The Chameleon
She makes magic with her warm colors,
and lets us play with our creativity.
Month: July 2017
Isn’t That What Friends Are For?
Decades ago, when I was in elementary school, I did have a few genuine friends. However, the so-called cool kids swiftly kicked us to the bottom of the totem pole and successfully labeled us as faggots to the entire school. When I moved to Florida in 1979, my world did improve. However, because of my grade-school trauma, it wasn’t easy to make real friends. In High School, I was acquainted with dozens of kids from every social group, but I didn’t have the phone number of one friend to rely upon if my car broke down.
Whirlpools and Windmills: I Choose the Present
I can be like a boat passing by and flowing onward or get mired in it trying to make it what it is not, and whirl around and around wandering in an endless thought process of, “If only.” I then get stuck on the rinse and repeat cycle, living reactively all the time, falling blindly into the holes of my history, until I give up altogether and get stuck on the riverbank of hopeless despair. OR, I can see. Recognize. Steer clear. Float over. Dance through. On, into the vast river of life. Mistaking the whirlpool for the river, I am doomed. And yet the only way out is to realize that the whirlpool and the river are made of the same substance, dancing. I am whole.
The Wonders of You
for my part I don’t deserve you
but yet you believed in me
before I believed in myself
and on one trembling knee
I am humbled by your love
Definitions
I think my love language is all of you it does not even exist to write it down. I do not know how I function with my guts pulled apart by life. People leave, then they come back changed, a new unsuspecting death surrounding them. They introduce their partners as Read more
1922
She said she never had boyfriends.
But she also said something about
a tulip growing in her garden of daisies –
some unplanned turns that knocked her
perfectly clean, white socks out from
right below her small feet.
Running For My Life
I couldn’t sleep anyway
There was nothing else to do with my rage and sorrow
no one believed me – everyone hid in the shadows of shame
I was a broken exile machine piled
exiled in the house I grew up in
so I ran
Antipode
Wan cheeks stare at the window
palm trees sway and break
in the tornado of passion