My shoes are damp and worn
Running through creeks bouncing off rocks
Streams splashing my socks
We can’t see the end,
But that’s ok,
Sun rays stroke our skin
We trip through summer days,
Scraping our knees
Kids running suburban curbs
Like the divine right of kings
This world was granted to those
Who believe that fresh cut grass
And charred barbecue trump
City towers and cement spirits
We the few, the proud, the kids
With sparks circling veins, circuits
Like heat lightning
In July’s heavy air
We will scream to the clouds
Even if no one hears it
I saw film reels of leading
bruised and cut children
On journeys up mountains
Far above the pain
I saw pictures of my family
Venturing through jungles in Brazil
Holding hands as we cut through
The vines and brush
Now I stand as the background collapses
Earth is crumbling under my toes
While the sky breaks open to black
I’m starting to wake up from the lie I have lived
My eyes are opening to a new place
Where stories are replaced by silence
The mind’s narrative dissipates in space
My body is floating in all directions
An astronaut on a voyage
I can see the sun burn red
The globe spinning without disruption
Focus transfers from fantasy
To fist, untangling my fingers
I let my hand relax
In with oxygen
Out with the rest
Stay Posi 2012
Find yourself 2013
Take a risk 2014
A socially conscious spiritual forum where our faults are embraced, our actions are discussed, and spirituality in all forms is embraced. This is where social consciousness and religion meet. We seek to embody the candle flame.
Religious figures from all socially respected faiths were lightness for the dark. They sought truth not only for themselves, but for all they could enlighten. It is not about a specific tradition. It is about the tradition that most aligns with your soul.
My soul takes on the form of a candle. I am not speaking about passion. I seek to light up the world with who I am. Now this does not mean I have a continuous flame. Currently my life is just a series of sparks and burnt wicks. However, if I can continue to seek the candle flame, I think my journey will, at the very least, be dimly lit.
I celebrated by creating a playlist full of every song I would like to listen to high. This day is monumental for stoners and the state economy. 40% of (25% state) taxes on marijuana will be taken out to support education. If money is used properly, this could be the state model for a relaxed culture that values education. Light one up for Colorado, my friends.
I firmly believe that we all have a hurdle or a set of hurdles to mentally jump before we can free fall into love.
For me, intimacy is guarded by a thick netting of anxiety.
Tonight I tasted love. For the first time in 5 months, I saw Molly. We went to our old Columbus spots. Drank coffee, braved the cold, and had some yuengling. We layed our thoughts on the table, discussing our fears and weaknesses. How we envision the world. How she loves the study of sociology and I love psychology. How we both hate white people:). All the while laughing to each other’s nerdy jokes. It honestly felt like I wasn’t alone for the first time in years. I think she is the love of my life. I don’t know, but something tells me.
Anyways, back to the hurdle. Throughout the night, no matter how good it was going. I had moments where my chest was tightening and I would escape into my head. My smile would leave and the fear would set in. So I fought and fought and told myself “this isn’t me, I won’t let it keep me from her”. It somewhat worked.
I won’t see her for another 5 months. I’m going to fight so I can be all I can be for her. I’m going to jump this hurdle and free fall into love with Molly.
I’m the girl that sits at the end of the bar
making jokes with the bartender,
leaving red lipstick on shot glasses.
I’m the girl that sits at the end of the bar
and prays you won’t talk to her.
but I’ll let you buy me a drink
and when you ask me if I have a lighter
I’ll follow you outside.
you’ll ask my name,
I’ll change the subject.
I’m not listening to a word you’ve said
as I drunkenly interrupt to tell you black is my favorite color.
you’ll ask what I do, what my passions are.
I don’t say I’m a writer
or that I cry in the car
or that my passion is eaten up by trying to get through each day.
I don’t tell you that most days I’m just proud I got out of bed.
I’ll tell you I like reading, eating oranges and rolling my own cigarettes.
I’ll kiss you up against your truck
and sit shotgun while we head downtown.
I’ll tell myself you’re too drunk to drive as I close my eyes
and pull away when you try to hold my hand.
you’ll ask for my number
and I’ll ask your girlfriend’s name.
my sister says that I should be cool,
that guys like girls that don’t bitch at them.
I’ll call you an asshole anyway.
you’ll buy me another shot
and say your relationship isn’t anything serious.
I’ll spill the contents of my purse in your car
as we make out with the windows down.
I will regret every single kiss I give you.
I won’t remember your name.
I’ll sneak off while you go buy another drink,
stop at a dive bar on the way home
because the beer is cheap
and the lights are dim.
I kiss strangers and feel nothing,
I go to bed feeling everything.
regret kisses me to sleep
and I feel everything.
My mind like a mother
Searches the cabinet
Poverty’s scrapes and bruises
Ripping off to show
A blood drenched wound