I love my scars I love the raised white ridges randomly placed along my body reminding me of where I've been running my fingers over these imperfections private souvenirs from my past My favorite scar is the one you've left internal and invisible, etched upon my heart a mark that remains for only me jagged and deep, still tender to the touch from the years I've spent tearing out the stitches
My heart sings for small towns not for the crumbling, faded houses or the hollow eyes that inhabit them but for the spaces in between humanity the thick undergrowth of untouched hillsides the silence that surrounds you as you emerge at the street's abrupt end winding roads turning to dust as they weave through valleys and stitch the mountains together no turns in sight as you faithfully follow for miles to a singular destination in the distant country, past oceans made of tall grasses and grazing cattle where the open sky is unhindered by smog and skyscrapers and you can feel yourself shrinking beneath the infinity of distant stars or cradled by the buoyant brushstrokes of soft clouds in an endless canvas of blue swallowed up, dissolved, and made whole again all at once I've always found safety in the subtle symphony of places far away from people the silent prayer of bare feet against the warm earth sunlight filtered through gently rustling leaves the tender cadence of countless other lives swelling and saturating every cell of my being bowing down in reverence to this ancient rhythm Separation from source is the truest form of suffering caged inside the arrogant design of human kind cut off from the wind and light set aside to sit in sterile cells tangled up in selfish isolation eating ourselves alive No, I'd rather wade into the cool embrace the filthy, glistening grandeur of the river memorize the ever changing melody of chirping birds and tiny insects the healing buzz of their constant vibration lapping at the shores of my truest self reminding me of my part in the song
Silence is a special thing a commodity that cannot be boxed up in cardboard and set on shelves for sale Society only sees value in the shape of dollar signs so it's seen fit to fill that sacred void with noise The saddest thing is this absence is not even noticed by most it feels like good fortune to never be forced to face ourselves We pity the people of past generations that had to make due with their own minds to bear the boredom of still moments and shake hands with silence every day We've forgotten that space is necessary for new thoughts to be born for inspiration to strike us and give birth to beautiful things Silence has become unbearable feared above all else A sure sign that we desperately need to be submerged in it
Winter wipes away all memory of the sweetness of summer air it stops me in my tracts when my senses are infiltrated again with the intoxicating scent of soft petals The cacophony of sensation that saturates the warmer months never fails to fill my soul with reverence and awe for our magnificent mother Inspiration seeps into every pore when the world reawakens at my doorstep the miracle of resurrection witnessed once again When all hope is nearly lost the tender blades of grass whisper "just give us one more day" I fall to my knees upon it and gratefully obey
Crystalline structures of familiar chords take me on nostalgic tours through the old forgotten caverns of my heart's youthful years Fresh citrus drops that sting you with sweetness refurbishing faded memories until I feel transported Through the violent veil of time that contorts and distorts the continuous current of energy that is me What harm is there in having a snack of the sweet, supple story stitched together in my soul To allow myself to believe the fiction that I've chosen to cherish and buried deep beneath the bedrock of my being The bittersweet bite of memory never bothers me hot tears and catching breath can still feel like home Permanent pillars of my past are supports that assure me some things will never change a perfect picture of stillness inside That will not cease to create prickles beneath my ribcage or train me to build up a tolerance to the days that trail behind When I find nothing but fear before me I can always run my fingers over the smooth shape of those experiences that are mine forever to carry A natural resource for me to drink from and subconsciously stitch together into fresh dreams of you at night to fill me again with gratitude and delicate devotion
When the stress of constant struggling steals the light from my sky it's soothing to remember that despite my small share of suffering I still have so much The energy exerted to become a butterfly can be exhausting enough without the fear that form may never come at times like these it's important to consider that being a caterpillar is cool too
Corporate greed clacking claws against the protruding ribcages of starving children jostling them to see if any stray coins come tumbling out The price of preventing protections for people is cheaper than paying your fair share putting a foot on the throat of democracy was easier than we thought America's cruelty is compounded by unending attempts to indoctrinate the children into believing they'll be given a fair chance the stark contrast cuts deeper when you realize the rug as been pulled out from under you The peasants of the past were probably much happier for not being promised life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness at least they were spared the pain of feeling foolish for looking forward to a lie
Looking to others can be a source of strength to see success in someone you admire can light a fire deep inside Learning to savor the achievements of others as if they were your own is a skill that cannot be understated Compersion means celebrating the joy of those around you and what could be more beautiful than that selfless sensation? But comparison is the thief of joy self confidence seeps away in the face of constant observation of those you believe to be better The fluttering chest and flushed face I used to feel from absorbing the images of those perfect women I adored left me broken and starving What used to inspire became a reminder that I could never be enough no matter what To protect myself I turned away from the world deleted all the sources of self doubt but there is always someone to envy Someday I hope to learn how to bloom into my own best self without feeling burdened by who I'm not
Walking the line between contentment and complacency trying to find the middle ground of gratitude and grasping satisfaction and searching for more Focusing only on injustice and suffering is sure to wear you down fast but somehow it feels selfish to simply enjoy my own lucky lot in life without using my privilege to fight for more I'm far from ungrateful for how far we've come even though I know we can still do better I don't want to seem greedy asking for more than what I've got There are so many that have less than me I don't pretend to have earned my present place I take no pride in a roll of the dice but sometimes it's still hard not to feel cheated when you were promised so much more I don't take for granted clean water and fresh foods but should that mean I have to accept a 40 hour work week not providing any sense of true security? Humanity has a timeline now that only I seem to acknowledge is it frivolous to ask for dignity and mutual respect on a planet that is slowly dying under our overcrowded feet? Why fight for far off goals I truly believe we won't even have a chance to reach? My righteous indignation has long since faded away Most days I wonder whether I should just bite my tongue and be thankful that it isn't far worse I know that it could be that it will be
Freshly tilled soil is a powerful tonic the satisfaction of connection with the cool, damp earth There is healing that happens only in a garden nails caked with mud and dirty footprints left behind Seeing the fruits of your labor before you initiating an ancient miracle the mystery of cultivating life with your own hands The dusty smell that rises in the first moments of a downpour soothes the mind and soul with carnal simplicity Communion with the sun and soil a holy ritual shared across time and race getting familiar with the land that one day we will become a part of again
Protect the Innocent 