Category Archives: Stream Of Conciousness

Moments.

Inspiration comes in all shapes and sizes, in the form of friends and lovers, people in funny looking disguises,. Music and poets, words and shapes in the moment your heart is open and the moment your heart breaks. For inspiration to come we just need to open ourselves to it reception allow your souls to be fed and the eyes to be given new vision, the inception of thought comes from the hope of new meaning and the growth of new life, inspired by hearts that give away birth rights and lives that never knew what it meant to say “that is mine” for we are all people with open hands palms reached up to the sky for we give and we give, up until the moment that we die, to keep and to keep is to never live life. For in holding our hands tight, we grip the edges of life without ever really letting go, only holding on and sinning, we only hope that we are the ones winning. So we hold on. And we grab tight, till our veins in our arms begin to glow white and the red of our blood is turned to cold snow over night, we can’t hope to feel the suns rays when we live fearing today, holding on for tomorrow, it can only bring pain and increase sorrow. For that is not living. Breawthe in for the moment, its right in front of you, and it never passes you by, if you can just see that it’s livingm breathing its giving us life, it’s all we have and we never have to grab it, just breathe it in and even if you wanted you never really could have it for its not ours to posses, just something to confess and to acknowledge it as best moments of living. When we never have to grab, push, pull or have, just be, exist and let it come to you, then you will find that moment by moment you can find that we are true.

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breathe in the new year.

Breathe in the new year. It tells stories of the past and turns them into leaves left behind a trail
Waiting for the next person to encounter the hues of color they reflect.
Dancing along with the movement in a sing song rhythm made of spiced air and frosted sheathes of wind.
Our lungs expand for hope to be taken in, and our hearts for people’s smiles to contract.
And in our own secret layers we see the horizon leak into the cave and shadows retreat.
We have gone through a part of the journey, not to be unscathed but to be the rest
That is never promised to the weary. Breathe in the new year…….

Breathe in the new year with reminders of the trails behind us
As we reach into the past to find the future .We’ve always held in our hands
Everything we have needed to be.  Let the trails we blaze be reflections of all the
Past visions we have seen.   Breathe in the new year.

growing wings.

I have always had dreams of flying.
So I’m finally learning what it feels like to grow into these wings,
but I haven’t yet mastered the ability to use em.
And Since there aren’t enough fingers on these hands
to count the amount of times I’ve foolishly tried.
In the mean time I’ll just say that the process of waiting feels a lot like becoming a butterfly
Anxiety building its own layer of skin under weaving its own cocoon.
So perhaps it means, that for me? it might still be too soon.
While colors still find their partners to dance upon these wings,
They sing the tune to help provide the reminder that I’m still a beautiful creature too.

So while I haven’t yet learned how to fly
these wings haven’t missed a step in teaching me about time.
So in patience I’m resigned to settle for signs
that might reveal pieces of my broken shell
or past fragments scattered as ashes of my former self
that can slowly tell stories to narrate their way into the books of my shelf.
stories that if I could I would learn the perfect way to tell,
It hurts to know I’m not there yet so for now, i’ll just learn how to  read em’,
much like scars grown over our broken skin
are tributes to the memories of past pains still bleeding.

I have spent so much time attempting to see the truest parts of me.
but ironically the process evolves into finding ways for me
to learn how to allow myself to be seen.
Breaking down barriers that have stood strong since I was 9,
When I first told teachers, parents, pastors and friends that I was fine,
but I lied,
and I should have told them my wings were shattered into pieces the day grandpa died.
Now the paralyzing fear acts back as initial instinct to moments of unveiling
with a diminishing and distant hope floating somewhere that I’m constantly prevailing
over my foolish faults and insecurities,
believing that this process was always meant for something
other than learning how to see me
by breaking out of a self-reflected cocoon
finally learning how to be seen.

And I’m tired of hiding,
cause I’ve been cautiously presiding
over the carefully crafted persona that I have selectively revealed
though I have kept hidden pieces of my memories
while purposefully some of my dreams have been sealed.
Ideas of a perfectly crafted life no longer a desired illusion
If we can learn to tell ourselves the truth then it is no longer a delusion.
Because truth doesn’t sell well on the streets.
And you don’t have to be a pusha man to know what to fight for.
It’s all in within your reach, you just need to learn what to fly for.
So these wings flutter to turn truth into sounds,
Echo’s take flight back into the ground giving life in each swoop.
I haven’t yet learned to fly, But I can almost imagine what it feels like.
And I think that’s the first step in tuning ourselves to fly when we sing.
The ability to realize that right in front of your eyes, your finally starting to grow your wings.

Today’s agenda. We always have one.

Self- loathing while never really a good thing does serve one simple function.
If placed in the right context and given the correct aspirations.
It can be a place of evolution within one’s own process.
If we are honest with ourselves and learn to understand the feelings that overcome us.
Perhaps we can find those places that begin to haunt our dreams
Become our nightmares, and begin to find ways to navigate the scary forests that await us.
I feel like perhaps I have become obsessed with my own personal healing.
Or learning to tell my own story. And maybe the new evolution must include other stories.
Learning how to be just as well versed in the ideas that have become my own.
I am hoping to tell the stories of others in just the same way.
Though all these stories will always be a part of my own reflection.

Growing leaves.

It’s like a pep talk of sorts.  Telling yourself to remember what you believe . When the time comes to believe it. And I remember to look in the mirror. But I’m worried about how other people would see it. So I’m hiding behind my fears believing somehow that I’m not the one that shows them.
And I’m telling lies from behind a mask. Pretending I’m the one that knows em’ knows em. knows em. knows em. So if i were to hold my head up high.
What would I ever try to say,  I’m the one that tells stories in difficult ways remember?.  Words fly into months and suddenly your in touch with what it feels like to be September.  leaves that turn green make the world only seem that if we never look in pockets we obviously forget to look in seems.

I’m just trying to figure this phenomenon cause it makes no sense to me, I’m trying to work through truth as if it were unknown tales from trees. That speak forth from winds that blow and sway giving life from breath to breath in motion, until leaves give way to water being drowned from Ocean to Ocean. And we’re hoping that if waves can somehow take us further than we thought, we would float down streams of effortless dreams leaving endless scars half-open. It’s not easily known where our demons go to hide, and so we gotta try and find em. But once we do we also have to gain the courage to deny em. So instead we grow leaves to hide places we need to reprieve, and let flowers bloom instead of hidden doom, and in return for our exchange we let sleeping demons loom. Not always the best place to be, until we learn the dance our demons need.