silence, please.

they keep saying this is mine to make or break. they keep saying i have reign & i choose what it all means, in the end at least.

today that sounds like empty sound to slow me from drowning.
today it feels like the bullshit hurricane that's been tearing me for months.
today...
i don't want to hear it.

after all those attempts to abandon, after all those shamble episodes, i finally claimed my fate and was waiting my soul trial along with his.

i was ready for the question snare & the ugliness & the crush. i was ready to burn along with all my sisters before me so someday we wouldn't be destroyed by body to maintain our soul cage. i was ready make those eyes face what they'd done & to bury them to rot for it.

but then his brother took stage to cram my words back to dark. he says he wants to save me from them being twisted and shot through me, but he's just too weak to stand the fight.

i'm sick to my bones of being destroyed & swallowed & ignored.

i'm gathering the wind & the fire & this truth is going to burn.

bells

i said that winter's blooming. it looks like petals un-
folding.

& the summer ice ignored that teeth cold & the melt's begun its settle.

the volume was too low before, but now i hear winter's spring soundtrack.

you know the pretty bells that make soul lose gravity sense?

that's how this season's season rings to me.

maybe i can carry that with me & that march drawl won't bring me crashing back down.

i like this new soar.

loved

this year's day swallowed by nutmeg & thyme scooped my heart clean. it made my chest glow with the warmth that's been so far & few.

it made me think of that day. that day that kept me in bed for months, that day that wrote all those pages with nothing & everything to say. that day i thought i could never face, but gave me freedom beyond death.

it made smile when i realized since the dust settled may 2nd, & how the world puzzle no longer fit, that i finally could wake & be glad to see another day rise.

it made me remember that tainted warm i found that day in the courthouse; the best/worst, the loved/hated day, when my back was straighter than his.

& knowing the straight came from the man who made half me, and the woman that made half him, and the stranger who made sense of my anxious freeze, & the rest who swelled while my throat burst & truth finally stabbed his false.

they always said someday there'd be light that'd outweigh the shadow, and that thankful day made me see it's crest.

i remember her telling me about the seeds, how the pretty ones can't make it in the desert. the haggard seeds are the survivors; they don't faint with the heat blaze or the weeks where clouds drift but never shed.

i think i might be one of the ugly seeds. my water dried & my roots shrank & my leaves browned, but still i remain. & once the heaviest months were left for dead, i've begun my first winter bloom.

the rug being stolen from underfoot was this years gift. i penned on the first that 2013 was the year of the found, & it's proven true. my gritty, unwavering being outlasted the windy side & i know i'll remain.

i found it & no one can steal it. even him, with his story & this tangled web. my voice is unearthed and it won't be stifled.

that's something to be thankful for.

will you still love me

you know that haunting stuff that sticks to your bones? the kind that taps into those deep soul diggings that we forget to see?

gatsby and the way he loved her is tattooed on my brain. i remember being loved like that, when i loved like that. when it didn't make sense but that was the point.

i keep listening to those words:
"will you still love me when i've got nothing but my aching soul?"

my soul's covered in ache & it wants to be loved. i miss mornings full of groggy grins & bare skin & arms that wrap me in safe. i miss empty bottles & gooey rememberings & midnight swaggers. i miss having hands that are mine & a heart that doesn't have to ask & eyes that don't have to see.

have you ever worried you lost it? that 'it' that makes you able to dream of just those two hands & just that one heart & both those eyes, and it's enough? i worry my scars are stacking & numb is growing and no one will ever be enough. or maybe it's upside-down & my numb makes me and the stacked scars too much.

i guess it's just that human sort of thing. my crazy will pass.

holy

sunday is not a day of rest.

but it's sweetness makes my head breathe deeper & my papery chest swell bigger.

today i felt that buzzing. not the normal anxious kind, but the one happy coursing my veins. the buzzing saying i'm blessed & shadow can't touch me. at least if i don't let it.

holy. i guess that's one way to describe it.

i think it was the reggae swing & her mic-ed praise & those clove burns. or maybe it was the extra lime & the gin & the ice. or maybe it was that bike & the view & the  moon. probably some sort of everything.

i remember those words, the ones about holiness. how holy is connection, how holy is what you make it.  that phD-ed nun knew, and this weekend i did too.

i guess sundays can be a day for gratitude. maybe sundays are for seeing sacred in the small.

either way, i'm lighter for it.

gold

remember those boxing days when all i dreamed was being known by self?
those days meant writing
strength on walls &
free spirit on wind &
independence being flag flown proud.

