River of Wind

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I walk down the river of wind

expecting to drown

and yet

I find myself being carried by the day

like an angel made from clouds

holding my hand

guiding me down the stream

I stop and rest

at the bed of the river

smelling flowers and weeds

beautiful and indistinguishable

and so I start to arrange them

into new forms

new combinations for the world to see

 

 

Final Thoughts

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When I think about the day my eyes close

and my last breath has made it’s way out

into the world

never to return again

I know that I’ll care nothing for all these clothes

and handbags

and lipstick

that never stood a chance to survive

in this mind

that calls out for a true life…

Bone Density

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I think for a minute

about the shapes that turn to matter

in the pit of every bone

weighing me down

becoming my prison home

“Is this the cost of living?”

I ask

as I stare down the aisles

of my supermarket mind

tearing every box

from every shelf

laughing maniacally

forgetting time…

Angel Spells

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I am the peace

the gentle wave of silent days

that linger

after winds have worn me away

~

I cry

for the tired words from tired women

who will run to their graves

staring in the mirror

~

I cast you out!

like a spell

stolen from an angel

who fell

when God suggested her shine

did not shine as bright

as all the other stars at night

~

and I thank her for her wings

without contemplating the colour

or shape

or age…

 

-or how far they will take me..

Sea of Strangers

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Today I want to talk about strangers.

We live in a world full of strangers. They walk amongst us, thinking all sorts of thoughts and guess what: You’re never going to know what goes on in another person’s head.

Just stop it, right now. Stop thinking that you’ll ever know anything outside of yourself. It’s an impossible feat. A task unworthy of your time and energy. When it really comes down to it, we are all strangers on a train to nowhere. Maybe you think they have got it all figured out. You know who I’m talking about. Them. They. Others. Not you basically.

Bullshit.

Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.

Shout it out loud if that helps. The smartest person in the room is the smartest person in the room because you gave them that title. At this current moment in time I work in a profession where everyone is clawing for that title in particular. I sit in the back of every staff meeting watching the birds pick at each other, grasping for worms.

Sometimes, when the moment drifts and their voices mute I can see right through the walls to the trees outside. The wind scrapes against the leaves and wisps by my face with an exciting aura of unpredictability. That’s when I know they have no idea.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

I’m back. I smile, and I know what really matters. Me. My thoughts. The mirror that makes me is the one I choose to look at, not the other way around.

As I continue to listen I am no longer afraid of my own voice. My mouth opens. I speak. And it really does not matter what these strangers fucking think of me.