Posted in Poetry

Stop Choosing Profit Over People

Some choose violence, some are chosen by it. Victims shot down in their prime. Lives snuffed out by others rage. No coming back from a choice that wasn’t theirs. 


Some people can stand against it, fight. No matter how many walls against their back. Some fall with the first, second, or third blows. Not able to withstand the trauma. 
Some people say-but that isn’t me, I would never do that, act that way. Some people say thank God it wasn’t me…this time. All while looking at the world filled with people who aren’t, who would never, who didn’t… 


But look at how many do. And who suffers for it? Those that matter least to society’s base feeling of superiority over others. That ingrained beast you never taught different. That you taught the opposite. That you taught you were the one that mattered most. 


Women, children, people of color. Entitlement was never theirs. It’s yours when you turn a blind eye to the violence they and others face every day. When you make excuses. When you forget their deaths. Their suffering. Not because they are victims. But because they are people. 


And they are people that are gone. Because they were chosen by violence. Because they could not stand against it. Because it came for them. And it will never stop. Not until those that feel superior stand up and say I am not the only one who deserves to live without fear. 

Posted in Photography, Poetry

Tired Souls-Fading Youth

How tired you make me.
I grow weary and old when I am supposed to be young and full of dreams.
I feel as if I have lived a hundred years, so exhausted does my soul and heart bear down on me.
But I have not even truly lived yet in this one life.
There has been no grand love or even grander adventure.
There has been no freedom from this pain and heartbreak.
Only this staid life in exchange for a paycheck I have been told is what brings happiness.
And I…I have been to scared to seek more because of the whispers that scream I’ll fail.
Because of the screams from those that failed that whisper back I am not enough.
It feels as if my soul has been bleeding out for eternity, a slow and painful death.
Until I am gasping for air out loud because I cannot hold it back.
My heart beating louder with each breath, a faint ringing in my ears over and over. Each beat the same set of words of living with hopes of peace and freedom.
I cannot go on as I have any longer. I must let go of what was and instead carve out a life that is mine in every way. I must be be young even though I am old. And old even while I am young.
Posted in Poetry

Thin Veneer

You speak to me, but your words prove you are deaf to what I say, to what I feel.

You speak about me, but your words prove you don’t know me and only say what makes you feel best.

You speak as if I cannot hear, as if I do not remember all the words that you have used before.

More importantly you speak as if your actions have not spoken louder than your words.
As if you have not already proven to me that you are deaf to my pain and my hopes.
As if you had not savaged the frayed ties that are barely holding us together yet again.
As if you had not shown me who you truly are beneath the veneer you wear for others.
Even if you play at something else, I have seen what lies beneath. I will not forget. I cannot forget.
Posted in Poetry

Anatomy or Myth

My bones are brittle, as if made of spun glass. Still they hold me strong. If I occasionally shatter, who should know? I am still whole, only broken within.

My organs cringe, shrinking away from their duties. As the world tries to consume me with its spite. For the sake of its own un-faced pain, they will attempt to ruin me.
My skin grows taunt and becomes a mask for the madness and glory within. Hidden from a population of those that pretend closeness for insecurity or powers sake.
My bones, my organs, my skin….you see only my body. Only what you wish to see. What you wish to judge and take.
But what am I really?
One day you will hear my laugh from the heavens and you will know. It will send a chill down your spine. Send fear into your heart. You will wish to never hear it again….
Yet it will haunt you in your dreams. Both your nightmares and those of magic bliss, so then you will know what you tried to destroy.
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized

Beautiful Predator

Staring into the glossy surface of the water, she lets the stillness flow through her as she kneels by the shimmering lake.

 

A slow inhale and even slower exhale as her body’s tension drains. Her feet and legs molding to the earth beneath her as they conform to her body. Earth and woman made for each other.

 
The sun shines exquisitely over her, making the volcanic veins just beneath her surface shimmer and dance. Her fingers sink into the shore at her sides as her head falls back into shadow with a piercing scream.

 
Birds scatter in the trees, small animals run a little faster, but the larger animals recognize their own. A predator in soft skin, with a shrill battle cry, one who is fire itself. They slink slowly away from it even as they envy it.

