Stream of Consciousness | 8.8

Everyone / wants the truth / until it’s / pointed at you / until the / face has to / reverse / to moments of / receiving and causing / hurt / to beliefs in / deities and / the inability to / think freely / then the / quiet comes / bitter silence / don’t wanna rewind it / can’t be reminded / can’t accept / ancestry / DNA altering / refuse to / allow embrace / of race / cause / skin tone / doesn’t coincide / go inside / figure out / why / the seeking / the aching / the taking / the breaking / the lashing out / the separating / the lack / of loyalty / dedication / restoration / reverberations / illumination / why the / stacked egos / care about / those opinions / from minions / we don’t / know all / listen / to the calls / spirit is / speaking / are you / weakening / weaning / releasing / being / full circle / behavioral / accountability / resilience / healing / revealing with / no shame / no blame / reclaim / stand still / into silence / amniotic fluid / plasma / colors of / arrays that / warm the face / the mirror / is waiting / as you / are debating / shed skin / go within

Streams Of Consciousness | 6.25.15

I am here weightless. Ear tuned to every sound. The fireworks are starting. A week filled with the explosions of war. I despise the celebration of generations who’ve been traumatized by genocide. Headphones. I’m trying to stabilize.

Can I float off away from this place yet? Work to do, but goddamn, I’m tired. Inside. Down in the caves where the seaweed waves in water. She, there, that siren; she is tired inside her liquid soul.

Outside, my body pushes. My face smiles, forced because maybe if I push at it fiercely it turns into the real real. The sounds of fans whirring above me. It’s heated evenings with the shades pulled up to catch the breezes.

Life moves on. Can’t do shit to change that except to feel it all. Face forward. Eyes on the prize, girl, eyes on the prize. Actualize. My destiny has arrived.

Which looks like….

A settled sunset in a camp chair around a beach bonfire,

A triumphant glow in the eyes of a child who has escaped the pain and healed,

A human holding accountability softly in their palms saying, “I fucked this up. I deserve to carry this, not you.”

An acceptance,
A sag of the shoulders and
A rest before the next climb.

They say don’t expect too much from people. It gives way to disappointment. I say that goes along with all the other ways a victim is left to carry the blame. No. The shame belongs solely to the asshole who throws away lives without a care. Don’t blame us.

Here is YOUR Diagnoses:

Apathy, Chronic
Envy, Unresolved
Greed, Chronic Satiation, Level OCD
Selfishness, Harmful Ideation

Everything with you motherfuckers is about money. It temporarily numbs the pain like drugs, and when that plug is pulled, what’s left but the abscess to drain endless,

Your chosen mental madness,
Your fucking sadness,
The voices in your head
Telling you that you ain’t shit;
I know all about it.
I used to be a pro
At telling myself no,
Instead of attending
To my precious soul.

Thinking about it makes my stomach sick. I’d rather live a thousand lives of loneliness than ever give in to anyone again.

I say yes to this right here; the silence; the peace; the ability to freely be me. And fuck the gurus and the controllers, the betrayals and the disloyal. It’s a journey of suffering embraced like a blanket and the shit ain’t mine this time. I get to leave it all behind.

So, I am weightless on this bed. Thinking about communion style wafers of white chocolate and laughter that fled at the sight of action and accountability, because standing on your own two feet ain’t never been a strength when you care more about Vera Wang than your own ability to become better and change.

Lying and manipulation is the crutch of your existence,

And me? I’m just weightless. I’m just feeling, dealing and healing. Because that’s what I do. Live my truth. Even if the self hating critics keep the rest of you in prison, I have escaped to never, ever return to that gate even if it grows flowers;

Unless I have a mallet
To knock down the malice.

Stream Of Consciousness 6.1|15

Where do I go on nights when my skin aches; when I feel invisible hands gently massaging my heartache. I clutch pillows, squeezing into pieces until it mimics the human form. I am so far from home. Here alone, swept into the solitary existence of the empath; seeing signs in their eyes as they die. Where do I sing when even the wind is lonely. We are elements without the ability to rewind time. I am not sad. I am contemplative. I feel each strand of my DNA. Close my eyes; watch the molecules fall and rise, morphing sunrise into moonlight. I am a droplet in a waterfall, a music note inside the siren’s call. Hold me tight. I’m feeling it all. Where do I go when I need fixing? Which seamstress has mastered my stitching? I am holding mirrors threading needles through my skin, piecing together some of the fragments again. Did you know I rise and fall a thousand times before I can retrieve my mind? Guess who’s here, my dear? Ms. Melancholy Blues. She watches you run every time the feelings coming. Over emotional roller coaster, could you love her the most with matted eyelashes, swollen from fear letting? Where do we go from here? You played the game the wrong way, sucked inside a wormhole, and now you can’t get away. I feel the watching. I hear the echoed talking. I’m observing, hovering, recovering from temporary setbacks. I am raw and splayed, repairing the frays. And who will hold me when the minutes get lonely? The dark shadows and moon tides? Or the memory of a night I didn’t have the strength to say no?

Collateral Damage Station

I’m on the outside
bright color
peacock spreading
I own my street,
a path forced discreet
by tainted company

I’m on the inside
where children weep
and we speak
this language of
naivety, conversations brief

know what it’s like
to be the weird one
so, pretty stays silent

She’ll only be assumed

Life consumes her
leather bound pages
to be passed onto sons
there are chosen ones
holding secrets governmental

they’re a temperamental two

and twisted rhymes might
leave you confused
you can absorb
if you choose too

watch the eyes
they never lie
ignore the lips
stay quiet

all ain’t what you see
what you created it to be

sweet angel baby with
magic throwing stars
hidden inside her scars

wars make me stronger
throw the boomerang farther
each time I finish
I gain an ounce of strength
and release more weight

watch their eyes
they never lie
true seekers are
skilled for the dive

gearing up there’s
’bout to be a battle
tuning instruments
test my snake rattle

watch my eyes
I refuse to lie
you created a warrior
who’s unable to die

I am on the outside
smiles and bright
on the inside
ensues a vigorous fight

and who can be the strongest
hold out the longest
when in the end
they’ll find out
this story’s just pretend

an illusionary fable
it’s time to turn the tables
dig up graves and
invade the caves

tell the world a parable
of how the evil ones fell
it’s a serious situation
at collateral damage station

but I got a cleanup crew
what about you?

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