to you

What I see and what your eyes see
Could be a memory
Of what we've seen and all we've done
Of All that has and is to come
memories sometimes stain our minds
And in time and only time we find
our purpose or risk we call a future
time is life's gracious suitor
Send me dafodils and sunflowers on a random day
Making the fear and doubt of the changes drift away
To a place where both our eyes see the same memory
To a place where both minds do see and find to be nothing more than an adventure
In time we find lifes greatest contender.

When you told me to go write I didn't think my soul could keep up
but it was when I chose to overanalyze I'd realized I was running with a half full cup
i wanted so badly what I thought I should and learned in wanting so bad that having that I never would
People desire what others don't have just to prove heart enough to mainatin having it.
Like a monthly bill loving has turned into
we expect another soul to accept and overlook so much however in ourselves we find we wouldn't even accept what we present
In old souls we find minute pieces of ourselves that we love more than the pieces we wouldn't have noticed without them. and In that we find a new segment of peace with ourselves and new nakedness of soul that we choose to accept. Time don't leave yet and if you do choose to leave the clues behind of what you think i'll need to be my vitamin please leave honesty and truth on an altar for me and my past; small enough to fit in our purse and big enough to never run out of things to imagine. In that you would be the best moon one could see the best wish a star could bring.

blurred windshield of the past

On this blurred windshield of the past we find excuses for the way we are.
We justify we deny and we accept all that was and all that is; and find in our flaws a reasoning for why it and we turned out the way we did. We sing songs and read books about the future we wanted and the past that was our future. We grew wanting this fairytal of unrealism and find yet again reasonings to justify it; In that we just weren't supposed to turn out that way. We try and find daily signs that tell our hearts and piece of mind the life we have is the life we're supposed to. We beg some higher power for a sign that we're on the right path; we bend over backwards and around for approval because if we didn't what rebels we would be.But in the smallest corner of our heart is the brightest the one that says I don't give a fuck and thats our safe haven for the moments when we feel most alone; our strength in the world we created is that we are the one and only sign of approval and the one and only one who could of created such a great life for ourself to live in and such a glorious future that we will bring to ourselves. Look in the eyes of those whom you want to agree with your desire and method and know that some tiny particle of what you believe in they won't; now close your' eyes and know that in doing that you've accepted your' past is times to keep your future is yours to seek. And as always say to yourself if all were the way it weren't my heart would be unwise my soul would be unburnt.

poison Ivy

This interpretation of what I had expected and what is is poison Ivy.
Burning growing and hard to get rid of yet in this I find the strongest strength my insight and soul could of needed which in all reality was my escape. I escape daily behind these eyes to a world of consistent down pours of warm hearts; the kind you can actually feel in your chest; And at the same time feel like a cheater in the relationship of self doubt and hopefulness. What is it that you believe in every day or that is your drug that give yourself in the morning to make the day go by faster if not in a blur; the drug that makes you not remember is poision ivy of the imagination. It hurts and makes your brain itch for productivity and purpose. It gets bundled like a blanket in the midst of a nightmare; but we're too caught up in the night and sadly numb due to slumber to fix it.You wake up the next day knowing you're going to do the same thing that you did yesterday but what if you didn't. You wouldn't die; you'd feel as if there was a physical hole in your chest where the tightening when you get too stressed out builds; It's poison Ivy of you'r ability to have hope. In this unchanging and sometimes routine daily life find one thing you didn't do the day before and step over the poision ivy of you not believing that you'd have as much fun as your realistically did in being the risk taker you weren't going to be when you got in the car today and drove to all the same places you went the day prior. You're lack of belief in change is the worlds poison ivy. We all suffer and we all find a cure at different times and in different ways the meaning of this world is discovered and in that the cure for diversity is found. Green and blue the colors of the globe in pictures the colors of the green plant poison Ivy and the color of the water that makes it grow.

