feel cheek rise

different simpLe promise

In a haze, she contemplated, thinking of all the things she could have done. Should have... she bitterly reminisced... back to a time of waste and sloth-like movements, everything wrapped in simple pain. A pain she could understand, hate and savor for what it gave her: life.

How did happiness get so complicated? Mixed up between deadlines and inspections of the mind. Tell her stories that don’t make sense, complete with superficial endings, and never let her see the truth. It’s too much to bear.

I try to ignore the guilt hidden in her eyes, but the glass is breaking, light is shaking between forefinger and sweaty palm. You make for a good example, I just don’t know of what yet. I m thinking of the answer, but I get distracted by the colors I find in the floor.

Tell her stories of heroes and a prince, leave out the darkness, she’s seen it all before since, the time we let the lie slip out and she caught it like honeyed flypaper.

In a haze, she contemplated, thinking of all the things she could have done. Should have... she bitterly reminisced... back to a time of waste and sloth-like movements, everything wrapped in simple pain. A pain she could understand, hate and savor for what it gave her: love.

It is all about perspective perception

Life is all about perception. People, places, things-limitations really- do not change. Perceptions change. Perception: how you define matter. It can be based on a number of factors: experience, personality, background but mostly attitude. If you limit yourself to labels and compartmentalize, your perception-openness to situations-is distorted. By extension you are distorted, your world  limited and small.  You become negative and out of  proportion.  

My afternoon thought:  Prejudice is the child of ignorance.
William Hazlitt

We walked.
Violence eluded us on that wintry morning, my breath came in chills and I shrugged off the wind's icy fingers. We waited patiently for a sign that we would start. Filled with curiosity, I stood on tiptoe, surveying the crowd around me. The papers estimated 25,000. 25,00 people, living breathing silent peaceful people of action and courage. Martin Luther King's niece, Alveda spoke with the same fire and passion that made him a legend. Her raspy voice filled the speakers, echoing softly in the quiet audience. The last verses of  "This Light of Mine" ended with a crescendo of hands and feet. We filed in line, for the most enigmatic experience of my life. Mind you, I attend every other year. I walk almost painfully slow past protesters, animalistic in their approach of grabbing our attention. They held my gaze as long as I dared. There is safety in numbers. But one glance overdue, and they will scour  the ranks for a gap, space not occupied by police and thinning crowds, fluid in their movement. They will come through, verbally invading your space, and then just as quickly as they had come, they are gone, hauled off or escaping the officers seeking them. This year seemed different though. Maybe it was something in the air that day, the sun was brilliant in the sky. It hung happily over us like God's own sweet love. They were going extinct, I realized with a mix of relief and something else.. Was it pity? I will never know. This dying breed is mostly made up of an older generation, or so I thought. A flash of blond white, fading in and out on the street adjacent to us. My vision blurred, I must be seeing things. Still, I thought, unconsciously moving closer to the fragile gate separating me from them. I stood there, rooted to the spot. Ashley, sat bobbing her head to the chants, filled with rhythm. Her green cat eyes roved and found me. I told myself it couldn't be, this wasn't real. But it was. I shook my head sadly and walked away. I was never prouder than in those few hours, but I will never forget that in the shadow of the devil, there sat Ashley, separated. We are world's apart, but within speaking distance. I'm just on the other side.

 







Victorian Charms~
Blanketed in this mess
crisp and clean once
these soiled linens
lay in heaps at my feet
twisted in dreams
i dare not repeat
for fear
they may end the same,
incomplete.. 

how does it feel to know that you've won?
for the first time that i will ever admit,
i don't know who i am or the 
ticking of the clock 
must have set off my internal chaos,
either way it means nothing, 
absolutely nothing to the chasm
dark and foreboding
gathering in the pit of my stomach 
all the loose ends i've ripped over the years

...

How does it feel to know that she won?
 For the first time that ever I will admit,
I do not know who am or the  tick
some clock should be put inside
A movement of this chaos, is my manner
that does not mean anything
absolutely nothing in the dark of gulf
and to the premonitions.
be reunited in the ravine of my stomach
until agility rips the above years...  

Come sente per sapere che ha vinto? 
Per la prima volta che mai ammetterò, 
non so chi sia o il ticchettare che dell'orologio
dovrebbe essere messo il movimento
 interiore di questo caos, è il mio modo che 
non significa niente assolutamente niente nel
buio di golfo e alle premonizioni è riunito nel 
burrone del mio stomaco finché l'agilità strappa
i sopra anni...