Things Accumulate.

Suddenly the world feels like the days when I caught raindrops on my extended tongue. Each experience so intensely inviting, and yet spread apart like new life in every beat. I have collected my raindrops in a mason jar, folded into the creases of vibrant magazine stars. Accumulations of silly fears, sweat and tears. When will I allow myself to to unfold them?


Our apologies mean
so much less
if they are
accumulations of
our Fears.

It always surprises me
to find Desperation
in your eyes.

I refuse to uphold
the centuries of
little white lies.
We avoid the truth,
just to keep the beauty
in the moment.
To convince ourselves
that we can feel
and taste
the happiness of
our lives.

Creature.

Conversations on Street Corners

You exude the vibrations
of one who has forgotten
his Name.
Your life is an excerpt from the Train Wreck Revolution.
The clanking of Bottles
in my handmade turquoise bag.
What odd things we carry in life.
What odd things we forget.

























Your new friends call you Whore. I chuckle at how you flaunt yourself, but love you all the same. We are bound by the roads once passed in deference and immitation.


Your messages fill my Inbox
And all I can think is
Where has my evening gone?
There was a prophecy
Long before our day
and it said:
I would meet this moment
and Slowly
Fade Away.


Your sobriety is striking. We are creatures of distraction.

We are our Commas

The things
we have
in common,
separated
by commas.
Pauses in
similarities.
Like letters
written
in dark.

Magnetic Fingers

http://myp55.deviantart.com/art/More-fingers-53485297



Our hands grasp hollow air in the darkness
As we reach for something, anything.
Perhaps we will find invitations
Of magnetic fingers instead.

Ignite.

I sit to sort these thoughts
And you come to mind.
Your palpable words
Ignite thoughts unkind.
How old were we
Sitting under the sycamore tree.


Eyes are condensed pools of the soul,
Revealing. Unveiling. Unintentional.
Dilated Pupils
Calculated islands in the midst of Oceans
Of Expression.











http://browse.deviantart.com/photography/?order=9&q=soul&offset=0


You used words, like Chemistry.
We spilled toxins on our skin.

Words to Share

From Barefoot Meditations by Miguel Angel Asturia, as quoted in I, Rigoberta Menchu, An Indian Woman in Guatemala:

"Rise and demand; you are a burning flame.
You are sure to conquer there where the final horizon
Becomes a drop of blood, a drop of life,
Where you will carry the universe on your shoulders,
Where the universe will bear your hope."

Today Our Nation...

http://rarasekar.deviantart.com/art/i-am-for-obama-81996117

Touch the hearts of Children
With each resounding Beat
Shaking hands with Saviors
We forcefully refuse defeat

Golden age of Worlds
Ahead of our own feet
See our loping strides
We Gasp at how we cheat


Eve of Historical moments. We face the opportunity of a lifetime. Have faith in your leaders, but don't forget your own voice [or thoughts or fears or values].

We Hold Hands with Ourselves

http://hudizzle.deviantart.com/art/Chicago-46-59958900


We Waste volumes of
Electricity
in the walls of our
Electric City

We wrote the book
about how to
Waste
We wrote the book
about causes of
Cancer

Plastic here
Plastic there
Plastic on my window
Under landfills
Hold the groceries
Even Tupperware
We drink from the necks
of bottles
of Plastic Immortality




And we [seriously, quietly, vengefully] Wonder why we are SicK

Voice

Social issues hushed in Latin America.
Were the disappeared ever real at all?


It is said
women give [and give and give]
voice and expression
to the oppressed.

I find a hunger in my belly for
something of substance. Of value.
That tastes like it smells
and hurts like it bleeds.
For reality, for honesty, for truth.
















http://ieatstars.deviantart.com/art/Ensenada-79858801

I find you raw and antagonistically inviting. I must read and read and read. I must feel through what you felt, know what you once knew, cry what you once cried.
Live where you once Lived.
What draws us to the horrors of the world? Like an ambulance at a car crash; we can't help but look. But how much do we want to See?


Peace
Mandy

P

pacing. panting. painting pictures with perfectly pluralistic pronouns.

We all want to say it how it is.
We needn't spin tales to make us significant.
I'd like to call it natural.

The Colors became
breathtaking
with Time













http://tropicalrips.deviantart.com/art/colors-of-life-108721977



We once knew where we were going.

Walking

http://xglsmx.deviantart.com/art/Silhouetted-89201426



We're left walking
to places we once called home