i searched for my box i'd pack my me in-to. i'd paint my lines so when you inquired, my picture'd be drawn & characteristics listed & my being neat & concise.

but then, these ugly months shredded paper box & flames ate up list & those strong/free/independent writings were left erased & forgotten.

that's why i couldn't see my me in those beer-grinned lima photos, & i couldn't name that girl blissed on those mountain tops, & my cloudy skull couldn't remember self. the broken me couldn't face old brightness, & past smiles became foreign.

then autumn bloomed & the grief set in, & the fallen leaves felt sunken & sad. i thought they'd take old me with them.

but then i took to those aspens inked on my ribs, but to the real ones with real leaves, & i remembered that they're still beautiful after they shed all their reds & yellows & greens. they may not glow, but they still make mouth corners curl. there's less of them to love, but that almost makes it run deeper.

even though so much of me has ashed from the burn, i'm still beautiful. my box may be dead & that list disappeared, & my me less clear, but the me left is standing. and standing after the flames & the storm is more than i would have expected.

i know the girl in the photos better than i used to; she doesn't have much to hide behind. with scars red & tender, she's the rawest she's ever been. she's been touched by the flame, but that's how she became gold. or at least she's closer to it than her brighter self ever dreamed.

sink or swim

colorado's drowning, & at the beginning i thought i'd sink with it.

but then on that twenty-five speedway with the black rain gathering & the lightening shatter, i found myself soaked in sun. it felt like i might be learning to swim.

this head spin halted my run & made me seek higher ground. the weigh made my flight cancelled til further notice, but my wings will be stronger & my soar lighter for it.

it felt good that day driving head first into the storm.

this time i'm stuck in the rain, but at least i saw it coming. this time i wasn't looking over my shoulder seeing it's lurk & planning my next runway. this time i'll stand longer than the clouds and i'll shine.

flow.

last may i was fire.

those months before, those ones when i fell into my own & my aries burst free,
that's when i was pure
flame.

that's when forging path with no relent was all, & taking steps that meant safe were none. i didn't see the beauty in living easy & being soft.

this may, i broke & crumbled & my stumbles continue.

i haven't seen the end of days where first day's breath is covered in tears.
i haven't seen the end of those anxiety chills & grief stabs.
i haven't seen the end of the nightmare that night wreaks.

surviving this may was the one that showed me that being soft is strength & burning through life isn't the only wholeness means.

i lived for constant hunt on unknown ground to find new faces that would make new words in hopes of newness & birth.

now, i'm finding my known faces with their new/old words are taking away some of my dark.
the heaviness fades when i drag my self to tippy tops with some of my most beloved.
those familiar faces that my old life knew make me remember the me he struck didn't die in the flame. she'll find her way back someday.

today's the first day in four months that i said that and believed it.

me/her

i haven't quite found the words but shadow or cloud seem to fit more or less. it always lurks & follows and makes light lost & cold win & one of which is followed by storm.

the shadow or cloud, whichever you choose, threatens more lately to make permanent stay. sometimes they'd vacation but these days shadow grows long & cloud grows dark & this spirit of mine is left rained out & wilted.

they keep saying there are still people that love me, despite the ones that curse & defame. it's hard to feel through shadow & cloud, & it's making this island grow & heart droop & foot steps heavier still.

those pictures of who i used to be, they seem so far & plastic; was i really that blissed & free & windy then? maybe it's a mask, maybe shadow & cloud me finally won out. maybe my prison will outlast his & i'll never feel the sun again. maybe i'll give up & see what that would mean.

why didn't i see that he wanted to crush my me? why didn't i stop him before it was too late?

the girl in the photos, i miss her. maybe someday she'll come back.

sameness/deadness

why do we always want things to be the same?

why do i always find myself dreaming of past self & past love & past friends & past happiness? i guess now it makes sense when light's few & far & trenches are deepest & breath hasn't come easy in months. but still i wish i was old me with old friends & old life & old comfort. i wish i could disappear that night still & the days that roared and shattered my life.

it's funny; i look back to past aches and remember thinking they loomed higher than all the rest. in a lot of ways, i miss them. these days, they look marginal & miniature & pesky. funny how present aches always seem to ache harder & dig deeper & crush soul faster.

tomorrow with the return & the old faces & the night memories & the people in uniforms & their questions all seem too big for crumbling me. now to see what those faces & mouths that broke me will say with their eyes & look with their mouths. & maybe i'll run & they'll think they won & my back will shy forever.

