Why do we choose to see things as emblematic
Instead of symptomatic
Of a much bigger whole?
A whole lot of pain
Could be
Would be
Should be
Why do we find fault with those suffering
Rather than offer the help
You say you would
Lend me your ears?
But hide your hearts
B’neathe callousness and anger.
I’ve thrown away my anger.
I buried it deep.
It won’t fester
It can’t mature.
For, I mature.
I’ve tossed aside the broken pieces
of my heart
The shards of glass that
pierce my organs.
Like a balloon,
I deflated.
I am now
My silence is not emblematic
My silence is symptomatic
Of a world that chastises women
Of a world that silences
Of a world that won’t hear about
the oppressions we all commit
Every day.
Every second.
On the wisp of every breath.
I am not holding myself hostage,
I do not demand a ransom.
I just ask for kindness
Gratitude in us all
In myself.
I cannot ask from you
What I, myself, will not give.
If I am silent.
I thought I was giving the world
The perfection it asked of me.
Shh, the men are speaking.
Shh, they have jobs to do.
Shh, creativity is meaningless,
Only economy and efficiency is
People can’t communicate
With how you phrase your verbs,
Its convoluted shenanigans
Send shivers through our minds.
Commit to business ethics,
Models of corruption and dreams.
Picket only your house with whiteness
And wood.
My silence is emblematic.
Of how
the system

Heaps of Love,
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From the Earth to Kiss Our Skin

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Cold air combs my hair; it turns my nose to ice,
I remember those days, filled with the warmth of vice,
There was hardly sunshine, but there was wind,
Energy that flows from the earth to kiss our skin,

The bricks crumble as they hold up our lives,
Like bees selling honey to mortgage their hives,
Glass lets us cut into the lives of those we ignore,
Instead of seeking entry through their front door,

Dishes pile as we breathe and conspire,
Entwined in our bed; this lust is dire,
Our minds drift to forests, where fairies dwell,
Green covers all life, animating this sweet dell,

Walking upon moss that sponges and frays,
Sipping the sweet smell of wild floral bouquets,
Stopping to drink the water that drips and drops,
Hushing as we see the lone bunny hip and hop,

Hand in hand, we are borne into movement,
Solace warms our soul in this anagogic ascent,
We rise above the earth’s vibrating energies,
Forward and returned like the tides of the bluest seas,

We make our own warmth as we urge, together, on,
Awaiting the sweet, milky skies that precede dawn,
If our hands are cold, our spirits are tenderly anchored,
Swimming for an eternity, finally reaching the shore,

Rising and falling, desire dances upon your lips,
My spirit escapes me—-

—-spiritless, in a moment, eclipsed,

Life grows in the moss, as love flows from the sky,
Silence falls as mother earth hums a last, sweet sigh.



Turn out the light and kiss me.

Turn out the light and kiss me.

 Every day the sun hammers down, driving its force upon the earth.  We may not see it, we may fail to see it, we may not appreciate it, or we may love its tremendous force.  The light that gives us life also gives us colour, variation, processes, action, death, and stagnation.  Sometimes things are obfuscated by such light and undying determination of belief; sometimes we are are so certain of a truth, and its bearing upon our lives, that we submit to it entirely.   So there we are, constantly dividing our femininity by our bust size and saddling larger horses to take us on even greater adventures.  Our graceless hands reach towards the sky in an everlasting effort to unite female earth-spirits and maleness of the sun.  We are left to constantly and vigorously remind ourselves that this just gives us comfort and actually holds no meaning at all.  That’s the curious thing about the taste of nothingness, we search eternally for a new sensation and pleasure.

You don’t really believe that do you?  No, because your undying fire has been kindled by the tiny soul perched on your shoulder who tells you that there is beauty in everything.  Beauty is finding someone who speaks your language, one who you can understand without having to explain or demanding explanation.  IT IS NOT SUBLIME BEAUTY to expect silence to fill the void; it is the beauty of having explored the world alone, finding one’s self, and continually challenging one’s beliefs.  To have had ample time to think, to know, to explore, to exist, to challenge, and to demand these similar and perpetual experiences of self-discovery of your peers is not uncalled for, it is a right of life.

Silence is exciting, it is tantalizing, but silence means that other senses must be active: sight, touch, scent, vertigo….  You cannot leave someone in glaring light and expect silence to be enough; there must be variation and nuance.  Leaving someone in full possession of a truth blinds them further.   They will challenge this truth, test it, scratch beneath the surface, and roll around in the evidence they’ve found.  expect this.  Silence is not loneliness either.  Silence is not abandonment.  Silence is beauty.   There are moments where silence overpowers your soul, flooding your body with a still-racing-passion that ignites your soul and chills your spine.  It makes your head spin as you stand powerfully against the wind that threatens to unground you.

Fear not.  I fly upon the gusts of winds, to soar to greater heights and swim amongst fluffy marshmallowy clouds.  I will caress the cold air and delight in the sun’s heat.  I will sing with wild abandon, as I slowly and lazily graze the tops of still and fast-moving waters.  I will allow my heart to swell outside of my body and encompass the earth.  I will deny the earth, I will be the soil, I will be the fire.  It is all possible, so much more possible than you might think.

Just close your eyes.  Then we’ve turned the light out and have learned to live again.