Skirting Around Denial

Fall is the ending of things

Death and harvest

Death is a creation

A returning

Gathering

Let go

Let go

Let die

It feels sad

It feels right

It's so many things

Who am I?

Why do I...so many things

Why?

I called

three back

three forward

Along the generations

Along the branches

Shook the tree

For answers

Sitting cross legged 

Here on the ground

Roots below

Sky through the leaves

Falling

They are falling

Gold, red, and brown

Birds upon the branches

Seven songs

And Mary

Rainbows bridges 

In shade and tone

Another song 

Sing, Sing, Sing

Run along

Bend a ring

Falling down

For a devil like me

Rage

Joy

Something to do with my hands

A brush of a cheek

People to help

Answers

Is the direction clear yet?

who are you?

Binary

Black and white

The inheritance

Of dark and light

Con men 

Digging for gold

Grabbing pussy

Flags along the street

Lies, lies, lies

Are you guilty?

Did you grab a pussy?

A confident man's man is here

To sell you stake

Prophets for profits

Women to trade

All here in this beautiful beehive state

It's the culture

It's the system

It's the government

It's not us!

Better fight

Better run

But there is no more west to Manifest

No where else to run

This is Home

No one comes out clean

Shame is dirty 

Smudges

Marks on me

Marks on you

Some cast out blame

Some spiral into madness

Some are uncomfortably numb

We sat in a car

You, me, and your friend

You laughed about it 

I burned 

Forgotten,

Remembered

Like an doll on a sidewalk

Bare plastic limbs

White cotton chest

Forgotten again

Here comes the rain

Craft

Something of value

Knowledge

Share what you know

Wisdom

To know 

Not much

No, nothing at all

Scary thought

Monsters in basements

And under beds

There are monsters in my head

The tween and twine

Love, hold me

Love, hold my hand

Love, don't leave 

Hold me close

Arms tucked in tight

My Love, 

I don't know why I pick fights.

But perhaps I fight

Cause I care 

I still care to fight

Projecting

Protecting

Wanting to be wanted

pins of rejection

stand in reflection

Doubts

Always one foot out the door

More 

More

More

Nevermind, nothing

Oh, it's nothing at all

It's fine. 

I'm fine

No worries

No it's nothing at all

Perhaps when you can't improve a silence it's best to keep quiet. Find a center. I know I'm not there. Somewhere on the outside looking in.  I've been there. In the center. In myself. But I always seem to push myself off course. I don't want to be bullshit. I don't want to be objectionable without cause. I just want to feel like me. I feel so many things. But I know that feelings are just that, just feeling, just my compass, my clouds. They pass, like thoughts, like time. 

Nothing really matters. Everything is important. History and the future are mere constructs. Overthinking again. Not here again. The patterns repeat. So here I am. Following patterns. Breathing in smoke. Taping together paper. Trying to make. Trying to not run from the feelings. Singing songs. Writing words. Hoping to speak from light and not shadows. But my thoughts are always cloudy and grey. 

I want to be happy. But I think I always chose a path that makes me sad. Push away. It's all there. All the colors. For the choosing. It doesn't have to be grey scale. It's mine. Whatever it's is. But then greyscale is poignant, artistic, and most likely full of shit. Tells a story all the same. Makes a pretty picture for sure. The contrast of it.

Life is struggle. All life. We like to think we're unique in our pain. But we're not. If anything that is where we are most the same. Just little humans. Just thoughts, emotions, and actions. All in all, and we make a life. That interacts with other lives. Dancing. Singing. Moving.  To find a point seems fucking pointless though, but I guess that's just the point or something. Is there a point? Invite contradiction. What a contrary spirit, what a strange party guest. It stays too long and stares as if it has longs to say whatever a contrary spirits says. 

Well, cheers! Here's to the solitary living room dancing, the rum, the smoke, and the fun. Here's to the  thinking. And the patterns. The pattern of which I speak is an actual pattern, it's for a skirt I'm making.  Although I wax on poetically. The pattern is a sewing pattern.  It's a fucking PDF. And it's been a real pain in the ass. So I'm putting it together with tape. And I hates it. It sucks. For real. But if i do it. It will be a really cool skirt. But I don't think I'll ever do this crap again.  Probably. Anyway. I need to pee. And it's late on a Saturday night. I'm procastonating and drunk. I probably should proof read this more. But I don't think I will. PDF patterns are the worst or maybe I just don't understand them. We'll go with they are the worst for now. Subject to change. 

Well Cheers, Amen and the little woman. 

Here I go weee....