Innocence.

All bleeding stops.
The brain is self-destructive.
Cards held close, very close for me to bat and stumble at the outside.
Crashing headlong as usual.
Time to check my answers, I made an ok decision and didn't suffer the usual consequences.
The usual inferences fail me now,
Highly suspect, little winged thing.

I remember the illustration of Pandora's Box from my childhood,
Hope, it had wings.
All bleeding stops, one way or another.
The brain, once injured, is programmed to continue to destroy itself until there is nothing left to think about.
Pestilence had fangs.
Sorrow was all beak, like the Mome Raths.
Hate ran the other way, black and stringy like a clot hung from a sheet.
But only Hope flew up.
She and I, paired in our desperate fluttering go anywhere we're welcome.

Somewhere beautiful.

What.

Under a spell, or something.
Knowing more and seeing through.
Resisting the tug of a downward spiral, despite myself.
Decadence in silent comfort and a shooting star's blessing give me confidence.
What or why, either way the wind blows me where it will, and so far following along has been a journey edged with gold.
Keeping my focus
I am consumed
I am intrigued- what's coming around the corner and what precious gift will land in my lap?
To answer: happy, a friend, teacher and taught.
Because I am fascinated, attracted, because I am pulled and spellbound. A little like a crazy little moth, I want in in the worst way.

You don't really belong in your skin: I hope you can take a little warmth from mine.

Big Dipper

Six points of contact, and you've struck every one.

Wild, confused thing needing focus,

Poor child, you know that shift isn't fleeting

That ribbon leaves its searing mark, insidious red letter

A changed thing, striking blind at the whirlwind

Unaware of your limits, your strengths

And denying your weaknesses and their permanent effects.

Lace burning holes in your skull

And your resolve.

We're all trying to find the answer to the same questions.

All trying to both see the connections, and see through them...

Look up.

Look through the chaos and the glittering distractions

That faint constellation of truth, hope, love, and promise - it shines down on all of us.

Some brighter than others, but we're still all looking up at the same bright star.

Behind bars. Or, open/shut.

Hold on tight, fragile thing.
Hold it dear and close.
Keep it quiet as it may never be as much as it could.
Lucky, fortunate, thankful for this chance to grow.
This is only a warning. Not your first red flag, but maybe the biggest and, I hope, the last.

Sleep, dream of me as I dream of flying castles too great and rivers of stone and tiny, sacred things.
They tell me the truth, these small things.
They say this is all we will ever have.
That I had better pay attention, the answers are closer than I think.
And those answers matter less than I want them to.

Muse.

"Duel Nature"
I have a dual duel of my own.
Days seem brighter, nights shorter.
Doubt, a delusion, swerves outside it's lines.
I have a habit to learn.
You're right, I am always looking for the next big thing.
It's wanting what you have, I know, but I need more for now.
It's a phase, let me stumble a little please.
3-year-old tantrums or 15-year-old angst, it's not forever and no matter how much you explain and entreat, I still have to kick my heels on the ground to see whether or not it will open below me.
Someday, everyone should see the Grand Canyon with their own eyes.
You should compare Niagara Falls to the post card, because you cannot print the lace and fog, the browning leaves, the rolling thunder bass, the little details that create an experience.
I may have slipped a little on the rocks, I may be cold and wet, but I got to see it for myself.
Understanding vs. Acceptance.
Support vs. Consent
Thinking vs. Feeling
Why vs. How vs. Now...
Someday I'll be satisfied, my hunger for new things. Thank you for your love and patience.
Thank you for an intriguing opportunity.
"A wise man in the making."
I swerve outside my own lines sometimes, reject the default for no other good reason.
I know where my home is, though. I know where safe is.
I am learning to talk less and breathe more.

Dual lessons in the earth and the clouds.

Through the trees

This is my tell.
I want to write.
I want to tell the story of my lonely heart.
I want to breathe warm air
I move less, sleep more.
I ache.
Maybe I start reaching for things that fill in.
"Shove another needle down a hole"
More caffiene, endogenous opioids.
Cheap thrills, expensive mistakes.
Chipping away at my eggshell exterior.
No attention span,
Needing attention, protection.
Acute disappointment, guilt and confusion,
Razor-sharp and hair-thin.
A blue eyed woman combs my souls from the wall.
I won't give in, this time.
It's always the last time, the last one.
You never plan it, and it's always deeper
Than we imagine.
I am ineffective. Good for little more than
Navel-gazing.
And it kills me to see again.
For the thousandth time- people never change.
There's a power where I don't want it.
Such power, always more than we imagine.
If you've never been there, you cannot understand.
You will never know. And maybe, while I am learning more about myself- I am powerless to effect sustainable change.
Maybe I don't have it figured out.
Maybe it's because I like being this way.
This is my tell, she said.
Can't see the forest through the trees, so we look for the tell-tale signs: fallen logs, and a leaf or two give it away. Back here again, eh?
Well, then I have learned nothing. Nothing.

Which way out.

"Please... Please let me in."
Don't shut me out I won't let you down.
Alway here, never left. Never left you
You never left me.
Finding what's right, what's still left to say
Trying to believe in the best of intentions
But still wondering if, deep under the water
If I had something to do with it.
If it had something to do with us.
Fixing by adding, one-plus-one-plus
Keep piling on until one day we turned around and found nothing left.
Two wrongs. Trying to make it right.
Trying. That's all I can ever promise.
Taking on another project- who's collecting broken wings now?
Who's the one with the mangled menagerie?
Darting, cagey, but holding my cards out for all to see.
Jumping- was that the word?
Shall- ten extra points?
Wet- aren't we?
Deep under water, yes. There's a dim silence in the night, between the swaying trees and creaking rafters.
There's a quiet longing.
A jeweled threat.
A standing offer.
Whether right or wrong the "only thing left to do is jump..."
I'm excited about possibilities. I have faith in the right opportunity. I am keeping my head out of the drink. Treading water well.
But it's still just under my chin.
And I'm not sure I would like it any other way.