Beauty

I took this picture out my kitchen window and it made me feel quite happy for a minute or two because I had a feeling we were looking at the same moon. The Buddha beers belong to my mother, I don’t drink much, to be frank, I’ve never finished a drink in my life. It tastes bitter and dry to me, like a poor sense of humor or the way your lips once did on my cheeks, it tastes warm and feels almost snake-like as it travels down my spine. This picture tells a story to me and it’s up to you to interpret it. It can be beautiful or ugly and that’s what makes this moment so incredibly powerful. It’s all a matter of perspective. You’d never even guess I was doing dishes when I stopped to look at this, I thought to myself “I want to remember this,” and now I do.

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Mandela

poetry

Poetry #3

I remember
His face like it was yesterday
When he told me he loved me

I remember
The color shirt he wore
The day he asked me to be his baby

I remember
The taste of his cold, hard, lips
When he kissed me for the first time

I remember
The way my body curled back
In response to his touch

An instinct
So great
I could never stop it
I could never stop him
I could never stop
I could never
Never
Never
Stop
Stop

s t o p

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How about this?

New Beginnings

You keep telling me you want to protect me. From what? … I’m not sure. You claim you’ll climb a mountain for me, cross the ocean for me, give me the world, the stars, the moon and everything in-between. How about I continue to protect myself as I have my entire life and instead you guard my heart and make sure it doesn’t break on your watch.

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