 
The water ripples outward at the sound, moved beyond measure to its depths at this creature above it. It can feel the pull at the shore line, the power in her hands, the call of her voice.

 
Drops of her blood meet the water as they fall from her nose and ears, but still her cry rings out. At the scent of her blood the larger animals scatter even further.

 
Knowing she is not only capable of immense love and kindness this predator in soft skin. But that she will set fire to the earth around her, blazing her own path, salting it after she is done.

 
Burning tainted bridges without hesitation and building steel in their place from her very own spine. Her cry fades away and the sound of silence reigns as the dirt on her hands mixes with the blood on her face.

 
She walks into the blazing sun, not caring of the eyes that watch, what is the uncaring weight of few when she is the hope and joy of many?

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized

Life’s Battles

Girls start out soft and sweet they say, quiet and delicate. But what if they came into the world as they meant to go on?

Screaming at the top of their lungs. Ready for any battle that may come their way. For the battles will come. And some part of them, even at birth knows this.

Boys start out stoic and happy they say, extroverted and sturdy. But what if they came into the world as they meant to go on?

Screaming at the top of their lungs. Ready for any battle that may come their way. For the battles will come. And some part of them, even at birth knows this.

What if we all started out as we meant to go on? Not in a box or as an idea. But just as ourselves. Screaming each day at the top of our lungs.

Our hearts filled with the madness and pain of living. But also, the joyfulness and laughter of life. We cannot fully experience one without the other.

For in madness and pain we find what truly brings us joy and laughter at our darkest moments. And if not for the joy and laughter we wouldn’t know what caused the madness and pain in us.

Life is a balance that only you can find for yourself. Start out as you mean to go on. Not in a mask or a cage of others perception. But screaming at the top of your lungs, in laughter, in madness, in joyfulness and pain.

Posted in Photography, Poetry, Uncategorized

Around the Edges

You could see it, around the edges I mean. 

The never-ending grief. 

The brokenness that couldn’t be repaired.

The heartache that just never went away. 

Sometimes an odd look would cross over their face. 

 

Totally blank, but somehow it made you uncomfortable just seeing it. The glazed eyes, the tight mouth, the stress lines more pronounced. You had to wonder at how deep it went. 

 

Then like the sun from behind a cloud they were back. Maybe you only imagined it after all. Look at how happy they appeared. It puzzled you because you didn’t know what caused it. 

 

Ah! There it was at the eyes again. Just a slip, a small dip in their smile and an untrue pitch to their laugh. No, it wasn’t your imagination. Oh, but darling, if only they knew. The darkness was inside of you too.

Posted in Photography, Poetry

Silly Universes in People

Falling slowly apart so you wouldn’t notice. Then all at once, like a tsunami, it rolled over me. The cracks in my foundation grew. I fell apart at the seams.

Silly that, isn’t it? How can a person fall apart at the seams? What sews them together to begin with? Is it love? Their history? Their dreams? Their regrets?

Maybe it’s everything rolled into one brilliant, blinding universe inside someone. So that when I was done falling apart, when my foundation cracked and the tsunami rolled over me.

I fractured at the seams of whatever had deigned to hold me together this long. Rising up from my feet, rolling under my skin, until the moon, stars and black holes of my universe burst through.

Settling on my skin like dust. That I slowly inhale as I pull the seams of myself back together each time. Now it twinkles on my skin, this fine shimmer against the darkness. The cracks filled with molten lava.

Silly that, isn’t it? To think of a person as if they had a universe inside of them? One made up of love, history, dreams and regrets. That spills over every time they come apart at the seams. Spilling onto each those around them. Tying us all together, piece by piece.

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized

Illogical Logic

Does a moat surrounding the castle make it any less decimated from the attacks you launched?

Does a lock on the gate with a sleeping guard make it any more difficult for you to climb the walls?
Does a security system with a code everybody knows how to break make it any more secure than it was before?
Does a battlefield littered with remains of those who fought look any different than the inside of a broken mind?
Does the idea of mental health as a joke, tall tale, or lie make you more comfortable with the words and actions that spew forth from such an ignorant heart?
No.
No.
No.
No.
Yes…