If you love someone

I may be misreading it all,
translating simplicities into complex ideals
but obliviousness has never comforted me
nor has ignorance seemed a suitable excuse.

If you want something,
if you love someone
then find time in your
mind and your soul and your separate world
to make them know it.
to finish it, no longer saying “I swear I show it”.

I’m exhausted from to do lists and objectives,
however, I want my objective here to become lucid by the end,
unlike an abstract in literature, more like a bold red in a sea of white.
I believe in passion and falling,
I believe in everything that makes it harder to live,
but makes it all the more worthwhile.

I dream vividly and excessively,
and yes they may be gory, visions consisting of loss
and burning buildings
but when I wake up and find myself alone and sheltered
I consider myself grateful, and humbled, and
daring to dream in a world full of broken things
again, and again, and once more.

so inspired by passion I simply ask you to be the same,
and if you no longer find it exciting to take the time to
honor me and make up for lost presence
then you’d be doing me a favor,
just say see you later,
and leave me be with my hope and feverish feelings

I think more than I do,
I say less than I should
I write these words like a child, letting go of a handful of balloons,
one by one, watching them take off into an amiable gray sky
holding in tears because I know I’m the one who told them to fly.

fail me, nor falter

see, it all began when I was young
when I first realized that this world was much bigger than I was
and from then on the idea progresses
into a short story, a novel, a trilogy, never ending.
I’ve realized these insecurities around me,
the shaking ground and towers falling
and when you grow old within a century,
your memories amount to millenniums and broken things

and my ability to separate the tragic from the reality
has fallen into an incident of disbelief
in comes the breeze from the fall it keeps getting dark,
and darker
and along with all the shades of green
my heart endures small scrutiny
and I know these anxieties will never fail me, nor falter

means

maybe if i were less terrified i’d be more inspired
maybe if i were less anxious i’d know more peace
maybe if i knew how to breathe i’d have more breath
maybe if i would accept the realities i’d stop dreaming

but i don’t want to be numb
i don’t want to be passionless
i don’t want to be overwhelmed
because numbness means i’ve lost
passionless means i’m gone
overwhelmed means
means
means
means
that i will only ever
repeat
repeat
repeat
my failures
my indecencies
my worries

get out
of my mind
get out
forever this time

colors like purple

You
are always on our minds
and numbers like fourteen and colors like purple
and sunflowers and curls
and sadness and hurt
and everything always comes back to
You
are perfected in the grace of our god
strong and beautiful
then and now
and it always comes back to
You
the ocean of sorrow we share
but the sea of peace we own
knowing that you are more than just a face
in all of these picture frames
and more than just a voice
You
are the voice of angels
and autumn sunsets
and vitality
and we will never forget
You
and your smile, alive
and your song, singing
and you are not someone we knew
but the only one we will ever know
to be so beautiful
dressed in colors like purple

So we fix our eyes not on what is seen but what is unseen, for what is seen is temporary and what is unseen is eternal
2 Corinthians 4.18

happy birthday kate


i
mages via designspiration

more and more and more

I knew the days would become long,
when I desired them to be short and the nights
would become a canvas for anxieties and to-do lists

I knew the time would run too quickly,
even when i begged, “slow down, slow”

Now I’m waiting for my time,
for desires to turn into decisions and
dreams to reality
and potential to finale
Now I’m holding on to sanity,
like a child clutching a sad stringed balloon
but I am not meant for weakness
when I realize the truth
only in my morality am I alone
only in my world am I abandoned

and you who said there are better things to live for,

you’re wrong
and you who said,
that I didn’t know what I was striving for,
you might be right

unending words,
tied together by fish hooks
take the hand of a devil

red skin and emptiness,
take the hand of a savior
soul mysterious, with round eyes

Even with my knowledge of the upcoming change,
I couldn’t have anticipated the sinking sorrow
I couldn’t have guessed the nearness of
tomorrow
and the next

books and citrus,
curling papers and crinkling toes
vinyl records and burnt passions
this life is made up of perception and music
spoken in conversation,

drained by temptation
to live “normally”

more and more and more,
it’s not enough for me, no

age is beauty

appointed by the time

given life then taken from birth to years to decades.

age is crippling, demanding, consuming

age is beauty

asinine ideas of how we can slow it down, make it better, don’t stand a chance against the strong

beauty of age

and society only teaches us to fear it, instead of fall in love with it

i fall in love with age every time i see a weary hand endure a hobby

every moment i find a tired eye light up

because age is beauty, and nothing is as beautiful as those who have aged.

Image

tied up

i’m tied up,

my limbs and my tongue and my abdomen, twisted like a sad spiders web

i’m tied up,

from the inside out i’m weaved and stitched like a hand made gift and

i’ve seemed to have lost my starting point, where the needle first pulled through the fabric,

i’m tied up,

knots have been made where they weren’t supposed to be and

i’ve found myself once again, wandering.

searching for a place where everything is clean,

where purity overrides the tainted innocence of one’s life.

and i’ve said it once before, “look at all my clothes upon my bedroom floor!”

and it’s not the first time i’ve noted the mess in my mind,

but this time,

i’m tied up,

like a field of tall grass tangled around ankles and toes.

i’m like a tree trunk morphed from years of stories

untold, and here comes the exhaustion and it hurts,

the way i’m tied up and cannot break free from these

vines covered in thorns.

to discover where it first began would be a task I would never finish, not in the amount of years counted on one hand.

to reveal the moment where I could’ve stopped it all,

from creeping around me and tieing the bow,

would be like the mention of death in a hospital,

cold and frigid, wouldn’t help anything after all,

because i’m tied up in a place I hate to be,

but these ropes will have to lighten up, eventually.

to get out

inspired by these sounds i am breathless,

caught off guard by this tone i am shaken

these images are tempting and i no longer want to leave this room until i can get these thoughts

down on paper

and i want to speak words out loud with a certain flow because i am so

taunted by the silence that surrounds me and this small noise that echoes is not enough

i want to be drenched in noise and images and words and pages

i want to be covered and indented by rhythm and gazes

i want to submit myself to dedication to essence to

barricade my soul from this numb world

i want to feel every feeling and touch every surface with the edges of my fingers i want

to play the records until i can sing the songs

and overwhelmed, overwhelmed i have become.

say these words fast in your head, recite these sounds quick underneath your brittle skin, and for one second understand what it is like in my head,

my heart moves like my mouth and curves inward with the shapes i form with my lips,

i can say O, i can say E, i’m only challenged when it comes to spitting out the irritation of my passions through gritted teeth.

so if you are so eager to fall into creation and release these building tensions onto blank paper then go, and forget about all the rest,

then speak and play with the mess.