In this particular moment of truth, I must admit -
I am not TRUE to myself.
Who is it that said, above all things - even love - give me truth....
roots.
Sweet songs of evil breath
whisper
consume me
What is My bird of passage?
Do I have one?
written words on water
that-make-me-flow
Master, sit above me
The smell of blood is
on
my
hands
self-serving
reaching
out of reach
Ink is smudged
Give me away.
give me to truth... give truth to me.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Friday, September 26, 2008
Funny Thing...
I haven't quite decided what I'm going to blog about today, but I feel my page is lonely and needs company. A new blog. A new tone - it's somewhat sad at the moment.
So I'm here thinking... yes, "here", in my mind... down the rabbit hole, where cats eat bats and bats eat cats, and refreshing drops of orange marmalade are falling on my tongue... yes, well anyway, I'm
thinking
thinking
thinking
It's all moving right by me. Everything. I depend on writing just as much as writing depends on me. It's quite the relationship. There is always give and take. Even if I ignore it and hate it, when I come back to it, it's always there waiting for me. We're always here for each other.
There is a danger in this..
You see, if I begin to love some(one) else more than I love writing, all my writing tends to be about that 'someone'. He takes over EVERYTHING... he takes AWAY everything. My quiet moments - gone. My journal is sick of having to read and take down numerous entries about Him. I am tired of only offering and being infatuated with a love that doesn't fulfill and enlighten my soul to better things.
More sadness? No. I still have my writing. It's the one thing that keeps me feeling sane. It's the one place where I'm allowed to be insane. It's in my soul now, and there's no getting rid of it.
If you keep pushing someone away, eventually they'll leave.
I'm leaving. No, wait. I left. I'm already gone.
Drugs are almost always metaphors.
Like I said before.. funny thing with drugs...
In any case,
I still have morning. I still have my writing.
l
So I'm here thinking... yes, "here", in my mind... down the rabbit hole, where cats eat bats and bats eat cats, and refreshing drops of orange marmalade are falling on my tongue... yes, well anyway, I'm
thinking
thinking
thinking
It's all moving right by me. Everything. I depend on writing just as much as writing depends on me. It's quite the relationship. There is always give and take. Even if I ignore it and hate it, when I come back to it, it's always there waiting for me. We're always here for each other.
There is a danger in this..
You see, if I begin to love some(one) else more than I love writing, all my writing tends to be about that 'someone'. He takes over EVERYTHING... he takes AWAY everything. My quiet moments - gone. My journal is sick of having to read and take down numerous entries about Him. I am tired of only offering and being infatuated with a love that doesn't fulfill and enlighten my soul to better things.
More sadness? No. I still have my writing. It's the one thing that keeps me feeling sane. It's the one place where I'm allowed to be insane. It's in my soul now, and there's no getting rid of it.
If you keep pushing someone away, eventually they'll leave.
I'm leaving. No, wait. I left. I'm already gone.
Drugs are almost always metaphors.
Like I said before.. funny thing with drugs...
In any case,
I still have morning. I still have my writing.
l
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