
“Am I good enough?”
More questions than answers flood my mind
But I doubt you have the time to answer.
You pander before the quickest release
Of the pedal that rests beneath your feet.
The bus’ engine roars, your voice quiets
My time to talk has ceased.
Image source: BlogTO
I’ve had many lovers,
I’ve made love many times,
but my love was found in the reflection of me in;
Fingers grip flesh so deep it pierces the skin,
hurting you, strengthening me,
we continue in this ritual of emotions,
too strong to be expressed physically,
into the moment before the release,
when two souls become one entity,
and leave bare bodies on exposed sheets.
Lucid dreaming as you thrust your energy into me,
Tangible pain yields tantric bliss.
You are love.
Anxiety rising with the setting sun
Assaults from unloving souls resurface
Shadows haunt my conscious mind
Possibly paranoia –
Losing touch with reality
I see the face of
my former lover
my current enemy
all around me.
Featured image taken by Alexander Palacios
Lauryn Hill just wanted reciprocity
but see, I just want your honesty.
Did you ever love me?
not some idealized fantasy
the scarred jaded being that I am
that couldn’t live up to your expectations
and neediness and clinginess.
We fell into a mess of codependency,
We called it love,
We pretended to be happy.
Be careful what you ask of the Universe
I have found my inspiration
but I may have lost my lover.
I’ve reached the point in my relationship where I’m uncomfortable enough to write again. Poetry flows out of my pens like tears from my eyes, and I’m not sure how to feel.
Does anyone else get writer’s block from being too content in life?
“In our Western understanding of time we involve the correlative of distance. The past is away in that direction, the future in that, and the present is just here, where I happen to be. But we speak of the passage of time; times come and go, the day will come. We remain in place and observe the flow of time, just as we sit at the cinema and watch, fascinated, as images fly before our eyes. The plane of time is shattered; it is composed of moments, ad infinitum, in perpetual motion.”
N. Scott Momaday, “On Indian-White Relations: A Point of View”
Next month is National Poetry Month, and I will be celebrating by posting at least 1-3 poems per day in an attempt to repair my abysmal current posting schedule. Xo
There is a beauty in letting go of toxic people, vibes and, energy
A catharsis in freeing yourself from the gnashes of their fangs
Piercing into the peace of your soul
Past the flesh, a deeper destruction
Blood leaking out of every orifice
til you’re nothin more than skin & bones
Yes. There’s a peace in letting that go.
Because the body will heal, the soul will repair,
The hurt will no longer be there
And you will grow from the energy they’ve sown
But their toxins poison them !