i wish i thought i could win someday.

storm break.

how many times has this heart thought the apocalypse had fallen?

be it those twelve-year-old days of burned pictures & invisibility times, or the death of boulder family & deserter accusations, the wretched end never shut as this poor heart feared. the clouds blackened and crowded & the lightening roared & the thunderstruck & this heart got drenched with the rain's fire no doubt.

but all those feigned ends just appeared to make way for beginnings, the beginning just had to be born after storm.

those these days the panic stabs deep & breath runs short & lighter you seems dead, this neither has proved to be apocalypse. those panic daggers are losing their edge & air comes easier & brighter you is whispering that it's hiatus may someday break.

now the only thing left to do is wait til the storm breaks.

this heart may be scarred, but as it's said before, they're worn well.

they speak of her battles, both lost & won. they speak of her wisdom & days lived soft & hard. they say that even those wounds that were once oozing & festered, they too healed.

they say that this scar will be deepest, but it will mean freedom when its day to be forgotten reigns.

til then, this heart will wheel forward. til then, this heart will grace while it aches, even on the days it stops beating. this heart will be well & it's scars will be beauty. or at least she has to believe that.

lost & found

exhile times usually whisper of new treasure on the other side. remember the last world & how it crumbled & how you grew another? with fresh steps & new mind it bloomed brighter than any before. that new world meant losing as finding & changing as beginning & and that exhile times may just be great aim.

this new world now growing is this date's strangest, even after that mountain year blurred. but maybe that odd soil means growing its loudest & strongest. as those german words fall & this love bursts deep & that durango darkness withers, you know you've found magic. the hennef forest & the white seed float & the blessed inundacion de carino gives your wounds hope of less scar.

but still your chest finds its times when hope's dead & love's far & those hatred faces follow close. you still wake up wishing those were days dreamed & the night a dream mared & that the beat shadowing your bliss will be polite & take its leave & disappear. but the morning rises here as it would in colorado, the sun follows its spin, the people their plans, and night comes & the truth remains: your fate stays & his in your hands & the ache of his hex running deep in all veins.

those times when hope dies & love is gone & their hate runs your neck, that's when she's lost. that's when head plunges & truth hides & she stands the villian & he the distressed. that's when she stumbles & can't remember her right nor his wrong & those blame hints seem truth. but then the tale turns & she misses the light he stole & she grieves for other lights he's smothered & she sees his puppet stringed hands. then...well, then she just wishes she wasn't charged the key to his days barred or free. she wishes she could run and leave another to to set his story dark.

but she can sometimes remember exhile's actually meant to be sweet. sometimes she can remember that she's blooming. somtimes she can remember that she still is magic admist his burns left. she's still me & i'm still her & she's faced the war before & she came out smiling. she might get lost sometimes, but in the end, she'll be found.

hands

times that weigh show us which fingers will catch us & which would rather let us fall.

when mine reached & they found nothing but cold, they fell by my side sad & heavy. they remembered the love they'd usually met, but they had to face that sometimes love changes & it doesn't run deep. maybe that's why they seem to be missing the heat that summer's beginning.

but home never fails to brim with hands that catch. after so many backhanded receivings, my fingers are shocked by the warmth they're finding & the hands they're holding & maybe most importantly the hands holding them. home's where we can break, & my fingers have mashed & clawed with the ebbs & flows.  they too have suffered deeply.

despite the fingers i lost these last earth turns, i know they're ones to be forgotten. when my throat found its stand & it led both hands & feet to desert, they knew they were fingers flawed despite the memories they'd shared. as grief dies & wholeness grows, my ten know which ones will be strong when they fall weak. my ten know which will love them regardless of any fate that befalls them.

& it should be said that there are those hands in that old mountain home that my fingers will always remember. the few pairs that didn't forget them & loved them amidst the storm. they're thankful that they remain, while the others were shed.  & for those from a far, somehow they held me & my hands together best. they reminded us eleven that we are strong & that the burning hurts but they loved me more for it.

though the darkness ran deep, light's beginning its win. and my hands praise all those that shared their light when mine was lost.

poison

i know there are a lot of things that make you crazy, but i think this is the biggest dose of madness to date.

the one i talked about before, the one with the darkness mask, he was the initial bite. he'd hoped that i'd suffer the symptoms in silence so that his spell could go unnoticed, but instead my whispers of weeping came to a shout.

you always expect those get well cards and bedside talks of things you'll do when the pain subsides. you always hope that those that love you in the light will love you when you get lost in the dark. it's maddening deeper when they spill their own poison into your already toxic days.

