Drink and Things

You had your drink and I had my things and together it made for turmoil. I was so tired and you full of desire that there was little left to show. Some god must have known how to have thrown in the towel as we sat patiently waiting. Then life caught up and anger welled as we were fraught with tension.

There were little things to hate here and there, yet nothing could equate to the frustrating fares of this life. I only remember hating the drinks and you being done with my things until the next morning.


I just didn’t mind the aching muscles and tired temples right before the dawn. I wanted to explore new territory and to challenge myself and those around me to be a little nicer. Then extraneous variables somehow seeped into the mix and turned a yellow morning into a cloudy, yet boiling afternoon. I wanted to stand up for myself then—stand on a mountain and let my voice echo my truths and experiences in dealing with angry faces and curdled lips because their voices were acrid and their chests were a graveyard of worms because even they could not get nutrition from that rancor. Who knows? Perhaps I still will let my words crash into their ears like heavy waves against the cliffs, deafening all else.


We all want to feel the peace, but never the chaos, but without chaos we would have no evolution.

So learn a little bit about both ends of the spectrum of life and somewhere within all that you’ll learn how to take it in stride.

Thin Thread

Oh how easy it is to end…

Life is but a thread.

One action shifts existence.

The door opens into the abyss.

The flutter ceases…

To be or not to be.

Hate pours out of vessels…

Into pools enter poisons.

Hold your breath under water.

Fish swim backwards.

The dirt is like silk…

Filling up empty spaces.

Someone watches in the distance.

Bones to Pick

I have a graveyard of bones to pick with life because it’s starting to feel as if it’s giving it all to death. Life feels as if it were surrendering too easily to the death of love, death of joy, death of feeling, and death of hope. So I ask pleadingly, “Life, why are you cultivating so much death?” What if we just cultivated the soil a little more to bring forth healthier trees with full fruits for the little beings that could scamper about and grow the forest bigger? What if the path were clearer, a bit more manageable, for frail souls and bodies? What if in the place of battlefields we erected symbols immortalizing all of Life’s warmest qualities? Now I know that in life there must be room for death, but must it be this large?


Repetition leads to desensitization. It’s interesting how after some time you just don’t expect anything different and there’s only emptiness remaining. Thank goodness for evolutionary tactics. My favorite part in all of this is when all is uncovered by light.

“Man of My Life”

Do you really think that a grown woman like me needs someone like you to be “the big man of my life?” My dear, you are sorely mistaken. I was splitting the Earth to pave the road to my progression long before you spewed that smoke through your lips. I was building the pieces of myself much before you were calling yourself a man. You have no idea of the hells that I’ve traveled to get to this point. Don’t forget, this life already taught me to never trust a man.