Daily dosage of hope

The hope of an unresponsive love of a gleam of hope yet again appears. Your' no longer angry at what you once believed in for all it did not live up to be or for wasting time and the slight chance of wishing on a dandelion doesn't seem so risky.Take in these days as if you never should have been given them;breathe that air as if you were just given lungs and let the cold shock sink down past your heart down to your toes were your step than becomes lighter because you have nothing to not believe in. And you aren't making false accusations of what the day may give you because upon wishing you surrendered to the negativity that yesterday brought. Open your lids taller than you ever have before in fear that they may get stuck for in doing this you will find peace at heart and your daily blessing will be time.

let your hope birth time.

In thos eyes I see fear of a life the bland heart he had and the imaginative soul he always wanted never could compromise on. Yet in thos enyes I see the deepest love of all the material and lonesome finds one person could ever want.In that justifying his self loathing and ultimate desire to be anything but alone. I found truth in the slience of the four walls and the abundant love he had for anything but me, I found myself and my spirit in his arrogance and oblivion he purposefully portrayed. In a way it was as if i was going to school to learn how I was and how I shouldn't be. He and I were one the same, except my books were my drug and his time was my prize. However time can only heal all if we accept time as our friend; I thout it as an enemy. I never forgave time for what it took from me, and never appreciated all it gave me in return for its' steals. yet time does allow us to love it for all that it hold; time is a huge secret and for that we anxiously always want to believe in it more. When we wish for something it is time that gives and keeps; death, love,truth, pain, and hope alive. It is time that creates memories and makes the and in time we find all is good; for it is the only hope we maintain our whole life; time creates us and time kills us.Long live the hope that time births.

cement pillars of trees

As I sit in this bittersweet slience I feel the breeze of the door welcoming new faaces,new hearts,news stories and new endings. Touch their eyes with your heart and feel the warmth of a coincidence subside in your chest; slowly expanding through your veins making a journey to the very tip of your fingers. Your fingers only; the one thing that seperates you from the person whose eyes so deeply you configure. Wonder; Deep they look, the story they tell, of loves wicked past, or a life that may not last we shall not ever stoop so low as to assume the prerequsities for this ever growing life. We breathe in the breeze again, admiring it is all our air, in good times and bad we share. We watch it carry seasons baring new emotions, baring it all as tiems get busy, and enjoying the nakedness of some hearts in the dead of winter when not a soul is peeking. That warmth of coincidence feels almost as exact the cold air wehen it hits your chest at a dead stop. A brick may be placed above your heart, holding you hostage yet again, however hope remains in the eyes of a stranger, we feel safe. For all they do and don't know about us, all they know is what our eyes do tell. This hope is as tall as the marble pillars that hold the church where you once believed nothing far from greatness could happen to you. Yet the cement which creates them is just as cold and hard as this life at times proves to be.Embrace, we embrace strangers in hope that they fill the void of what we don't know And what we know we need. Belief in the heart and sincerity of a strange soul makes this life as green as the oldest and wisest tree this earth could offer. For it has seen all, the bark like our skin, slowly gaining more scars of this life we call our own, and the leaves give us comfort in feeling they are our emotion, easily changed and easily blown away. Yet this tree can easily die, those leaves change color, ever so pale that bark becomes as we watch the life slowly drain from the highest leaf the deepest root; three feet below parallel to where you would have been if the eyes of a stranger did not sawy your aching heart. We give trust more easily than we realize in that is beauty for time is our best and worst friend it hold the secret that is where we'll end up and when we'll be parallel to the root of that tree.

pure as white days

white, pure, oxygen, simplicity,clouds,walls,smoke from a cigarette,we tend to love stuff that is white, the feeling of clean simple beautiful yet complicated white..the color of our hearts. We are always so protective of white for we fear ruining it,love is the color of our hearts,we are so scared to let something spill on it, that we imuplsively love letting it get scribbled on. Tie Dye my heart, cause I dont know what the hell hasn't been spilled on it, haha but in the midst of a storm comes a calm just before, so it's not as if we weren't warned,yet the shock, the complete thud of our hearts falling straight down to our feet,the sick feeling of yeah I may throw up or cry or maybe I'll act the exact opposite of what this person wants me to just to shut them up and hopefully this god awful feeling will go with it. But Alas there is something fun to do in times like these and its not picture them in there underwear...dream of the one time in your life when you laughed so hard your stomach hurt, your eyes watered,and the thud in your stomach wasn't your heart but you barely catching your breath from laughing so hard, All the same feelings associated with having a gray heart. This is the cure to having a gray heart, paint yours lime green. : )

