This is the land I come from
the land of
cracks in the sidewalk.
The place where roaches are squatters surviving a desperate home filled with spackled dreams.
She erased the young lovers from the mural on the wall
leaving just an empty tree
never to be climbed again
an artist whitewashing her future.
The land of white knuckles and fight clubs; of white men with dangerous pasts and drunken futures all too close and personal.
A city of tears and required loyalty to false gods.
paints the streets
with dreams of escape,
of knowledge beyond
the corners and the cracks
I watch from my second-floor window, the souls that stroll past the burnt out warehouse across the street mirroring their young and angry lives.
Afraid to see myself as the same hollowed out wasteland whose heart smells of burnt wood and mildew.
I hold my innocence and integrity steadfastly close shutting out
the pain of
Laughing at my intimate lonely world filled with fantasies so not to cry.
Patch the wounds
Fill the cracks
Plant the seeds that will sprout from new and fertile earth
never to be hollowed out,
rooted in acceptance.
I will climb
Out of the fear
Into the future
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to soften the blow
that snap and
make us giggle
as we pack
from the traumas of our past
of the future.
Then back into the box it goes,
behind a small
so that we can…
and not pain.
Always remember; today is but a blip.
The colors in my head are vibrant. I’m not quite sure how to replicate them on canvas or in words, but I want to interpret them through my soul. I find the vividness exhilarating. Brilliant hues, purple, blue and yellow. Greens are filling the skies with splashes like voices scattered through my heart; the light is shining. The inspired craving of excitement and longing but, also fulfillment. Once I find this key, this bit of time that I can perceive and project there will be a new meaning to my life. It’s like when you close your eyes and the shapes behind your lids move like a lava lamp, growing, and shrinking. Bright then gone to black to be replaced by something new. Yellow perhaps. The dance is impactful, and I hold it tightly to me knowing I will need to let it go. There is silence, and yet the music plays. There is sadness yet, I feel a growing joy. I can’t explain it at all, but I know somehow I need to share this gift, this internal maze that is the essence of who I am. The bright colors under the surface, the light pulsing in an effortless means to escape. The truth is there, within the walls of my mind, flowing down to my heart, to my stomach, to my toes. It runs like a river in and out, up and down. The blood pumping, racing yet still, with moments of contentment. Finally, I find it, slowly coursing, inviting me towards it. A ghost, reaching for me in fuchsia with purple edges gleaming. I know I cannot resist. I lie down, comforted, surrounded, and hovering within myself. I am finding love. The melody spins me. I’m dizzy with delight, calm. I am ready to grow, to break free to release the light, the colors, the gifts, to share them outwardly with the world. To know who I am and where I stand. It is in this release that I will find myself.
As she swept
the book out from
her lap so came
all interpretations of
trickling down the binding
I love when I see something and the words spill forth in pure inspiration completely out of my control. This poem came to me after seeing a provocative image a friend posted on Instagram with the note…”Many interpretations…all accurate.” Thank you, Vesta
To love is…
to hold not only the fun but the fear.
to find security in what you do not know;
In what you are willing to learn.
Who Am I?
A lost child?
A powerful woman.
Reaching toward indecent exposure
My body writhes inside.
Gasping with each incomparable breath,
Waiting to exhale with no relief.
Heat relieving pressure
Where hands play conforming to my shape.
Bodies melding in the molten fire of one being;