Oct 7, 2012


* i wrote this a good 10 years ago - now i get to type it*

The grey smoke rose over my head, like a dark cloud
fogging my view.

The little white tube rolling between my fingers, like a living

Burning & crackling to fulfill  my need.

Oct 3, 2012

It's not easy to B

I can't remember if i read this somewhere, or i saw it in a movie, but it has never made more sense..

'it's not easy making friends and the older you get the harder it becomes'

Not for the fact that people become more judgemental, nor the fact that they become harder to please and embrace, but for the simple fact that we know what we want and what we don't want.
As is the way with anything you like or dislike, you simply choose to expose yourself to something or disregard and move on.

Aug 13, 2012

That Particular Time

'Yet another reflectional post, adapted to Alanis Morissett - That Particular Time , this may or not be my story. Give it a read & let me know.

Like everyone with a sound mind, I have my very own, well devised foundations, they were rocked when you entered. So bluntly, so inexcusably, so breathtakingly strong.

As a firm believer of trial & error – learn from your mistakes; my tried and true way to deal was to vanish. I simply walked away; I didn't need to or want to, consciously cause myself hurt or pain.

Aug 12, 2012

Dear Love

Dear love
You have woken in me so many things I thought dead

Dear love
You have breathed life back in to the soul I thought buried

Dear love
You have healed many wounds in the flesh I thought scarred

Jun 4, 2012

Late Night Rambles 1

*This had no tittle, had no date..but I can safely say it was early 2000's*

The sun is shinning..yes..But i'm shrugging an inner coldness, that can only stress the winter of my own discontent ..It makes my skin flaky & goosebumps invade my body..

A feeling of scary loneliness..i'm not alone but that never meant i'm not lonely..Sitting here, i have lots to say & i know few who'd listen, & i understand why they'd want me to talk..The question is, would i?

Apr 17, 2012

A Working list of Things I Will Never Be Told

So i literally 'Stumbled-upon' this poem "A Working List of Things I Will Never Tell You" by Jon Sands & i was compelled to write a reply, read his poem first so you have a better grasp of why/what my response had to come alive.

“A Working list of Things I Will Never Be Told”

Feb 17, 2012

That One Person

If you’re lucky enough to have met that one person that raises the bar for you, be wise enough to hang on to them with your teeth, they're a keeper.

Now I say lucky because sometimes the nature of said relationship makes you wonder about life, yourself, your future, where you see yourself. It can have the ability to make you want to be the best person you can, in EVERYTHING you do & at every moment. Which is ALWAYS a good thing.

And that person is a keeper for the mere simple reason that they effortlessly push you to become a better person. They change you not because they want to, but because you want it bad enough that even once (& if) it’s all over you will never regret it nor will you feel foreign to yourself. You will just be a refined version of you.

This person may come as frequent as seasons, as often as a blue moon, on a bus you fail to miss, in the corner of a bookshop, in the most boring lecture ever, while filling out an application, it can even be the person in front of you in a cue.

Point is, it is unexpected, it’s not always noticeable, & it's unapologetic. Be open & accepting, allow yourself to love & be loved, to give & receive. You owe to yourself, you owe to the person.

There is no reason to block things out, there's no reason to stop a natural flow, & whether your stream ends up merging into the river of life, or if it goes back in to the ground it will still be full of valuable resources it's a win/win situation my friend.

Feb 2, 2012

Theater of the Absurd

To err is human but how long does the error go on before it becomes inhumane?
How many lives must fade, how many mothers must shed their tears in vain
We cry our martyrs, we cry our heroes, but do we actually feel pain

My mother tells me stories, my father tells me tales of a time much better
My grandmother swears of a time when blood ran thicker
A time when light from the candles of hope never did flicker

I’m ashamed to live now, I’m frustrated beyond reason
I can’t call it anything less than treason
Tainted are the hands of souls sold to the demon

You have failed us, you have gravely erred
To err is human or so I’ve heard
But you dear SIRS are mere puppets in this theater of the absurd