the ground reached up to meet my dreams.
but my head stayed level
and i drew in oxgen.
today, my dreams took flight again.
carrying along my head on balloon strings,
but i have to remain seated.
reaching for proverbial gold,
with arms and legs in the vehicle at all times.
We’re all sexually frustrated, hungry, and depressed. Welcome to Tumblr.
I remember when I was young and first started dealing with depression…
If there were less editing programs for girls to make their faces “flawless”, maybe they wouldn’t feel so ugly and imperfect. If there was less pressure to get notes or likes or shares or reblogs or retweets on pictures of themselves, maybe they wouldn’t feel so alone.
We will never be.
No us, not we.
I am separate and will be me.
And you, you.
I’ve determined that I’m going to wander the deep American South this summer for at least a week. Backpacking the whole way, I want to see it all. I picked the deep south because it terrifies me. There is so much sad, lost history and I want to consume it.
I want to sweat the same tears that beaded on the brows of forgotten faces, I want to taste the salty oppression from both the humid, hot air and the utter fear of walking the roads that led everywhere but, ultimately, nowhere. I want the experience.
Hi… Hey, hello, you.
I’m recycling greetings in my head,
Repeating them until that “h” sound is more dead
Than the proverbial beaten horse.
And, what the point is, exactly,
I’m surely unsure.
Why practice mundane greetings when what I want to say is…
You are my sunshine,
And the sun is so lovely and so are you.
And I’m going out of my mind,
Thinking about what I’d like of me and you.
We can rendezvous in the stars
Or dive, hand-in-hand,
In what the Spanish call the mar.
Or, for you Americans out there, it’s the sea.
And I hope you see,
That I love the possibilities
Of what we could be.
And I mean that beyond a rhyme scheme.
I think about us together,
Like jelly and peanut butter,
But did you ever think of how strange
Peanuts and grapes
Are spread on bread
Like America spreads Miracle Whip on third world countries?
I think we could spill blood,
Not violently, no.
But we just need to stir the mud
That is the USA political tub of pork barrel legislation
Enforced by mediocre bacon strips
With badges that say POLICE.
And all I want is revolution, but I want it to start with us.
Not that we’re so confrontational,
But we can be the voice of a new generation!
And neither of us belong to a culture that’s diurnal,
So, together we can withdraw,
And wait for the moon to come out and play with us.
While we pull each and every last final straw,
And place them lightly, politely, on the camel’s back.
He may protest,
But being a fan of Jefferson, he agrees that the tree of liberty needs to be refreshed.
What a darling camel,
But I think you’re more darling by far.
I want to call you sunshine,
And I want for you to dance with me in due time,
On the dusty, red surface of Mars
Or on a dusty, dirty dance floor in Philadelphia,
sweating and laughing and tripping.
I take solace in the fact that none of us are whole,
sometimes.
Other times,
I hate that someone might feel the same way as I do.
It makes the feelings that bring the world down around me,
seem futile…
You left me in love with a certain brand of cigarettes,
and I even love orange juice now.
I’ve got our memories,
and they run deep.
Bubbly, I feel excited.
Something in the air today,
floating like baby soft petals
descending from blossoming trees.
Spring is grinning
and it has infected me
and my heart skipped a beat.
The best part of always being awake is having all the time in the world to write whatever I can snatch from the floating fish bowl, big as a galaxy, in my skull.
We were young and had stars in our eyes,
now there is a galaxy in my eyes and a nuclear explosion in my heart.
I am allowing myself
To be consumed
By my unwillingness to consume.
