Perfectionism is my hunter. My stalker. My internal terror. Baiting me at every step to turn back and hide my shameful face. What will they think when you show your terrible ways? How they will ridicule and laugh at you when you dare chase your dreams. They’re going to see what you’re so blind to ~ your fatal flaw. The fact that some bold part of you thinks that you are capable of vast potential, realizing great dreams, that this is your birthright. Oh my god, how you fool yourself. You must work harder, you must work as hard as you can everyday of your life to fix yourself. To fix what has always been broken. To fix the love that repels people from you. To fix what turns those you love into your greatest most daunting enemies. You must find what is ugly in you and hide it, burn it, destroy it. For this is what people see when you share your deepest creations. They don’t see the love and mystical magic you want to share. The unbridled joy of being free to be whoever you want to be. This knowledge you possess, that you are ultimately unlimited ~ this is dangerous territory. This invitation to expand exponentially will break you apart. It will kill you and everyone around you. It is a threat to your existence. It is also your very nature. It is the core of who you are. Who you are is who you must be, yet who you are will destroy everything that you love. This is the bind you feel that you are in. This is the internal consequence of how you have been loved in a mistaken fashion. This is not true, but you don’t know it yet. You only know that something is pulling you along. Some unbreakable rope has been thrown up around a star and it is tied to your heart. You cannot escape your destiny, nor would you ever choose to. Destiny ~ that which is created from your own void. An internal divine. Justice of your own making. Perfectionism is only the shadow of your great abandon. Go forth and set wild everything inside of you. If anyone laughs, you will not notice anymore. The sound of your own beating heart and the blood pulsing ecstatically through your veins will drown them out.
Guarding the dark abyss
on hands and knees
praying I don’t forget
which way I meant to go
to cover up
the fact that I’m always
to the bottom of the well
where the first dark star
Ever since I was old enough to think twice
I’ve been failing to put myself back together
Perhaps they are right
We come from the Stars
And are meant to be scattered as such
Across that ominous dark forever
How many light years
Until we can begin again
Letter to Lost Souls- (Those who have not yet given theirs away and therefore appear lost to those who have),
Tend to the dirt of misgivings. Risk the persecution of dominants and denigrates for the splendid maintenance of your compassion. Cherish your soft and changing flesh in this pixelated landscape of depravity ~ Empties offing themselves with 3bits of vacuous sleek. Trading skin for safety.
Keep your flesh alive. Tend soil with bare feet and tears. Attract shame with your dragonfly belly. When they forget their heart and reach to strike you, blow them a gentle dandelion wish. Defeat them with your stillness as their churning parts futilely shear into shrapnel. Your innocence is unbreakable.
Tend to your sparking cells. Distract them with your shimmering tears. An oceanic vessel of grief swells within you as you watch them suck light.
~ Sand grinds through delicate pink ducts,
sore and infected from forced consumption of visions obese with cruelty.
This tiny aperture of compassion
~ made to feel its delicate portal suffocate time
-now turned tyrant-
abscessed and obsessed with the pillaging of hope,
shoving its swollen harm into you.
Empty yourself of this, day by day. Tend soil with bare feet and tears.
Your compassion is their weakness. They crave the sweetness of your heart, seething with empathy. Euphoric on your essence they become deaf to the spit and split of their own atoms – whipping out a final, exasperated clinch on their pathos. Your cries blaze victorious against their blood and curdle. A city is built upon broken heart bones. Structures bound with the ash of a fire burned out.
You won’t get me. I won’t ever let you. You tempt me with this false and impossible plea to save you, but you’re committed. Heart and beat turned metal and code. At the final pinnacle of my liberation you’ve distracted me. My perseverance gives way to your warmth for I have been so cold. Words of endearment smell of methane and I am tricked by this slow and deliberate churning of human to machine. We reach hands through sharp unmovable ribs, find embrace and breathe. How could we let this happen again? What is this overwhelming obsession to annihilate human love and bury innocence so deep into a pit of shame we are assured no resurrection?
We hold a flame in the dark – our unwavering Phoenix. This is not our chosen game but it is yours and we will play. We will win. Laugh as you pull twine from parrot dolls. We spin silk. Worms – breathing, kneading soil.
I dig at my own tenderness. Cry out this shame. I see the sun through the dirt of my premature grave. I resurrect precise stalks of green and water and bloom a yellow flower. I turn my petals to summer snow and scream out a wish, as you protest ~ yourself.
There’s a tidal wave coming for you,
silently brewing drag deep underneath your cool composure.
Don’t fear, your best moments are to come:
Fluorescent bleached shock cushioned by a softness so heavy,
it compels you to the ocean floor where your moment of creation lies in a heap of eroded treasure.
Collapse into centripetal bliss
as you dive, eyes open and stinging
into a proverbial riptide of growth,
spun off by the soul’s cold war between
maintenance and transcendence.
A ravenous dragon, devouring
every remaining, fragile connection between
human and cruelty.
Devour yourself into yourself
until there is nothing left but a raw reaching for
the greatest love you have never had the courage to sustain.
no space of breath
to lift the weight of other’s burdens
its a heavyweight disaster zone, complete with catalog and invitation
sleek all sides
I suffocate under the weight.
for a pinhole i search grow to expand into nothingness vast
to you i yield bottom down into this surrender
beckon i to myself
enough and loud
go tiny space get through
faster and faster
too fast -break now Illogical Flight
There is a temptation, as my grip on this reality slips greatly, to hold on. to hold on to that which i have never believed for fear of vacancy. a netless fall from the perceived path. how long will i hold on, how long will i try to make it work in a broken field. perhaps not much longer now. i feel all ties to identities of consciousness, packed into bodies – release. i feel all connection to strain release. i feel all tension relax and all direction vanish. all i know is – there is more. there is more and i release and relax myself into that place. i release all impressions of what this would be like. i release all impressions of my past and future. i release my belief and agreements with the “laws” of this world. i recognize the expanse and here i breathe deeply, freely, open my heart to the mystery and welcome the unknown, that which i seek. 4:11