When I turn on the air conditioning from the heat,
It becomes too cold and you step outside
You mention how you need to defrost from the cold blast
But why change a climate when you are wanting to leave
The next time you came over, I had a fire and blankets
My favorite worn blanket, with stains and tears
Your fingers touched the fringe and you turned up your nose
You said it was too rough against your skin and much too warm
But I have nothing else to wrap around you but used quilts
My quilts that have history make you spit on them,
You said they were much too dark, much too damaged,
Much too busy in its pattern and it was an eyesore
I wondered if a down-feather, pure white blanket suited you better
I never buy them anymore because I’m allergic
And we all know I’m clumsy, so it would be coffee covered off-white
I thought about what I could do to meet up to your standards
If I changed the temperature again, would it please you this time?
But I could buy a thousand blankets and a million fans-
And you would still find it at an uncomfortable degree
So when the sun so bright it burned my eyes,
but it still fell at that perfect August sunset;
and the grass feels like the rough edges of my blanket,
but it was cool and soft between my bare feet;
I was reminded imperfections grow in the ground,
they fall from the sky, shine in the moon and bloom in the Spring
Never lose that curiosity
The curiosity that causes you to dig deeper
Refuse to settle for a simple answer,
always ask further questions
then step further and decipher it again
Because if I ever leave
Or if he were ever to return
I’d rather cry on your shoulder,
telling you why
Than stick to an easy lie
and never know what should have
AH. I have no inspiration to write lately, but I know I need to. So here’s a rant entry.
Reading the news depresses me. Even more so, our state of affairs with other countries depresses me even more. I don’t want to be associated with a country that is seen as racist, bigoted, unfair, unjust, sexist, agist, and just ugly in general.
I saw the headline to an article stating that “illegal immigration is surging due to the US’s demand for Mexico’s drugs”. Exactly, look at the latter part of that statement. WHY are we focusing on immigration when we aren’t even focusing on our drug issues? As an addict, I can say I was born an addict. I chose, in a way, to be an addict. A Hispanic drug lord didn’t force me to start using heroin; I ordered it online with no idea of the race, creed or origin of the dealer (thanks modern technology for making my vices more accessible).
So often I hear the blame shift to the Mexican border, immigrants and their home as the cause of Americas drug crisis. It’s sick, twisted and unfair. They are going by, if anything, supply and demand to make ends meet. Just like we all are, they are finding means to make money. To support their family, their house, their own drug habit- who knows. The point is: what our neighboring country brings into our states is not the issue. Because if we didn’t have drug addictions, we would stop needing to buy said drugs. We are creating our own issues and not taking the blame. EXTRA POINT: we are the ones making Big Pharma dish out pain medication like candy which then leads to street drugs usually, in those with addict genes.
Thinking about you now just brings pain
It’s as if whenever a memory you comes across my mind,
A tiny string tugs at my heart, begging it to break
over and over.
You are fine now and I am fine now but,
There will never be a day that I’m ‘fine’ with the outcome
There are tears set aside for each time I mourn
what we could have turned out to be
You are not exed out, you are not the past, nor are you history
You are a stain which will not wash away
This world makes me extremely sad sometimes. I can’t even get through a full page of the News without wanting to puke and scream.
I wish I was a safety net for the innocent.
My stomach feels somewhat unsettled. Similarly to the feeling on gets from seeing grey rain clouds from afar as you drive through the sun. You aren’t to the cold, dark place you are headed yet- but you know it’s there and you know it’s coming.
This is what anxiety feels like.
It feels like beads of sweat that sting your skin because every part of your being hurts. It hurts to breathe, hurts to move, hurts to think. And how can you begin to plan where to make the next move, or how to plan your safe route, if you can’t even untangle the map provided. Pages stick together, roads and rivers are smudged, and there are tears in the corner.
So you channel your inner “carpe diem” and use shortcuts the passenger is yelling over the ear-straining music. Life is really just a crazy road trip, with no sense of direction.
Being that way, I’m left at the infamous crossroads of life- enjoy the ride or stall the trip. I still don’t exactly know how to get past this stubborn fork in my path.
My first time noticing the Santa Ana winds
The smells of Spring seeped in through the mist
It covered the ground with a complex message
The sun has arrived, the flowers may begin to bloom
But we are still shrouded in Winter season,
and we cannot push the quarter of darkness to move faster