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Shame

I made a big life decision today. So I tore open a new notebook, promising to write again. Then I look to my shelf

A library of false, quarter written , promises. I’ve felt it, the emptiness, without having written words. Like a heavy heart, I felt an ache to pour out my emotions on a page, but the excuses came

I’m too busy, I’m working too much, I’m mentally fatigued. All of these excuses. 

Shame. It’s been a year since my last post. Will I wait another year? 

Or will I Fucking do it already. 

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6/1/14 – March of Sheep

From my other blog, awrittenyear.wordpress.com. Check it out for Daily updates 😀 (I post my favorites here!)

My fellow Sheep,
Stop, stop your trot and look.
Look at the chimneys billowing,
from the ashen covered metal boxes.

Look my brothers,
How the front of the line enters,
But never, do we see a line exit.
Where hath the witnesses gone?

Look, look, and stop;
Don’t you taste that warm metal mist?
Why do they guard our paths,
and force us on?

See? See?! A tumbleweed of wool.
Does that not frighten you?
If not death,
then the cold would be our end.

Don’t tell me to shut up.
Of course they feed us.
Of course they’ve kept us.
But now we’re plump for the feeding!

Turn, turn, my brothers,
Altogether, band up and turn.
Few cannot control the many.
All we need is but to turn.

I know they promise,
For our gold nuggets.
But look at the road we march,
’tis made of gold bricks!

Why not chip away,
And earn our keep.
But you all rather the chunk,
Spat by words behind deceitful teeth.

I waste with talk!

Come my brother,
just us now.
I just need you turn,
I’ll follow now.

I can see ahead, what you cannot.
Trust in my words, no good comes about.

Do you not feel it?
The blade on your neck?
I do brother,
just turn now.

Based on a Nightmare I once had.

2/1/14 – R.I.P.

A boy died yesterday.

I didn’t know him, but he and I shared the same breathing space at one point. We had the same friends, had the same classes, but not once have our paths crossed. People state their condolences on their imaginary walls, their contributions by etching on three letters following his name. And they’ll close their computers, believing they’ve done their part.

I didn’t say anything on my social feed. I truly didn’t know him. But what I did discover is that my thoughts were of a face I had never personally met. A man whom I’ve never heard or shared a passing glance. I just had an image, from a news article, staining my mind.

A man I never knew had much in common with me, but why can I not stop thinking about him? Is it the fragility of life? The simple thought of clarity that I could have been in his place?

No. I just simply thought of him because I think I wanted to know him. I wanted to respect him. I wanted to see if he was me.

A boy died yesterday,

and I’ll remember the boy I never met.

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A Canvas of Fire.

I had a dream where I loved setting fire to my house’s curtains. The black ashes break away, filling the air with tiny black angels; they take pride and enjoyment in filling and smothering my nostrils. Feeling pain was a pleasure.

And I would wake up. My hovering blank ceiling never fulfilled any childish fantasies of deep-space voyages, or a themed bedroom representing career aspirations.  I was a blank canvas. My father behind a newspaper, my mother being swallowed by the cooking steam; none was there to provide me the paintbrush.  And so, without contents/context/substance, I stared into the kitchen where both parents remain in the hums of the solitude house.

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The Woman with the Dark Blue Dress

Wrote this in one sitting on 7/24/11. Barely edited.

She sits alone at the bar, tracing the loop around her wine glass with her fingertips.  Her eyes survey her surroundings, looking at each individual person with large worrisome eyes. Her hand reaches for the wine glass slowly, sliding against the bar’s table as if her diamond wedding ring weighs heavy. Her eyes never stop wandering.

The large crowds of people constantly block my view from her. Everyone standing and shuffling about, awaiting for the countdown to 1980. Cheering and laughing fills the room with lively energy. Everyone is gleeful and sharing the emotion with everyone adjacent. All except this woman. This woman who’s wearing a dark blue dress. A gorgeous dress that one would wear to a special occasion. However, she isn’t celebrating, nor conversing with others. She’s all alone tonight, celebrating among herself. Why? I do not know.

She’s absolutely beautiful, I thought to myself. Too beautiful to be drinking alone. I pick up my glass of whiskey and walk toward her. Everything seems to be moving slowly. People raising their glasses into the air with large smiles and odd chants. I move through the crowd, gently pushing people aside, moving toward the woman.  I take several sips of my drink, hoping to finish it by the time I reach the bar. She isn’t smiling, but I am, for I want to bring her happiness tonight; the last night of the year. Continue reading

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