___it pined so its needles were ground and stuffed into my pipe.
___it wandered so on a leash it was as we strolled into the night.
___it broke out in the darkest of hours and refused to ever be quiet.
___And though, in the darkest of hours is when it came alive,
___it grew hale because it knew its purpose was a shelter for the light.
___strike the gavel!
Sentence yourself to the consequences of conditioning you’ve endured!
Be one with the lamb!
___find your herd!
___what have you learned?
Do you feel peace when the wind whispers its soliloquies?
As you look into the water does it ask you to jump?
The only distinction–
___who is it that you trust?
Once upon a time my truth became a lie, or something ugly to hide, for companionship from a guy who shamed my essence. I couldn’t write, could barely look myself in the eye. But in pain comes a lesson. I tried to blame him, but a lack of self-love was the real source of depression.
Life’s poetry is read in the veins of the fallen leaf, in the scent of a distant lover blowing in the breeze. Listen for her lines in the rolling thunder. Feel the emotion of her verse as the unwanted fly takes liking to your shoulder. That little rock over there? He thinks he’s a boulder. Can’t you see? That’s the beauty of life. True reality lies in the eyes of the beholder.
The car shut off long ago, but I continue to sit and ponder. Staring out the window watching rain drops slide down the tempered glass, falling in unison with the tears of my saddened soul. Crying for fear has overcome my passion. Afraid to write anything new, afraid my best piece will always be my last one. I’m 23, so much wealth in spirit. Cultured, worldly. But sometimes my soul calls, and I act like I don’t hear it. Maybe I’m too exhausted from this life I chose. It’s often hard to muster the energy to simply pick up the phone. Why do my weaknesses feel like strengths when I put them in prose? Am I talking to myself or talking to god? Is there even a difference? Perhaps god, too, is just a lonely mistress. Is god in control, or does it go with the flow? All I know is the thunder eventually ceases to roll.
I want a lot of things. I want to read. I want to write. I wanna call up a homie, spark a bowl, sit back & talk about life. I want to fast forward time, and I want it to rewind. I don’t want to search, but there’s things I need to find. I want to quit trying. I want to be content with where I’m going, where I’m at without judgement or strife. I want to be alone. Why won’t somebody hit my line? I want him to text me first. I want a commitment. I want to be promiscuous, our relationship inconspicuous. I wanna listen to the rain. I need some sunshine. I want to travel but… where should I reside? I want to save money. There’s so many things I need to buy! I don’t want to know the truth. I find comfort in believing lies. I want to be happy. My best work is the fruit of depression. I want to be a teacher. Too bad I’m busy learning a lesson. I want to be me. I want to be free. I really want a cookie, but I’d rather eat the dough. You know what I want more than anything at all? I want everyone to know my name while I remain unknown.
You could move half way across the world tonight if you wanted.
_________Or you could chill at the spot, break something down, and get blunted.
See the thing about people that’s funny—
________we forget we’re free.
We’re so quick to believe these mirages of limits
________that we try to control life instead of sit back and live it.