Brush Strokes

splatter soften detailed fun
it is not I who fixates upon the sun
blindly
defining truth
in a painting half done.

restricted within the frame,
the art needs stretching
beyond measured plain,
without room to expand
when weather doth change.

but art always growing
within each day
and music's constant movement
is reason the crowd remains.

from extravagance to
gallivanting
placed upon the floor
filed among the unsuitable
while the artisan explores.

in search of true engagement
a moldable canvas
and colorful paint
to find the true beauty
that fits within the frame.

tonight

this is just a sleepless rant.
with morn just a bit away, i can't hang with friends without making them stray.
i'm sorry for the burden of what it means to love me.

tonight i made the choice to call them. alone in georgetown.
no love by my side...and everyone says have faith....when
in truth he lied.

there's a lot that is said about the breaking point...and neither one of us wants to be the first to say goodbye.

the still

"I'm not sure where I am anymore" she gasped gracefully still.

Calm as the moon above, glowing it's magnificence across the way below.

Roars of laughter from the local pub often stirred their bones.

Yet tonight,

Never have I felt more alone.

Enjoy the cheerful chatter of mistakes.

Taste the dark richness of this place.

She'll poke holes in them revealing the fake...

replacing the dream with perversion.

"I wish to drink your hollow thought, that a wife be a wife and never talk."

the cavity will lay with the man...
to be swayed by a stranger's intellect
and neglect his careless hand.

All that was remembered
of being seen and understood...

all drowned
in the ether
sempre warm and still.

acronyms

bdd, cbt...
repetition.
representing
a thought within a thought.

where is the
road to salvation?

SEARCH
for the
support system...
life's hidden fruit...
juices flowing from the compound
sweetness
from the vine.
man and woman,
unity divine.


bdd...cbt.
if there's a cure
remind me to tell mother,
whom i'm thankful for.

something to UN-cover thy reflecting glass?
a captured moment
something safe
for the picture frame.


found it hard
to believe
that others lack
this ailment hidden
paralysis of the track.


and so i run
running
from myself and
thought.

fill me up
with love...
and thyself true.


obessessing.
obessession
obsess
is it ever enough
to analyze a line of age
is death to oneself.

crashing cognitive waves
white pills blur the days...
mundane madness.

anger!

depending on
a routine system...
for control
i doth lack.

abuse
tongue and cheek
yoga
running
painting
music

distractions
without the will to sleep.


disgust it's only constant
led to negative talk
from my own lips
and heard again...
repeating the thought.

rain

slept two whole days.
the migraine
making its way out of me.
vertical for awhile,
hands found their way back to the piano forte.
but today, unlike most,
i could not play my own tunes.

Chopin nocturne in G minor.
muscle memory repeating shapes...
sounds of a melody once echoed in my ear...
attempting to recreate the brilliant composer.

then back to this screen.

i wish to make it out the door, to run free.
smell the wet grass and
hear the whispers in the trees.
watch the sky turn to dark night
and let the divinity fill my spirit
and make me whole again.

I am no longer afraid of the beauty i hold.
Nor do i wish to conceal it
in hopes of relating to others.
if melancholy truth restricts a friendship
then it is a friendship i care not to own.

sober.
surrounded by intoxicated fools.
cowards connecting with liquid yeast & fruit.
red velvet blankets
warming
& tickling their souls.

if i make it out the door.
i'll find my way home.
where that is
i soon hope to know.

Thin

Girls, we obsess.
Obsess over this word, this state of being.
To be waif-like...as small as a potato chip.

Yet, what is the standard?
What is THIN?
And why does it choke us?

The reflection, the deeper you dig, the more you realize how ridiculous if
you are sensible at all.

THIN - the world's definition...emaciated.
It's beautiful to look sickly, and have your bones show.
It's UN-cool to live past 30.
The elite celebrities getting scripts from docs to keep them from eating,
to wake, and
for their eternal sleep.
SHEEP.

But why, even the smartest of us women...
why do we find ourselves analyzing the person we see in the mirror?
Why are our arms too big and thighs fat?
Why is it that we strive to be perfect?
Who are we pleasing?...not ourselves.
When achieved the level of thinness that society sets for us and beyond (i.e. anorexics...bulimics)...
...then are we truly happy?
...then are we in love with ourselves?
...then do we find ourselves as sexy?

NO.

And here again the question proposed...
...Why care about being thin?

Do the males in our lives love us more if we'd lose ten pounds?

We do it for women.
We do it for fashion.
For the destruction of dignity.
For the conformity of being.
To be able to fit in a size 1 dress that disrespects a woman's
TRUE beauty, and REAL FORM.

We are beautiful as we are.
If the dress is too small, then the dress is garbage.
If I were a seamstress I would make the most beautiful gowns,
and place all my girlfriends in front of a mirror...
pointing out the detailed brilliance of THEM.
Internal and external...
without the word
THIN
to restrict them.

Post April 15th

I decided from here on out that I would write again.
To let it out and not just onto the ivory...
...because what I say and feel needs an escape route.

I am starting to look back.
It's not a fun thing to do.

But I am strong enough now to unlock the demons that have made chains around my heart.

I will chisel away at their gooey shell exterior and free my soul.
No longer will I hurt myself.
No longer will I fear myself.
My voice, my word, my passion is enough to inspire change.
My greatest accomplishment, would to be free from my greatest enemy...
...that enemy is me.