SometimesThe ChapterEnds WhenYou Close TheBook

it’s so peaceful here… after the war has faded back into the walls the ghost are growing fainter… each year a nail in the coffin of what has happened here… the stones are growing faded the vegetation overcoming what hours of talking never could… peace talks are nothing… as the open arms of moving on and letting go… not forgetting… never forgotten… but not so close… not still bleeding… tourniquet above my head… scars not to be reopened… graves best left
shut.

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Loved-Her

the anger is real feel it don’t let it go until it’s felt fully and then it will evaporate into the air the anger of losing you to a man because you lied and never intended to give tacos a chance breathe soft but deep and let you go before I go home into your arms the arms meant for another this is a bad idea i know but i can’t stop circling your world can’t stop wondering about you and entrapped by you I once was no longer this is probably a bad idea in the going back they say don’t go back but what they fuck do they know and who are they the voices in my head obviously picked up from songs and cues of social nature of social nature of social nature and i broke the record gave the love away and evaporated my heart done i’m done.

Dear Magic Muffy

Dear Muffy,

You are magic you are gold you shall go where no man goes find where your inner spirit lies do not hesitate to break old ties slip out of the old let go you know you no longer belong there wait for lightening will shine forth from your palm if you reach deep down and free your song the blackbird in you that now downward lies set it free to watch it fly.

And in the end you’ll end up two bears but bear this burden for now see this through for you shall reach the highest high and solid companion with which to climb together wearing into pillars of stones his is taller than you know.

Yours Sincerely,

Butterfly

unfinished

agitation is deep/ unseated it’s not safe/ not the kind of agitation/ the agitation you/ can control/ an agitated agitation stirring up riot within/ for what?/ you’re not exactly sure/ But you’re determined/ to keep striking out/ hitting harder to hit deeper/ going wider instead of deeper/ shallow cove of thoughts unfinished/ like everything else in your life/
love you had the last time/ you loved for the last time/ you’ve been loved before and loved after/ but only daring to fall once/ jumping and deciding/ don’t down/ it’s fine/ that’s best and usually only way that it – love – is done… cutting too deep/ sending you, too far

Descovering Ska

The discovery of Ska in a world that doesn’t know what it’s talking about.

We’re bobbing we’re grooving in a legit dive bar, and what i mean by that kids is that when you order a coke with a shot of whiskey you get a whiskey with a drop of coke, all for three dollars though so drink up kids we’re getting drunk.

the picture on the wall is changing colors molting into something it wasn’t before and wouldn’t be a moment later.

“It’s the lines of perspective. Which side looks closer to you? The light side or the darker side?”

“… The darker”

“Really? Because it should be the lighter…”

“Oh yeah… I’m seeing it. I’m seeing it. … Woah.”

There’s a guy up there with a curled mustache that he’s meticulously waxed. He’s been going out to the car to check it and re-wax it since we got here. He was the first person i saw. I asked from the back of the car if we knew him. “Do we know him?” no one heard me but Jamie rolls down the window pulls up slow and they start talking, about i don’t remember because i’d taken a big hit off Rina’s new pin when we stopped by her place to pick her up. Probably took too big of a hit but is there such a thing naw.

Now the guy in the middle, a younger Claude Monet type guy with his shock white beard and subtle plaid green golfer cap on, he belongs among the lilies, and he’s shorter than me which isn’t a big deal for man nor woman since i’m five-ten. He begins singing in another language. A language of the beach. I’m so high I no longer understand english. I turn to Rina after a few beats and ask “Are they singing in English?” because like any experienced stoner; I know that when things seem weird the first thing to do is check in with another to see what their reality holds that’s different than my own. “No. He’s just making things up.” “What?” “He’s not singing in any language.” The confusion on my face remains. “He’s not singing words. He’s just making up words and sounds.” Eye widen. Mouth forms ‘O.’ Rina’s laughing. I turn back towards the stage. *what is happening what is happening* Stun gunned down by the men singing in tongues.

I throw my hands up and let the music take me letting out haphazard laughs Rina and Jamie are ahead of me they turn and look back at me later, later Rina tells me, “I love your face” “Quel?” “It’s so honest. You express genuine wonder. Unlike Jamie and I. We’re just dead in side and make snide jokes.”

people tell me that…

Special Thanks to: Jamie – for getting Rina and I to go out, Monkey – for being my first and raddest Ska band, and Claude Monet – for the water lilies.

How Alone They Are

i wanna run until my body withers away

until the ache in my soul goes away

until the pain in my somache is gone

until the muscel spasms stop

until my heart ceases to be

until i’m no longer me

they don’t tell you this, but sometimes all you can do is run. it’s not an act of shame yes it is a loss of control but it’s a loss of something greater the loss of believing that those around you will understand and accept you for who and where you are.

when you’ve done all you can do. to try and love them. to love them. to be there to be what they want to answer their “try me’s” when you say they won’t understand after staring blankly at them and their lies of ‘i understand’ followed by their own life story that has nothing to do with you and who you are and what you’re going through

that’s when you gotta run. it’s not a running away. it’s a getting to a physical space of what you know to spiritually be true. that you are alone and no one sees you. no one can help. and really, they don’t want to. don’t want you. want *you*

she’s not crazy

she’s just the only one who truly knows

yuno_gasai_render_by_ashleytheskitty-dbbomgk.png

how alone they are

Spider

under a summermoon/ they meet/ toe to toe/ cheek to cheek/ banana spiders are yellow/ it’s true/ but burning love is the color for two/ and his is the hair of a summer breeze/ and hers are the eyes longing to be free/ the carcasses lay all around/ but into her his love he pounds/ physical restraints are useless/ when his is the soul she runs to/ she misses/ small is the time and space before/ together eternal forevermore/ enough is the feeling she holds when held/ wild satisfaction she gives him fulfilled/ together at their base the world stretches/ time disappears when they’re intermeshing/ his are the eyes of the purest blue/ when she fell into them he smiled/ he knew

~Pour Mon Amour

thanks and credit to those who came before… Shakespeare, Poe, and Debbie; naturally.
As always, special thanks to my true love and ever faithful; SummerMoon.