for the outer introspection and the extrovert deep inside these leaves...

Clouds parted in my drunken epiphany as I wandered down crowded streets, bottle in hand. God sat between them, harmonizing with Allah and Buddha with deep-throated "ommm"s in lotus position, mala entwined around his right hand and a candle burning brightly in his left. I stood-- amazed and perplexed by what I saw before me, curious as to why no one else stopped to witness this miracle of happenance. As their chants came to an end he lifted his head in my direction, and with closed eyes began to sway to distant thunder and reasoned theories and tattered morals through his rhymes-

The sun will rise
cast warm glows on murderous eyes
package joy with adulterous lies
set when newborn child cries

Awestruck silence. Honesty burnt my ears as he continued songs of bitter lives for the chaste and prosperity for those who raped chances. Alcoholic tears dripped down my cheeks, stinging fresh cuts from wordly whips.  Even in childhood naivety I couldn't have argued this; society remained, despite all attempts for change, flawed to universal scale.

He watched me, God did, as I wandered aimlessly through the streets, drowning in the sorrow of an empty bottle, my mouth red with the blood of saints and saviours.  I tripped on ghostly figures and on shadows of monstrous nightmares and I dared not to look up from the maze my feet followed so foolishly and frightfully.  But as I fell, lay sprawled out on dark and dirty pavement, sticky with the sweat of generations past and present, a single white petal fell upon my face.

A single white petal.

Fresh with the scent of wild roses in bloom.

it's for that little bit of everything slipped in with nothing- to all the individuals mentioned inbetween poe(t) lines...

it was- you and me on a sunday, sitting with my family,
mastering soul-play on the 23rd of may...

this is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever written…

well! thinking back to the day when my words became flesh
no longer thoughts and ideas wasted on gaseous breath
put in solid form to carry out specified action
human form designated to stand strong with a passion
raise a single sound, one solely confident voice
to tower over the commotion, the motion, and the noise
spread word of a revolution worldwide in its cause:
allow freedom of speech, communication, and pause
without restricting the concepts and the pure right to think
and allowing the cigarettes, the mary-jane, and the drink
graffiti art meets picasso, hemmingway meets my name
'cause in this possible future we're all valued the same
from the poor street thug on x to the rich lawyer uptown
we're all seeing eye-to-eye; no one looks up and none down
nature gets her respect too, reduce reuse and recycle
equal with girls and guys, both madonnas and michaels
and the celebrity fashion has been whiped right off the page,
we're all working for the same dollar: a societal wage
we'll all get what we need, no more than that and no less
cutting down on the waste, the garbage, and excess
it's not a communist dream but one of equality and peace
where there's no need to cry "please stop!", "silence!", and "cease!"
because we're all one in the same: living creature with soul (soul!)
and me? (i've got soul!) saying these words? i'm just playing my role.

i've got soul!
but not the kind that religion confines
trapped within black and white print
biblical prose and Poe lines
free to roam through the darkness
bright lights and sea tides
where the paths that I wander
are Metaphor and Poor Rhyme
dirty footprints I'll leave
on the grounds where I'll wake
visit Allah and Buddha
and that great pearly gate
my thoughts aren't set in stone
marble, concrete, or slate
but sand thrown to the wind
when morning is late
i've got soul!

goodnight, oh random counterpart, i didn't know that this end would be our brilliant start, new beginning, new lie, new time to live, to breathe, to die, a chance to begin anew with a me and a you and a passion for alternative, superlative, and twirl I did 'cause i can change this pavement with my hands, the grand sensation of honest work molding earth into birth and never challenging worth, not on a dollar sign, an IQ mind, a list of qualities but on the whispers from us jay birds and bees, princes and princesses walking barefoot in soil, no time for tribulation and toil, when every moment has its cause, its not meant for pause, but action: build the faction, change the traction of the souls, singing bowls, microphones, turn tables, guitar hums, string strums, keyboard thumbs, fathers n' mums, bro and sis gunna miss the very THIS that just IS, all the random words, nouns and verbs, city 'burbs, being nerds turned geeks, no freaks, misspell : Leaks, becomes leaker, student becomes teacher, glass turns beaker for the chemical experiment, the judgement, the "base or acid?" question, the lesson, my deep confession of my sins, my wins, the gin--mixed with cohen, liquor flowin', winds are blowin', and as we're messed up, we're dressed up, we're barbie and we're ken, but that was THEN and this is NOW, we're more than "What?" and "How?" cause we're the exclamation, celebration, turn and face 'em, their colons (semis and full) their push and pull, the silence and lull before the "a" and "bye" with the magick and the light, i'm hardly right, but i'm takin' off in flight for the period, the myriad, i'm never gunna say i did 'cause...

"Freestyle is looking stupid and having fun doing it."

(hahaha.. drunk people are so easy to impress...)

