Late Summer dry air
with smells that call back to memories
of going to school.
Walking to the bus stop
To be ridiculed
for your eyes
for your otherness
Are these eyes really so different?
Am I the only one to see
the ignorance
the hate
Smells that call back memories
and now knowing that I have
moved forward.

These feet
cracked and weary
not properly cared for
yet, have cared for
Their plight measured in distance
and years
With flex and strength
with will and persistence
these feet,
cracked and weary,
not properly cared for
yet, have cared for
continue their steps.

Holding each other
talking about the past
and the future
The present and the state we hold
We know now that
we did not know then
And we know now that
we will know.
That today requires our full
That we must trust what is
to be.

Blocking light, blocking thought
An occasional bird weaves
in and out of vision.
Scars of disaster and of man
An occasional tree grows
despite our best efforts.
So dark and yet comfortingly warm
An occasional Earth emerges.
To cover and renew.

Things that grow in containers,
sibsiding only off of what is given,
provided, and falls their way by
Scheduled and pruned and measured,
water, fertilizer,
soil and the fauna that visit.
Kept by their owners or
ones that their owners pay to keep.
They envy the weeds that grow nearby.

The physical chooses this direction
towards movement
spending energy
While my emotional chooses this
towards safety
seeking comfort
A battle of opposite directions
means remaining in place
for neither will win
Wills are strong
A compromise between them
is progress
perhaps away from both wills.

Amenable no longer
to others and their wants.
Amenable to what we have prioritized
if at all.
Amenable is not pliability
nor pliable
But consentual and

Running and Hiding
I was right
I am right
I tried to do the right thing.
Please don’t take me back
It is cold and dark
And I tried to do the right thing.

That cool morning breeze
comes through your window
and floats across your body.
It feels good, refreshing.
It has travelled far, seen many
things, and carries with it
all that is has experienced.

It is time to take it offline.
It is time to live for yourself.
To create without the eyes of others
And to create without the voices of those
who do not create.
Make things messy
And make messy things.

Hidden in the folds of the big man
Hidden in the folds of fat
Are the things he longs to be.
Welcome, accepted, included,
and treated like another person.
Hidden in the folds of the big man
Hidden in the folds of his fat
Are the secrets he longs to shed.
Depression, self-hatred, and
self-confidence waning with time.

The tank is empty because
I used cheap and convenient fuel
Rather than be intentional.
Rather than choosing meaningfully
The tank is empty because I filled it
with filler.
Not with purpose.
Filled for the sake of being filled.

Someone once said that music is what happens between
the notes.
Is a story what happens between the words,
in the empty spaces
The gaps that we try to fill
with our own assumptions and knowledge
So that we can understand
So that we can no longer fear.
Gaps we fill to fool ourselves.
Rather than simply letting those gaps

Is pressing, double tapping, to “like” something,
Is that meaningful to you?
What are you saying, what are you communicating?
How is that making your experience better?
Is replying to a comment by “liking” that comment
meaningful to you?
Meaningful to them?
What are you saying, what are you communicating?
Is any of it worth it to you?

August 17, 2021

What you hold in your hand What you hold in your head Requires different legvels of effort different energy. What you make in your head What you create in your hands Requires different levels of effort different energy. Where is that energy that level of effort Better spent

August 16, 2021

The morning looks hazy, the only sun breaking through shows shades of orange. Fires. Smoke. Wind. carryting the trauma to here, to the valley where is sits. It’s not unlike reading, doom scrolling, social media. Ingesting the strife, unhappiness, and trama seen through the eyes of many, of strangers. That mess sits with you, carried to you by a platform, and settling in your valley Making it hard to breathe. Hard to see. Hard to think. Hard to see.

What is worth the ink?
What is worth the share?
It’s exactly what you think,
Confirming you will go nowhere.