Home in heart

Home is where we feel safe, home is where we can wake our mind up when we feel like it, home is where nothing matters except the nourishing of our hearts and the warmth of seeing the face of those we love. Home is where we know we can conquer anything, irrespective if we may not be as strong as we see fit, with the others under that roof we defy strength. We learn the love of life under that roof, we learn the sanity of being alone and that its good, we learn that safety is in confidence, we learn that vulnerability is one hundred percent acceptable under that roof, and that in weak and strength and tears in pain so hard we feel it in our stomach from the crying we have a crease, a visible crease in our stomach from being bent over in pain, and in our hearts actual legitiment aching we think death isnt far atleast mentally, people die mentally all the time, no one has a funeral. They check out walk through this life as if they are just an on looker watching from above. They are numb show no emotion in it or what they do. They merely are just beings, they are the people we choose to not surround ourselves by, they are the people that will never be happy with something as minut as waiting for a flower saved in the road to bloom, blooming maybe from a fresh cut stem and clean water, or for the glass half full type it is a representation of love. And love is what made it grow,made it grow in that glass on the counter in the kitchen under the roof of that house. That house, that heart under that roof called home.

pent up

There is something about writing that makes me feel as though I'm wiped clean of all my pressing emotional issues. Truth be told I'm not but the fact that I can write them all down and not know who reads or what is taken from it by anyone who reads it makes me feel like I am braver than I am. Because although half of the words I type I would never say in person, I still feel better because atleast theyre out of me. I feel strongest when I'm alone, because I can be anything I want, and anyone who wants to approach me takes the risk of meeting someone new and has no idea who I am. I love strangers, they're fun. They don't care about where you've been they care about what you're doing and what you bring to the conversation and what you can relate to with them. Sometimes strangers are just as alone, worn, happy, or eager as you. The best conversations I've ever had and the happiest feelings I get come from strangers, sometimes just watching them and making up stories about them in my head, makes it fun. To think where they came from, or what they're doing, or why are they so happy or angry. People are fascinating and they're everywhere, being bored is never an option and you can always learn something about yourself from a stranger.

heart shaped like an oak tree

angry as if their is a hole in bottom of my heart and every emotion is like a rock that just drops through like a hole in a well. I cannot describe this numb over bearing feeling of not caring about anything, except obviously I care about something cause it bothers me enough to write about it. Death is scary to think how fast one person being gone can affect others, first hand we never realize how important time can be, and In that I question my place in life right now, what I'm doing and why. Why I'm here instead of somewhere else, why I can dream about somewhere everyday and still find reason to not be there. For life is about doing what we want all in right timing, but what is time, we never know when we're going to leave this crazy world. And much as I have made it a point most of my life to be able to say at the end of the night if I die in my sleep I'd die happy, it's not always that easy. Everyday I sit with the same fear, controlling my day...what if. What if I've said it a million times but in every single disection of every action of every day I think what if I did it differently. Sounds crazy, and yes at this point I'm beginning to think so, I have spent the past 2 hours looking for a stolen bike, and a lost cat. The bike yes very important seeing as to how it was my fathers birthday present, the cat also important because the owner of that cat wonders everyday like I, what if she would have been paying more attention, and how she'd never let her cat be an outside cat had she anticipated this happening. It is the fourteenth day the cat has been missing and although they know the cat is probably gone, they still come everyday and post a different flyer...I love hope and if everyday we had the hope that those people do about their cat, everyone would feel weightless or atleast a huge burden lifted because in hope we find everything will be ok,maybe not right away or anytime soon, but the fact that eventually it will makes a slight ease of mind seem like a huge piece.