i remember deciding the time before to silence my wounds & cover their scars; i knew that truth makes people hide & when you don't let them ignore your pain that they start to show fang and claw. but, there is still that silly hope that there will be those who want to tend your aches & banish you ails. that hope that those who loved you when it was easy won't shy when it gets to be hotter.

this time i chose to suck the poison out of my wounds rather than let it run its course & wreak havoc on my soul. rather than let him continue his bites & forget those he'd blackened, this time i chose to mark the one who stilled my veins & shattered my old smiles & tarnished my me.

but this time, i find my side more empty than full, more hated than loved. they keep saying i've won with all i've lost, but i still am haggard with grief. they may not have loved me but i them & those turned backs & black words have meant more blood of mine spilled. i may have found truth of who would remain when the fire burned strongest, but still i am broken by loss. though the family was a sham, it was a sham i'd clung to & dreamed of & wanted.

though the poison dissipates, so too do those i'd counted as armor and light. though i know i must shirk those too that have thus far shirked me, it still makes tears & ones that ache.

who knew that the world would prefer silence just so things could remain the same. who knew that the world would prefer the darkness mask to live & those broken by him to die. who knew that the world is really as dark as i'd always heard.

fire

it's funny how ashes & burning make trees stand taller.

you know how when you feel the lick of the flames & they swallow your heart & digest your hope & they shit on your dreams?

that's just the fire burning away the bits of you that need to die. it hurts because you're losing layers & it's still yours but it's the you that needs to be lost.

strange how that works. how we have to burn and crumble & ash to be reborn. if only the birthing process could be softer.

it's funny too how much we shine after we face the flames & embrace the ash & we find that we are better afterall. i guess that's why we should listen to the words that say to keep eyes high & heart light.

that reminds me of the story of la brujita, one that had great heart & tried to share it well. she loved to bewitch those into her magic so they could forget their darkness.

but she'd constantly be rocked by those she'd magicked & it took so long to learn how to care for a heart so great. they tore at her & broke her & stole & raped her. but the fire just had to burn hot enough so that she'd  own her dark magic & destroy the evil ones.

a great heart is something to be well guarded, not something to be revealed to those broken and scary. though the times that they broke her she threatened to die in the break, she knew that she had magic to share with the light ones that wouldn't toss her into the hearth to perish.

the one who taught scarred himself with pura vida and son-loving tattoos; they were a part of his darkness mask. he told her of dreaming and how he needed a savior and she wanted to share her light and banish his burdens.

they shared their stories & how the flame had touched them both and la brujita thought she'd come to a point where her magic was working & she'd be free to let him fly. but then his mask unfolded & he branded her with his darkness & she was left with a limp and a heart weeping.

he was her greatest lesson to date; he unvealed the secret we hide from our young...that magic can be squashed & that dark hates light & he didn't want to let it live. he armed himself with his might & used his own black magic & worked a spell that left la brujita broken. he tore apart her family & stole what life he could & left la brujita for dead.

little did he know that she'd been burned harder before, & when he asked to see her eyes after he'd blackened her magic, & she looked up and said, 'you're lucky i'm stronger now,' he should have known she meant it. he didn't know that she had a secret box where she kept her dark magic, one she'd strayed from for fear she couldn't wear black well. little did he know that she'd grown into la bruja, & she was ready to burn the fire back.

though fire vs fire still leaves her burned too, at least her ash will be mixed with some she made herself. now she can see her own magic, black and white, & know that she can be soft & hard. but now she's been shown that darkness threatens her light & she must guard hers well. there's a reason why there exist both people and places were the sun itself refuses to shine.

so in fire, she burns, but she will emerge ever greater than the previous flames allowed. & la bruja could imagine no greater victory.

this i believe

i believe in magic.

i believe that it lives in every thing in every where in every how, as long as we have the right eyes to see it. we give names strange & common, but all the breath i breathe & the love i make & the world i meet; it's magic.

magic can be hidden in forgotten-walled-paintings & found in the world captured inside. magic can be word changes with another and tapping into the conscious float above. magic can be finding a stone that makes you heal, or a shell that makes you grow, or a hand whose heart makes you whole. magic can be dreaming & waking when you intend it.

i believe that magic is within and without and permeates all. magic is what makes me rise & fall, it's what makes me move. i believe finding my magic & seeing yours is what keeps my blood shining & my lungs gleaming & my hands bewitching. magic is what made me find life & it's what makes me live it well.

