kieraaa
It's hard to know where to start when we never really came to an end. Like unfinished scarves in your grandma's yarn basket. She just died before she made it to the fringe. And god all I wanted to was to be woven together perfectly just like our hands on Sunday mornings while you hummed a song to me, but I just couldn't give myself that. I couldn't let you see that I valued you. And god, I wish it could have been different -- but this is where we're at; separated by lifetimes, planes, and significance. I just wanted to mean something to you. After all this time, did we ever amount to any value?
On the forefront of mind is this constant contemplation of failure. Or hey, wordplay, how about flailure? What's worse than failing is flailing with an undeniable amount of grace. God, if I could just save face, but there's no hiding this enveloping kind of disgrace. I've just been peeking through my fingers waiting for it to blow over and pretend I'm fine, it's fine, really -- just waiting for this bad luck to waver. And here I am on the 17th of March -- eight months further from getting close with my dreams. I just thought it might be a good idea to throw in the towel, my shoes, socks and clothes -- here take my coat, too. I'm out. I'm done. I'm down for the count.
What is romance? Wouldn't the Europeans know -- or is it just France? With some idyllic notion of how this all goes. I'm flummoxed and drummin up a big fuss because cuss if I can't grab hold of this let alone attract a heart or even get the notice that I've been kicked out or had I leapt out into some shameful solo career. That's queer, I can't even get a holla let alone collect the dollas to support the dream I've careened away from. Driving cross-country in my little nissan with a dog in the back seat and now everything I own, son - of - a - bitch, so little stuff I couldn't fill a house with. I looked back, left the track and found myself lapped by everyone I walked next to, step to the own beat to that drum I talked about, a little stout but walkin proud or did I mean to type pout. Is it love or is it passion that we're all hoping to cash in and that's what I'm believin that yeah, maybe then I'm european.
Homeless I was almost there trekking across the great spanse that is America. No place to land and sand and dirt kicking us as we make our way through what to do but keep going and hoping that it'll just work out by some magic way or nothing will change but believe it and god willing we'll have a place to lay our heads.
This crust of earth is unjustly handled and misaligned with what's supposed to be defined as a nation of the sustainable. And we are anal, and yet not capable to realize we need to rectify our misbehaviors and learn that we are our own saviors. And of course you can buy in and keep tryin to remedy this misstep and rep what you believe on your ears chest wrist and feet -- the way you walk among the rest is best done in fluid motion of a certain cadence to retain us and restrain us from further degradation and inflation. We must make from made and begin again to escalade our passions instead of filling with frills we'll take back the land and undo this damage. And handle what has happened before us.
These days have left me twitching and switching to new vices and advice from strangers and dangers I've encountered are too many to count but this never-a-girl-scout will forge on in search of courage and endurance comes from within what is this a Nike free run commercial with songs that lack depth that touch every shallow person susceptible to shit cuz this bitch don't swallow down that bottled, nondescript prescription of problems we don't have linking to a new dissonance in the mind what's my job on this earth to yield mirth but at the cost of what and on who's dime it's an epidemic and we should all be ashamed for selling out to corporate names for fame that we can't even claim.
Attention! Attention! Watch as I wave my arms and demonstrate how to keep you from harms way. Today is the day we'll go down in flames. A moment that will be forever framed in twisted 747 metal, and body parts will float and settle on the shore of the future you'll never see. And believe me, while I direct you with smiles and winks, quelling your fears at 10,000 miles high.
It is March but what are we marching for? Prepositions end sentences while some are sentenced to injustice. And what's justice? Just something we want but don't understand because there are no rules to decide the way we stand and here I am my hand in your hand joined together by similar cause and pause when someone tells us we're wrong. Time's up, there's the gong, but I keep going. Yes, I persevere. I charge on and call on those who I know can agree and that's exactly who I need around me. I thought this was over, but the struggle has just begun. Stand up to the criticisms and don't submit to the pessimism.
Have mercy, Lord and free me from these curses I was born under and thunder through life with new cards and decks we've never seen. And I'm green and every other color not confined to hue but just human dispositions and this attrition is frightening and I'm biting not chomping at bits and chunks and myths debunked scooping out this gunk of living and giving away everything I can but dammit, nothing comes back in.
Buried only under covers,
no make-up,
I wake up, finally,
around midnight
I look hard at myself and say,
"I see you."
and I nod at myself in the mirror.
I walk around in the dark and I say,
"I feel you there."
as I move around the streetlight that spills onto the floor
peeking around suspiciously.
I walk about myself,
analyzing only the way it feels to be swept by,
unnoticed.
load more entries