what we never had is what we wanted the most

We find ourselves in a position in our lives where we feel torn between what we are used to, pride in accepting that what we needed we didn't really need, and letting anyone or anything in simply because it is so much easier to have nothing than to worry about losing something once we get it. But honestly that feeling we get with something so new and so fresh and so endearing and genuine, I hope none of who may be reading this is as stubborn or hard headed as I for in that I almost lost what I think my soul needed to learn. It is easy to miss what we've had but much easier to miss what we were purposely avoiding. Here I am in a town/state I'd never been to till I moved here and find myself more vulnerable than ever. It is so easy to caught up or atleast it makes a good excuse for running. People are people let them and life be what it is, unchangeable is the past and it's ridiculous for me or anyone for that matter to base my present and future off of what I've had and what I've missed. Being alone is like being on a very addicting drug, easy and so fucking hard all at the same time. Although everyone says in our minds you're not alone they're absolutely right we aren't. Relativity between people between complete strangers between the unexpected and what we fear we find little shards of ourselves and in those we find strength. Fear is healthy and in my mind kind of fun,although not most enjoy being in a foreign place with very little to call their own, I find more of me in these towns and the people than I think I could find in a good shopping spree, partly cause I hate shopping but more so because life's unexpected surprises are the confidence in the end we find in our souls strength.

what we never had is what we wanted the most

time

The enlightening of a bad situation,is what truly defines mental stamina. We as humans spend our whole lives searching for what will make it complete, what will make us whole.Which in reality it is in my opinion a waste of time.Time,our life line. And only when we realize the slipping or vacancy of people do we realize how blue,bare, and bitter time can be. It can slow the pain, drag it out, or with happiness and ease of mind sometimes it speeds it up just a little too much. I sit here and realize all of this over a shot.....of espresso and watch the same people walk back by that did when i first got to the cafe. It is the daily beauties, the flowers, as always the sea breeze that we find those bare and bitter times liveable.

breezes of enlightenment wake in mourning

I have had a mild case of writers block, although there have been few moments where I have wanted to have so much to say and nothing comes out....I cant not write at this very moment. It is sad to see emotions in someone that they want you to have, it hurts my heart for those people that plan and that over analyze, that being said of course planning is a good thing, I have found true to my life that for me being a gypsy soul is always good.

In the past,present and In the sun

There's something about our past that brings up memories even at the slightest hint of a reminiscing picture or song we are always drawn to things that have happened before.So than we try and find things about our present circumstance,place we are, song we here people we have and want solely to have that memory become the present.Wrong it is to hold an expectation of any memory,because it is just that....a memory our past. Things will not be the way they were because they no longer are. Not expecting and at the same time knowing and grasping the fear that things may not be what they once were is why we as people need to learn how to not be part of the cycle.Let them go, its hard to realize why you should but when it all comes down to it...reality is a fear a lot of us have.We believe and want so badly for things to happen the way we thought they would..and people to be what they once were....but they aren't and they cant help it..they moved on so must we. Letting go the easiest and hardest thing to do.I am not thinking about what this very moment will be like when it is a memory in five minutes and when tomorrow I wake up back in my bed no longer on a vacation and no longer seeing my daily world as a task.For tasks make not wanting to look back or experience the moment at its time so easy to do.

in the midst

Running at times seems to damn difficult,dependant on the training which in my case im very well trained and somewhat automatic at. It seems we think that when shit hits the fan or all hell breaks lose the easiest most numbing thing to do, is avoid the pain or deciphering what to do with it, its so much easier to just leave it(the feelings,the questions,the answers,most of all the truth) in a box in our heart at the very back of our emotional bookshelf. I once read a book with an incredible analogy of humans with a skin eating disease,when we are born our skin our emotional well being is clear clean,not a care not a scar nor open wound from anyone or any care in the world.As we progress as we get older the disease becomes distinctively worst our bodies are covered in wounds and everyone has them,we are all untouchable cause the second any particle gets in the wound we hurt,so in the midst of loving each other the only way we could possible hurt one another is by touching each other.And when we come to the realization that indeed we let them touch us and that the only way we could of prevented it was by not letting anyone touch us. Believing in people,believing in ourselves is such a risk,but clearly we are all risk takers,and at that we are in the process of mastering being us. Deciphering a code the code of loving,of believing,and of running.