I tried to toil the earth

but found myself still - 

stone heavy and bare.

As the eye of the storm is surrounded by,

but not of, the whirling encompassing mass.

There was I, taken by awe.

The tree above me became part of,

surrendered to,

and danced with the maddening wind -

proving to me my inhabitants.

I am made up of too much rust 

to be so light - 

too much metal, flesh and bone.

Separated. Restricted. Reminded.

Yet, I laid still,

my mind anchored me 

to that tangled wooden bench - 

my water blood flow awakened. 

Those hysteric leaves

over my transfixed eyes

vibrated and shook - 

gospel choir singing,

electrified through the vine branches.

My soul reached

as far as its fettered feet allowed

out from my blessed corpse

toward the Taken wind.

The rough wooden plank,

keeping my spine straight.

Wind. Soul. Stone.

I found rest.

The heart breaks - 

not at the end of love but in the beginning. 

Vulnerability tears the skin.

Unspoken fears conquer - 

the chest caves in

the bone barricade collapses. 

Timid explorations of your face and lips. 

The crush I have on you -

turns into a physical act against my self preservation.

Defense mechanisms crumble

I quietly - sweetly 

fall apart in your kiss. 

dad wisdom

"Love isn't a chess game. Don't treat it like one."

I'm not hip in your ways, and I don't know the lyrics to your song. 

I can't convince you to see me.  

I ate an apple and found a butterfly in its core. 

It flew away - I tried to catch it and almost tore its wings. 

I didn't mean to hurt it. 

I don't know if I let it free or clipped its wings. 

I ask for forgiveness. 

Ask me to love you, because I already do, but I want you to let me show you. 

Drop me off at the highest peak please; I'd like to see your face with the mountain in your eyes. 

An Ane Brun Song

Angie

She rests 6 feet underground in an unruffled wedding dress.
First dance was held between the clouds and she was probably barefoot.
Rose gold casket lined with red roses and smudged goodbye kisses.
Her hair still soft and blonde; pretty manicured nails kept from the week before.
Pictures of prom, slumber parties and beach days.
We're all still around.
Angie knows more than we do; her face told me so.
Her insides are free - ours are not - we desperately kick and scream to feel release.
We medicate to numb and self-destruct to feel. 
The webs we weave are tangled and sticky.
I cried in frustration; the priest called it a paradox and I was relieved. 
Who are we to say what is and isn't fair? 
There's another form of death; not the kind Angie ventured into, but the living kind. 
The kind that threatens our mentality and heart.
A living death that binds us from loving freely.
Turning relationships into parasites and heavy oxygen tanks. 
A deceitful dark demise; drowning us in fears and insecurities. 
Hardening us to our brothers and sisters. 

Oh boy, she's done it again!

A Radiohead Song

living death

i've been thinking about dying
to myself
and how to do it


i try to die every day 
for the sake of living
but things just seem
to get in the way 

birds the word

They are everywhere lately. Obviously, they are everywhere all the time. It's kind of remarkable how much they go unnoticed on the daily - especially when they are constantly over our heads - by the hundreds. Without them the mornings would be restless and void of harmonic songs. At this, the only noise left to greet and invite us into the new day would be the constructed static of our discouraged civilized lives. They are such extraordinary creatures. I am beyond jealous of their ability to rely, unconsciously, on our Creator. I am Jealous of the way He mentions them in the Good Book in regards to good faith. I want to be like them. I want to Trust and know that I am taken care of... and live as such... like they do. SONGS! Lately, all the songs sing about them. They are everywhere. I have been paying more attention. We perhaps are all jealous of them. Referring to them when we want to symbolically talk of freedom, flight and fresh air. I'm told I eat like them. I swoon for him. Those mysterious creatures who are watched through binoculars all over the world - studied so closely - because we are drawn to them. Drawn by a deep desire to fly and defy gravity. Free of weight. Hovering between earth and Heaven's gate. I want to effortlessly land on a new perched view. Letting the winds take me along with my instincts. To fly away so calmly and leave behind all I just endured. Lord, I ask that you turn these arms into wings. I worry too much of where I'll go and how I'll get there. Not them - they just soar. I feel emotionally and mentally stuck. Plugged up and still. I don't feel - and think - or move inside myself - like I usually do. I am trying to be too strong, and therefore too stiff. Tense and petrified. I persevere to keep my head straight and will in tact. "There are seasons," I remind myself. I look up and absorb, just like them, the variant winds.