Hairclips A set of them on my chest drawer tossing and turning yesterday's trip Pictures of my long tresses till the large hip jump as memories of me being unfit Lost all to anaesthesia and gained the flip side Now the tresses are a memory the weight still a constant crib Fat has become unclipped I am without the tress but drowning in stress As the hairclips stare at me a memory of the decade takes place on my lips Words of self encouragement hope to do the trick I root for myself with only my support being the hope that I will clip the stress to gain my tresses again in these hairclips......
Every season harvest something and some leads to the memories that pin up as the best. Celebrate yourself and yours because when you are put to rest it is the memories of your presence that are thanked as being blessed!
The words that are not rhyming my inner whining,still hook me up like a rhythm defining . The empty space of thoughts that your company leaves shining , now words rework my pines for you become my shine. Emptiness sees the light but it will not ask forever because it is surrendered so there is nothing mine. All you have to do hold my words after it rhymes for they will be for you every time.
Under The Starry Sky A few words and vibes exchanged under the starry sky. Thank you for recognising the wounds not shown on the skin above. Words have a way to answer in depth the constantly asked Why? With love as my light a little encouragement gave me a new high under the starry sky. Coming from the past standing in the present with a possibility of future friendship timing doesn't lie. Evening warmed with the vibe that told me that I too might actually have lived life on a high under the starry sky! My way with words brought my wounds to the world and love came by as life's peace dove. Yet the evening of the starry sky likes under my wounds as a will to continue my flight.....
There is a lot of time when I have it all but the inbetween things are not mine. I stand by people I always try to be kind but happiness can't be my find. So in all the way of calling things mine I find , I am nothing but a different kind. This difference doesn't sit with me in my mind the materialistic wave hits me one more time. Nothing of my kindness means anything to be falling in line. I learn to relearn not being this kind hurt of my perceptions is my living's fine. Endless possibilities of being different surge my emotions rocked by time my truth untold only wrapped again in a bind. I have seeked happiness , not for me but for those who bumbled along me being different has been there shine! Tucked in the migraines of differences to all I appear fine. My glow is a loan of this shine such a kindness upon me is the blessings of inbetween happiness proven as not mine. Held up as kindness in the balance of truth and lie time has to spring a miracle for me to renew being kind.
Tears of treason reflect the worldy reasons . Some are waves of hurt of the past seasons. Others are the visions seen through prisons of reasons that give away tears as life becomes a longing for emotional freedom. Gifted wrapped these tears to conquer fear yet they unravel themselves through those called near and dear!
Death makes you master seperation , seperation doesn't make dying a master. Seperation is only mastered by living along with the absence that is the truest presence of separation it leaves you with spaces that plant seeds of mastery of expressing this deception!
The heart that was when life left me for the brief moments when death met me. To today that the heart is greeting life in mechanical beats. I am still alive given the fact death knows that I don't fear its greet. Living amongst this and the old ,success seems to be on it's way so I am told. A little more I can hold in the brokenness of the old my new version glows. Something can't be fixed it is an emptiness that is the root of creative flow. Every year another verse of life springs it's might to be the source of this blow. My emptiness gives love a treasure of infinity the I had as the debris of that unconditional love I hold. It isn't hot or cold it is the only way I know to live in mechanical beats of my old soul being in a modern fold.