My Soul’s Imagination

In one year’s time, I have discovered who I am and more importantly how to be that person. I have learned that my heart is the moon to my emotional ocean, yet no matter how fast the earth, my mind, rotates; it plays no part in my emotional tide. And over this year my shores have seen droughts and tsunamis but all has not been so extreme. I do believe that perfection as been seen, although most of my days have landed somewhere in between.

I have fallen in love with the feeling of falling in love only to find my metaphorical wings. I have learned that the earth, my mind, is no place to fly, so I take to the shore and create the breeze over the tide. I take what I have learned and form clouds that will fall like knowledge upon some nonbelievers mind.

With enough belief and a strong enough love, I will soar past the orphan Pluto and conjure up a galaxy where gravity plays no part in the soul or the creation of (wo)man. And we would all be born with an innate awareness of our metaphorical wingspan, feathered with personal belief and self esteem. We would be born writing and walking, waiting to be taught to talk and fly.

I have learned how to do what will make me happy. Oddly enough, it is a hard process to conjure the confidence to put myself first. It is arduous to give myself what I deserve when what I deserve is something good.

Happiness, like strength, is vulnerability. When I am happy, gravity wants to take control, when I show strength, someone wants to break off a piece. When I dare to be both simultaneously, I am like Jacob, wrestling the angel. I feel I must fight until I receive my blessing. I must prove that I have earned my place to forever preserve my faith upon a pedestal of my own design.

Fight my angel. Fight the loves that have betrayed me. Fight the things that haunt me. Fight all that ties back my wings and hinders my belief. It is only I that can teach myself to speak and fly.

In one year’s time, I have found my voice. Now I am feathering my wings. Soon when you see me I will be soaring over my shores above my changing tides. And maybe one day when true love has entered my life, gravity will have no pull upon my soul and I will find my galaxy.

If in a year I can discover and give face to the very person I trust I am, and if who I am is birthed from the procreation of my soul and my imagination then what will be born of the person I am and the love I will experience over the course of my life?

I imagine.

And one day,
I believe,
I will fly.

My Heart, The Page, My Holy Grail

I want my words to be like icebergs
protruding the tide
like truth projecting from the moon at night
pulling my oceans
further up your shore line
wetting your coast,
preparing you for me.

And you should be aware that
I’m known for fitting into tight places
and for being a professional tease
I’ll invade your mind like the plague
and get under your skin with ease

but I still can’t help but wonder
what my reputation would become
if everything I am
could fit on a single page.
If my body, along with the galaxy of my mind
and the oceans of my love
could be condensed to a standard frame

Would the galaxy meet the ocean,
and the ocean meet the skin
and would you come to the wake
when my story came to an end?

Would you sit at home
tearin’ my page apart,
with your senses tense
as you poke fun at the sentences
making up my heart?

My heart,
the page: my holy grail
that I’m always trying to fill up
with the seeds of my poetry
so my words can grow trees
that extend across galaxies.

Galaxies, my mind
inked but not permanent
just like the poem on the page.

The page: my face.
You’re always trying to make it up
with the colors of your choice
so my features will mirror yours
as if it will make us closer.

Closer but only artificially
like visiting a friend using skype;
artificial like the taste you left on my tongue
not like the demons that wake you and break you
in the middle of the night.

And in the night, when I dream,
I search my galaxy,
float around the depths of my mind
cause I know that one day,
my page is what I will find

Storm

Storm

This time, I’m not waiting for the storm to come.
Fight or flight, right?
Well I fought and I lost
so I’m not stickin’ around
just to get pushed back down.
No, I’m turning the chip on my shoulder
into the wings on my back
and I’m sending my beat ass
up to the sky
so I can create a constellation with my anger;
construct a still of my design.
Then shot my stars to mars
and shower with a meteor
plummeting down to earth.

I’m not keeping my tongue between my teeth any longer
too much goes unsaid,
I get stuck with the taste of blood instead.
But that’s my heart you’ve been chewin’ on
like it’s some stick of gum.
Well tell me, has it lost its flavor yet?
Has anything changed
or is it still just as sweet to savor?

Fuck this shit.
I am not a vessel.
I have the spirit of a hundred lions,
and the soul of a Rumi poem.
Yeah, I am a work in progress, a rough draft;
I am incomplete.
But I still have strengths that you haven’t seen.

I am not waiting for the storm to come anymore.
I am not cleaning up after it’s done.
No, this time I am its creator
and the storm
the storm has come.

emancipated composure

I live my life on ticket lines, trying to find an intellectual state that’s worth making home. I want a destination that is more than just a dark infestation of selfish desires and a complete lack of patients. This is an ode to my emancipated composure. Even the courage I birthed wants nothing to do with me anymore. This chip on my shoulder is pushing me in the ground, burying me in my own defeat and the better part of me is sitting back and watching as the rest of me dies alone. Deservingly.
-
I have this theory that people don’t do what is going to make them happy because usually, if it makes them happy, it upsets someone they love, and no one likes to hurt someone they love. So we fake it, thinking that will help, as if acting like nothing will change can make it true. But we all know the real truth and pretending only makes it worse. It’s hard though, to walk away or admit to falling out of love. Most of the time we don’t even want to believe it, so we hold on tighter, try to pull closer and attempt to convince yourself that it’s not true and that nothing has changed. Growing up and moving on isn’t easy. They don’t call it growing pains for nothing; forward motion hurts. That is the bottom line.
Happiness is stronger than everything else, or at least I think so. It’s easier to remember everything good, to believe that you can get that back again. Maybe it’s because we just don’t want to remember anything else, I don’t know. Maybe I’m just a sentimentalist but I’d like to think that I only hold onto things and people that are worth the weight. We all have a sack of memories that we carry around. I hope I’m not holding onto a sack of shit, that everything I’ve decided to keep is the stuff that helped invent smiles and the ability to love. It would make the load lighter, don’t you think? I mean, if the shit I carry around everyday is everything that helps me through and gives me hope than I should be able to walk forever and not get tired, right?
I just have to look back and smile then turn around and face forward again because the rest of the moments that I will want to carry with me are up ahead. For now, I’m standing on the platform waiting for my train to come. And as I stand here I just want to remember the times when I was completely in love, completely sure of myself, laughing until it hurt while staying up all night in a room full of friends.
I want to live life by the ticket, not worrying about where it’s going to take me. I know there are people who I may never speak to again, there are things that can never work out and that I simply cannot fix. but I know the best thing I can do is believe, so that is just what I’m going to do.