i believe we all should learn our own magic. then the mundane can die to itself and our world can be a bit more fairy-dusted & werewolf-filled. i believe that makes much more sense than this nightmare reality we all find so safe.

i believe in the witchy side of life, here's to tipping more off my rocker til i take my broom to the moon. i bet there's more magic up there anyway.

home

homeless means homes of many places.

my brain has learned it before, but these months it's begun to mean something new. before, it meant that i had my place, be it heavy funked air of bluefields or the buffalo ridden suburbian oasis (e.g. daniel's park or pearl street walk) or the freedom sands of samara.

but now, now it means the arms of my durangatangs that don't mind my gypsy year & the county road two fifty night sky & turtle lake's hidden valley hugs & knowing that my family is ever growing, even though some choose to leave. my home is those who love me regardless, my home is those who love me because, my home is here, my home all those wheres.

as i become more me, and my path finds those who will landcrab as we work or those who play with rocks in peruvian jungle, i know i am home. as i discover my onions & they laugh with my layers & they crinkle with my strangeness, i know i am following where i'm meant.

thank you to those that know, and those that shelter, & those that rise with me. & those who have left, i understand them too. we had our time & perhaps it was long or maybe just short, but my love follows all that have kept my feet chasing. my heart beats with all my homes be it person or place, & she's grateful for all that's come.

my chest doesn't weigh tonight, or maybe it just weighs with all the goodness she's been gifted. this life we've created together is magic beyond print.

borders

these days i find my edges blurring, & they're soaking up the rest around me. it's sort of like bleeding & all they have to pump me full is foreign. somedays is columbian & somedays its peruvian & other days its european, but either way, it never was meant to be mine. 

as my veins empty & others fill i'm losing my me & becoming more them & all that's left is a small glass cube...& the cube's began its shrink, & it's whispering its threats to crack.

she gave me a stone and it rests on my chest and he made me a ring and it lives on my hand but still my borders fade. i want to have a shell that you can touch but not one that you can sink your hand through and twist my insides. they're meant to be mine and they're sick of being swirled.

days of the south, today they're heavy.

tired

do you ever feel like words cost too much & your soul can't get enough sleep? i'm the most exhausted i've ever been...in every way.

i think he's who triggered most of it, being so hollow. the one whose heart got tired & lost its beat. i think his spirit's still here, stuck on its coffin couch and i can hear it sag. he's stepping on my chest, and i'm weary for it. two weeks with the heaviest ending, and none tastes the same afterward. strange.

part of it too is all the running i've done. i've been scrambling from hammock to beachy sand, from old friends to new, & i think all the forging has left me short of breath. 

so, i think the time's come to rest. it's back to hammock & beachy sand, & from new friends to solitude...then eventually back to old friends. i think peru & bolivia have something hiding for me, & i can't wait to have it unravel. just like i had to shave my head, & i had to move to a town i'd never tasted & without any humans i knew, i have to pound my feet in the southern hemisphere, for the first time, with no hands near to hold. the baby steps are getting bigger, but soon they'll lead to a straight spine followed by steps that are sure.

so i guess 2013's decided; it's a year for the found.

last year was one for the lost.

i spent one of its thirds lost in the physical sense. like the stranded day on honduran-nicarguan border, too-many-cordoba-short for a place to rest our heads. the first 2012 months were full of wandering, backpack laden & never quite sure where we were on the map.

the other two thirds were lost in the brain sense. like the day i knew i didn't know anymore & i had to pick up & burn a new world; that's how i landed here. i wasn't sure who i wanted to be, but i knew it had to be someone different. durango made that possible.

those three thirds led to last night in the champagne spray & the bluegrass pound & the dancing faces. i was lost again...but the good kind. getting lost in this mountain town crew led me to the miner's tavern, getting geeked out with some of the best this year brought me. it's funny how stomping feet & mushroom grins & high life cans can make you feel whole.

i don't know how i got there, but all i know is i'm glad i was.

with all the lost, i found some of the most beautiful in these last three hundred & sixty-five. like those mexican days of beerberto &  my new taco shop family & neighbor potluck sundays. even when i feel like i'm on a southwestern island far from those who know past me, i beginning to think old me doesn't much matter. i've found love & all i could ever need in each country, town, & bar that have met my feet, regardless of the me i brought to each place.

so whose to say if 2013 will be lost or found? either way, i'll keep burning or at least the world will keep burning me. i'm really starting to believe that i've always been exactly where i was meant; now to see where the coming places will be.