Lost

An empty elevator just opened and no one walked out. I watched the air drift to the couch and I said- how are you? Intently looking at the empty seat I proceeded to smile and imagine the beautiful thoughts I could share with the air… poor hotel clerk, she gazed in a scare as she saw my smile spread to the empty chair.

perspective

Reality check
Stare into the corner of your room
And actually look
You can’t see it can you?
All the dust and disgust that’s growing as I type
It’s just sitting there like your ego-
In front of your reality
That dust starts to float to the counters and the edges of your picture frames.
Creeping through the air- and only seen when the light pushes through the windows.
It surrounds you day by day you breathe it in and out

Until one day you see a dusty figure sitting in the room right next to you.
You move closer to see if it’s real  -come to find they smell so familiar you begin to feel comfortable around them.
The figure copies your every move and listening to everything you say, becoming your shadow and growing with time.
And then you turn around, and see a monster.
He stomps around claiming his territory and you are thrown into the corner. Reality check.
Not so clean, is it?

FaKe LuXurY

The thing I hate most
An unavoidable tragedy for a gallivanter like me
Forcing myself to enter the fear filled building
And choosing to stand in long lines where employees strip me of my dignity- Just to prove I’m harmless.
Everyone marches onto the infested drones
Just to find seats and bathrooms- filthy from the round of troopers before
Side by side we sweat together
Packed in tightly till we can breathe no more.
As we begin our journey through the air
A mixture of excitement and vomit all in one place
Such a waste of money for something I despise
Dizzy spells reoccurring every two minutes
Coordinated screams from little beings coming one after another
You feel your dinner sitting at the end of your throat
But the raging pain inside your brain pushes the chicken back down.
Dear me, I hate to rant
But do we really have to fly once more?

sponge

I love to float
Grasping that moment where your apart of everyone’s conversation;
but your own.
Paying attention to everyone but yourself
And knowing that everyone secretly thanks you for the attention.
The reason why I do it over and over-
Solely bases off of this point.
Instinct-
As soon as you see another acquainting soul
Your mind is filled with necessary information ready to be poured out onto them.
You rapidly disengage all your shy attributes
Especially when there is all this commotion around.
And spill pieces of information that will only make sense to you.
Don’t get me wrong- if there was judgement this would be a different story.
I just throw my shades on, smile, and float.
Just remember…If everyone thinks that they themselves are the most special, who then is thinking of anyone else?

Sunglasses

Why are you here?
Walk into the Victorian decorated building.
Eyes puffy, blood thin,
Spent the morning slowly driving
Into the lot that’s already full.
Shades on, chin up,
Walk the walk but don’t open your mouth.
Shameful Sunday,
Last row filled with twenty of you who slip their shades into their pocket and stare at the floor disowning their Lord.

butterfly

She expholiated,
The truth crawled into her skin.
Struck a nerve that
Made her realize.
I saw it,
Her loss of innocence.
A subtle difference,
A look that gives you chills.
The ones that run down your back & arms.
Slither through the bone
That tingles when the weather gets cold.
The moment freezes,
I am always haunted with her innocent life,
Presently only a memory.

Flower Children

Dear mother of mine,
where is the connection?
All the time,
you spent on my line?
All the memories of care lost
in regression.
The time you cost,
to capture my attention.
The watching, the waiting,
the stopping, and hating.
Dear me, dear my,
dear mother of mine.
Seeking the love,
of the first glance you gave.
Watching your glove,
the potatoes you shave.
Go back and run around.
Hear the screen door slam-
shut! As my tiny feet ran
by the love that swung me around.
Dear me, dear my,
dear mother of mine.
Remember your child,
remember the time.

The Lady at the Cafe

Sitting down on a high chair facing the window, the middle aged sturdy woman sat down with a book in one hand and a coffee in the other. Taking off her coat and relaxed in the chair she opened the book to read. it was a plain winter day with barely any snow right around the holidays. Nothing was special but it caught my attention when her phone rang. She was speaking to what is sounded like was an editor and she was concerned about a title in her website. Looking at the book I tried to piece everything together. Sitting at a cafe was a writer who just for perfection decided to read her own, already edited book. She didn’t  trust the man on the phone, skeptical of the surroundings and just trying to push through to people and proving to them that this was what she wanted to tell the world and no one could stop her. Ending the conversation her sights were no longer on the book but looking out the window and towards her phone as if the wait and anticipation will help her vigorous perfect life piece together one by one.

floating ties

Tons of Ribbons, Ropes, and String.
Flying around you,
wrapping around your fingers and thighs
swirling up and down your brain.
But none of them can tie you down.
Running towards an impenetrable bliss of freedom.
The ribbons surround you-
and you- yourself build a cage.
There is no more rebellious spirit,
just a little girl dying on the floor.
Unexpected ribbons defying matter,
pushing the bars of gravity.
Each string graciously weaving inside-
the body of her deteriorating memories.
Flowing ethereally through the past.

dizzy vibes

Ten times round the same feelings come haunting,
over and over nine times you say no.
Different skeletons same scenarios eight of which you choose to play.
Seven voices whisper run wild blood rolling the dice,
landing on a six you take your chance.
To replay the fifth and make a perfect game.
The fourth glance was struck.
Strike three your out.
Its two late,
and once again you want to play.