Will We Be Back
Will we be back
when we are gone?
As someone else?
Do we live on?
Why are we here?
No scholar knows
Instead it’s theories
They have chose
Are babies born
to hold old souls?
that need to learn
and reach their goals?
the tinker bells of light?
in constant flight?
Are we really where
we think we are?
Or just reflections
of each bright star?
The Inner Space
I fell into
the inner space
behind the facade
of my face
in search of all
I used know
which way that
I should go
I floated like
the years flew by
too hard to catch
at least I tried
and when I
opened up my eyes
I watched them fade
to my surprise
I don’t speak
Its been a tough week
It’s hard to speak up
So I sit here quietly, I won’t interrupt
I’m scared of what people think of me
And it gets so hard to breathe
I could be standing in a crowd, they could be saying nothing
But their presence is so loud it feels like they are judging
I can feel this fantasy rejection
And just like wifi, I’m losing connection
They blame it on society
That it is the reason I have Social Anxiety
But that’s not the matter
Because I feel as if I’m about to shatter
And that feeling of nervousness comes creeping quietly
Followed by the rest of my anxieties
I am a really nice person but whenever I think to say hello
My self-consciousness comes in, and its something I don’t think I’ll ever outgrow
And I see judgment in your eyes
My mind keeps producing these lies
And I’m on a steady decline
that I wish I could define
My voice I do not own
So I stand here alone
Choking on my words
While I watch my tiny world burn
Before the dawn of time
When there was darkness
A moment where gods
& goddesses ruled over nothing
Not bothered with any matters
Until some said, ‘‘tis time for change.’’
Few gathered together
Debating over the deities nether
They seem to be contemplating
Many times over silly a thing
Saying we need to rule over
Plenty of land, and people, too
A couple nodded their heads
So, they decided to create
Worlds filled with magick—
Creatures quite lethal, some not-
Galaxies with stars that burst
With blinding lights of colour~
They formed mortal beings
And paused for a little while
To stare at all their creations
Marvel in awe at their works
They were ready to be a part
Of these humans lives
Watching in different forms
At all these mortals would do
In the lands & spaces that
The immortals had placed them in
Full of living creatures
Each making their own sound.
friyay 22nd Jan., 2021
It finally has registered in my mind, why
I’ve become so talkative when it is only me, myself and I.
So easy it is, without another rolling their eyes (one, whom, when questioned of this behavior, sings to me a song of lies),
To allow my thoughts to row swiftly down the stream, without the lurking threat of agitated, rejecting sighs.
A strange figure indeed.
A lean man with a bony face an elongated pointed nose, pale skin, lifeless eyes glimmering like two onyxes in the moonlight, silver hair falling in thin strands around his sharp jaw, as hard as diamond, could cut through stone like a knife through a stick of melting butter. This is what comes to mind when I think of silver.
She stands at my doorstep, frizzy brown curls, standing up on edge around her face as she stares at me with pain glistening in her crinkled charcoal eyes. Her bright red lipstick contrasts starkly with the state she’s in, completely disheveled. Her violet jumper hangs lazily off of one shoulder exposing fair freckled skin and the pale pink scarf around her neck barely hangs there in a loose knot, showing off irritated patches spreading beneath her chin down to her chest.
I stare at her in complete silence before the reality of what she did kicks in and I shut the door in her face.
Took you long enough to remember me, mother.
“Brian! Brian, please open the door. I’m- I’m sorry I left you Brian, it was a mistake, I was angry and I didnt know what else to do I had nowhere to go,”
She begs and pleads but I don’t care. She left me with him. Someone who couldn’t give a damn about my life and what I was going through in college. Someone who drank his sorrows away lying under a heap of beer bottles, day after day drowning in himself, slowly and steadily losing himself and becoming a horrible, monstrous being who spewed the vilest profanities at me, degrading me to nothing. And I believed him because I knew people spoke their heart out when they were intoxicated. So he must have been right. I was gangly, and ugly, and stupid. No wonder I got bullied every single day of my life. I deserved it.
Can you believe I thought that same thing for 12 years of my life? What a waste. But not anymore. I’m free now. This old dorm, my best buds and my new job at the Pizzeria is all I need. Which reminds me, my pizza has probably gone cold. I check the box to see if its still warm. Much to my surprise it is! I take out one of the stretchy, cheesy slices and take a big bite. Heavenly. Its times like these that I’m ever so grateful. Even my estranged mother’s persistent knocking fades away into silence and the shadow beneath the door disappears too.
Good. Its pizza time.
Stares quizzically at the cat flap
A testing paw juts forward,
Catches an edge,
Slowly pulls the flap forward,
Catches the flap,
Head under and away.
If only he’d push,
It’d be much quicker.
How we make things more complicated
Than they need to be.
Next time the cat
Bites my ankle
To get me to open the door.
Little Platte Lake.
Cherry streaks of heaven lend themselves on the glass like canvas. The water supplies warm-hearted and lovely winds and banter filled otherwise happily empty air. Engines hum across the way and embers crack their scent to waiting Pavlonial memories. I am here but I am also there.
I am young and very peaceful in the scene often a night. I have no idea what I am wearing or how I look… I am just there.
Nostalgia is a weary friend that fools us time again, and procrastination often filters out what we really could be.
It’s the waiting for a better moment that has made us lazy.
Not here though, not in my place of childhood Zen... the place I am always thinking of; where I am allowed to feel young.
The sun at times is bright and others setting slowly—and often not even in the equation. The water is cool whenever I touch it and the birds seem to always be ready to lend a voice to my vision.
You would think that all the things I love would be here with me but they aren’t and I don’t seem to miss them.
I draw them in at times- on my own to make up for slipping into old reminiscent vows of my own future that are now so foreign my head spins. There are people here naturally—but just the feeling not the tactile versions.
Stop. Hold my breath. That soul warming breeze and touring leaves rush by as I feel mossy ground pushing up to meet my feet.
I could go anywhere here and be free.
There is brightly painted grass and always, always the water.
Following it with mapped out footing I find my place in the sun.
I lay in the moments I am allowed to remember so thankful even for a second if I can stay there.
Hours go by and the smell never changes and the sky is still ripe with clouds. And they move. And I stay there.
When warm turns a bit cooler time of day and the cherry sky comes back I again find myself on the water.
Gentle rocking sleepily moving in a time I play again and again.
The day never ends here-- it starts all anew as soon as I find I need it to. How white painted wood and long lines of cotton can move me is comforting and solely understood.
I don’t need to be there long to completely be swallowed in a state that pulls me away. I stretch and I yawn and I pull back to sleep… visiting again another day.