distractions from the body

distractions from the body

it is so tremendous even being.
I will never be stuck down to my body
my skin is like the sea
a churning layer between my body and soul.

I drift onto the ceiling
I am not my body, not my face

I cannot be contained, simply.
I’m in and around.

I’m sentimental for what I have now
I’m longing for it

I am not in my eyes,
I am the ocean, I am in the glazing windowpane;

I am never defined by anything. I do not consist of anything. I am not made comprehensive by anything.

such a strong sense of self I have,
my eyes are like universes you cannot understand,

let me be lofty.
let me take care of this moment.
left me to drift into the shadows.
let me be in between.
I’m aware, I see you, I urge you.
watch, watch, watch.

will I ever get it documented? can I ever grasp the words to tell you that life is such an incredible thing?
can you see it?
could I ever list the moments that define my life?
could I hide in your mind and show you,
the moment when you are all alone, and suddenly you sink back into your body. on your intermission. in between. going to bed. you sink into your body and it breaks into a bitter unexplained sad. but it’s only a moment, it passes.

BUT IT IS LIFE

we are all distractions to rid ourselves of the body.
it consists of laughter and joy and exaggeration and art and yellow and dance and despair and high and expression, beautiful beautiful expression.
in between the sorrows and the joy what do you make of the nothingness? of the breaks?

of what I can only explain as sinking into your body.

it fragments, it fractures, it’s only a moment.

what do you make of it?

what do you say of your life?

is there happy? do you live in your body?
where are your safest havens, refugees to divert?

it is an effort to rid ourselves of the body. earthly, you try and fill the void you were born with!!

is the true fill religion? if so, why does it feel so hard?

why is all the new era rebellion?

religion should break us from the body. even when most take a few shares but they still feel unconvincingly buried and compacted in the body.

true ways, how can we find them.
it is the division of joy, is it the destruction of it?
how to act?

HOW DO WE LIVE TO ESCAPE OUR BODIES?

religion. but for most, it’s a Sunday and goes. how to make it last every moment of every day. how to make it a life.
how melancholy is life without zest, without religion, without spirituality!

but then it almost feels parsimonious to live and laugh and contain joy with breaks to the body. to have these moments of happiness which I do, and not know what to do with them. is the right way to live becoming an agelast, fusty and stale? are these what matter?

it’s all matters, that must be it. that must be the truth. of course, I can believe in a plan, in God’s plan, yes I know there is a Christ.

but
i
can’t
find
it
in
the
ordinary.

how to live to escape the breaks, in our bodies, the containment I feel, I know you feel it too, how can you not?

but there is still so much to learn. I’ve not breathed long enough to make much out of it. to make enough about what this memory has to offer me. because I haven’t possessed it yet.

but what if that’s what I say when I’m 40?

buy into my delusion, if that is all I am. let me have it.
I’ve always had this same urge for something vaster. I just know I’ll never find it.

there is great beauty here, do not let it go untouched. scour the earth to find it. please.

and this isn’t to say that I’m not happy, it’s that I am.
I am.
I hold these moments within, not knowing what they indicate. not knowing if they are a memory in making.
and so, it makes the breaking bits even more hard to grasp, to fathom.

THE IN BETWEEN.
what happens in between.

I suppose it’s a reflection. I know this isn’t a remedy, it’s only poetry. it’s nothing tangible.

IS ANYTHING WORTH HAVING TANGIBLE?
there are love and sadness and joy and happiness. and dance and art. art is a feeling.
I feel it every day.

and I admit art because I’m made of it. and so are you.

wisps of a cloud

wisps of a cloud

we never speak of when the clouds die,
when the sky ages and falls
i didn’t see the sun going out
to break an eternal law.

we never saw the mountains tremble
never saw them sleep,
i wonder if they’d notice,
would the people weep?

the wisps of a cloud carry on
(did anybody see it?)
and it transformed into the fluff of your hair
the strength of your bone,
(look closer now)
and the sky saw and made way to skin,
how it loves to stretch over, becoming again.
(it’s all around you)
when the mountains died, they became the point
in your fingernail, they hurried into the
grays and shadows of your eye,
and for the mountains know of age,
they colored your hair of gravel and stone.

i never saw the sun go out
fall shriveled to the bone
(take notice)
the light and shine under your soles
when the day is done i’ll see the remnants in the doorstep.

24

24

cultivate my sense of poetry
your lyrics are a forgery
they said they saw god in everything
they live, they dwell in the ordinary.
you critical of the divine
you look for spirituality in the shelter,
in the looking glass,
in the subway belter.
understand to us, its no mystery.
you said that christ was a man with a legacy
yes, i’d agree with individuality
but there is more than what’s seen in street lights
and walkways to the everyday.
0rganize my thoughts into the tangible scripts
no more, but
still don’t romanticize life without loving.

perception, and other thoughts

perception, and other thoughts

Sometimes you spend your whole life dreaming of a thing for so long that it becomes real. It’s tangible. It’s like an aftertaste of a bitter food, it’s in the back of your mind as you go about your day. You may not think about it consciously, but it is a hope for yourself. Slowly, this dream becomes real. It becomes real to you, singularly.

A topic on my mind recently is perception. In character, art, even visuals perception is key. That’s what makes it all interesting, isn’t it? Some artists say that a work is never fully complete until an audience has reacted to it and added to it, making it new and perceiving it. From the same piece of work, thousands of messages can come out of it. Perception of a work, of a person, of importance. It’s how we view and interpret the world.