Reality’s Embrace

i awoke late one afternoon, tangled in my sheets, drowning in their entrapment like a babe in sweetened greetings. as they continued to pull at me, my breaths slowed, in spite of my struggle, and in the chaos i found comfort.

 i was split in two as i watched my body writhe in desperate and fleeting attempts to free itself, only to sit motionless, eyes frozen and gazing at the air above me, where my dreams   continued to dance.

 spilling out their stories- i remained entranced by their beauty, the vibrance and magick each movement and word held. i lost myself in moments passing, unable to step out of the cage which i had willingly locked with my own hand.

for days i sat like this, silent in my catatonia, blind to the  comings and goings of my friends and family around me;   sorrow filled the air, thick with tears, and on their faces hung the trappings of regret and misery.  while i was lost in a maze of bliss and satisfaction, they were secure in their confusion and depression.

 nights fell hourly, and as time passed without pause, i   gradually became more aware that the scenes unfolding in front of my eyes were all too familiar. only when i tore my sight from their mystery did i see the room around me was now empty, filled with only scrap remnants of tear stained cards and wilting black flowers.

i looked desperately around for my physical, but was shocked to find it missing, gone. i screamed out loud like a banshee trying feverently to gain some attention or make someone aware of my presence, and that something was wrong... only to realize i was alone.

 as the moment clarified and the situation rested on my  shoulders and sank into my heart, an eerily calm wave brushed over me and brought with it the scent of warm    rosemary and thyme.  my pulse rested, my eyes fluttered, and as Reality entered the room i sat with him, rested my head

 upon his shoulder, felt his warm hand upon my own, and lost myself once more in the songs of times past and the   choreography of yesterday.

to everyone i left behind

Late at night when Gaia cries out, the moon blisters babies breathless and widowers weep whispers (just weep), honesty congeals in oil puddles next to forgotten fables and tales and-

And here I am, writing letters to your phantom.

Dearest willow-will-a-willa-be-AND-be-willa-an-be-

Dearest Willa-Anne-Be,

Calgary nights are filled with street side poets and wandering minstrels, a troubadour’s haven. There are drum circles deep into the night when all that’s seen is music bouncing off the trees and fingers bleed from hours of patterned sound. Dreads swing in the wind and foot long knotted locks bounce off my cheek, echoing the subtle breeze of fortune.

I’m in a poetry mood tonight. It’s weird how these only come when I’m in my deepest state of introversion, so when there’s finally the break from constant communication and conversation my voice can rest and in the silence typed words can be born.

It’s frightening how often this happens. I spend days on my own, wandering the city and campus and enjoying everything I want to do, but without the participation of other characters, except perhaps for small walk-on roles.

It’s no surprise to me, I am my own worst enemy.

Because there are rarely days when I don’t think, at some point, or at all points, about the loneliness consuming frenzy of solitude I’m sporting. When I can make it through 24 hours without wanting to call you up or swing by work and go out for tea or in for tea or anywhere for anyanyanything at all. But when I get up to call? I’m stuck. I remember that every spoken word is just a delay of that fateful farewell that I’m all too sick of saying. Because even when I say “I’ll see you later” or “Talk to you soon,” I know that later and soon aren’t good enough, because you’re not a ten minute drive away. Because, when it comes down to it, some day and tomorrow never seem to come, or pass by all too quickly.

And I don’t want it to hurt this much to say I miss You, I miss Them, I miss US and everything that represents. Good and Bad. ‘Cause late at night when I’m alone in my room and I sit on the edge of my bed and hold my head, I cry, deep and sorrowful, waiting for it to be alright. Waiting for a day when I won’t have to make the choice of here or there, near or far, go or stay, and I can just have what I need. What I want.

What I want is yesterday. And I can’t have that.

And It does hurt. So saying it is something I don’t let myself do all that often. It’s why I don’t write like I should, don’t call like I said I would, don’t do everything I want because the fear of that goodbye makes me want to puke. Because saying goodbye is that thing I don’t like to do… especially when it’s you.

And there are days when getting up getting going getting anything isn’t good enough. When coffee strings me up from the sheets and drags me through the city streets and late nights mold into early mornings and my insomniac tendencies make me play solitaire until 4 am, because leaving my room just seems too hard.

And because there are days when I wake up and the moon is still full and I think for one magnificent second that the months of moaning melancholy have been but a dream within a dream. That I’ll surface and be HOME.

Except that I don’t have a home. Forgotten girl without a care in the world… if a care was a place to go when nights are cold and you’re lying alone.

But lying is always better than the truth when honesty burns.

Because lying is always better than the truth when honesty burns…

Dearest willow-will-a-willa-be-AND-be-willa-an-be-

Dearest Willa-Anne-Be,

Everything is fantastic. The sun shines for days on end and brokens never need to mend because- they aren’t possible. Because I’m happy and perfect and it’s a fantasy world that I live in.

Yours, Truly.

sweet dreamer,
this one's for you.