John Thomas said, “You are what you perceive.” In terms of thoughts, I think this works. You are your thoughts, which become your actions, ect. You think pure thoughts, you are pure. You then act pure. You are your thoughts, which is true enough.

But the idea of “I am.” That’s harder. What is true about me is different depending on how you perceive it. How can you say you are anything? How can you know? We contain multitudes. (Walt Whitman). We cannot be limited. We change everyday. I can’t get a grasp on the sameness, on the “I am.”

I’ve perceived something to be true for so long, it’s a shock that my taste buds failed to pick up on. I can’t get a grasp for the truth.

That’s all for me right now. Thanks for reading. ❤

so then she became a woman

so then she became a woman

she came in from
mountaintops and thunderstorms
on top of glory
of journeys by merry-go-round
of castle-like doll house
of sweet dreams made of cotton candy
of girlhood.
so then armed with her fairies
and her day dreams
and her feathers
so then she became a woman
she was given fantasy for her battle
as men were given trucks
and toy muscles that told them they ruled the world
preparation for the day to day
as we were given light
to think of at our day jobs.
so then she became a woman
and she chased the wonderland
conquered the highlands
took her fairies and feathers
cursed the ground she walked on
and ate of the cotton candy clouds
she once walked upon.

inflections

inflections

she’s tied to your wrist
like a balloon picking you up and over
you reek of her
like if you looked in a double sided mirror
She would be your shadow.
no doubt,
she’s in and out of you.
“I love her so much.”
you’re inflicted in her smile.
like if you imprinted just enough to leave a permanent mark
and become birthmarks
after birth.
like if you were waiting for a harmony
here she is.
inflections plucked out of time and souls.
She is the starlight to you eye.
stella.
like if you lasted a little while longer
time would dream away just for you.

portrait

portrait

you could paint my portrait but would it picture me?
look at you
cast under lime lights
no prose
no troupe
no rose
the curtains unveiled
it’s revealed to me
in you.
weren’t you a midnight prayer
testing my soft heart?
Weren’t you a debtor to my art?
A credit from where I start?
no more than a picture born
to heal my pain
had you sat down and cried,
had you wept, had you lain?
no more than a mirror in vain,
no,
I had you made up in my mind
every one of your kind
beneath shining eyes lie more to find
beneath skin and bones intertwined
you, my selfish mastermind.
Oh you.
You always said you could paint
my portrait
who were you seeing?

raw

raw

life with a cloud acts as a dream

maybe the lights are dimmer and

the ground from under you seems to shrink.

life with a cloud is black at 2 am

when you’re rubbed raw

nigredo 

waiting for a grey cloud to clear 

a cloud lying incognito to outsider ears.

instead of a heart, you’ve got lead 

nothing touches you

numb 

a day is forever at all, years are as fleeting as a dark waking dream

life with a cloud blurs reality 

until all you are is lying in a stranger’s bed, waiting for a change

seeming to float.

the descent into a cloud is lighter than 

you may think you’re thick and unscathed,

but your skin is being rubbed raw,

cuts you didn’t know you had

sting. 

things you wouldn’t fight against

you suddenly find all around you,

Sleeve rubbing the raw skin with fleshy pain

earthy.

and at the worst of it all, 

when the cloud takes your eyes,

daylight to my dark,

it will flood.

white white tiles on me on bright fluorescent

oh, the water comes. 

the water comes rushing in.

it’s a moon behind the cloud.

watch closely 

it washes your raw, your hurt 

and hurt

and hurt over hurt 

underwater you thought you’d drown 

but at least you can feel again, you’re found

watch, at first it will sting,

wounds too long gone dirt. 

oh the floods break.

droplets in your new eyes,

a little too bright, but you’ll adjust

dilate,

you’ll adjust. 

long resented, long repented

this is arrival. 

learn to show your raw

your let loose,

bare and vulnerable

let them gasp

let the water come

and in the lilies 

in the white of the basking sun,

raw.

you will feel loose in your new skin,

too bright,

too pure,

too raw. 

let your life with a cloud melt away. 

on the ground

you’re out of a haze

blazing red labyrinth

maze of your mind free to be navigated, told and tell

this will be life.

phoenix to the fire

you, you are rising.

ruby of my minds eye

red.

raw was a resolution 

to your fire.

don’t take another heart,

ruby red,

aren’t you sanctified?

you’re a fire, you’re a passion

lights up ruddy against it all

in the daybreak

you’ll draw blood

and not look back.

not to say,

that there won’t be pain

but let it serve as a sweet reminder

of how much you’ve survived. 

a taste of tongue 

burning

yet warm.

hear your own voice

hoarse

 all up loud n life

hear it

breaking up to tell your

raw. 

it’s not finished, nor will it ever be.

oh no love,

you’re not alone.

empowering quotes

empowering quotes

here are some of my favorite quotes.

Your silence will not protect you. -Audre Lorde

I’ve put up with too much, too long. And now I’m just too intelligent, too powerful, too beautiful, too sure of who I finally am to deserve anything less. -Sandra Cisneros

Feet, what do I need you for when I have wings to fly? -Frida Kahlo

They tried to bury us. They didn’t know we were seeds. -Unknown

The beginning of purpose is found in creating something only you understand. -Tyler Joseph

I hope this post finds you well. ♥

for you

for you

girl:

you are not made to be admired

made to be filled

made to be cheeks pinched

rosy red

made to be ladylike pretty perfect

made up

looked down.

girl:

you are not made to be filled

not waiting on him

not needing your other half

cause girl

you are complete.

girl:

not your baby doll,

not your looking good,

not yours to talk down

not yours to make up

not yours to take 

break,

not yours.

girl,

you are all your own.