two left feet,
elephant arms swinging,
movements way off beat,
from the tippity top of tired lungs,
tortuously loud singing,
music rushing like blood through her veins,
messy tendrils of golden hair are probable,
naive and displeased with life’s foolish games,
dances to release this pain,
until reality can no longer be found,
shaking away worries,
until her heart can feel sound,
the song of her soul,
she calls it liberation,
it plays when she dances,
it rids life’s frustration,
moments where her world is silent are the best chances
for jubilant freedom dances
home alone – g.c.
i can not feel bad for desiring to be alone.
just me and my mind.
i can not continue to resist the obligation i feel to immerse myself in the external world.
the force i put on myself to be amongst others and to be normal
wears me down,
so that the pull inside of me that begs for me to nurture the self
gets tired and i let go of who i am all together.
i lose my hold on myself,
and become small in the large chaos of the material world.
i can no longer bare to hurt myself like this,
so i will immerse myself in both worlds.
when there is agitation in either,
i will sit at the seat of my soul,
and know all that is outside of me is within me.
i can chose who i am in the present,
and nothing can ever change that,
because all there ever really is is change.
A really great ted talk on spoken word poetry:
… i am going to try and get it right this time around;)
the barometer dropped
a true storm was coming
rebellion struck as passion began to ignite in every earthly soul
the air clear of agents not attuned to our biology
lungs filled purely on the prana that was meant to be there
no manipulation in the sky
just conscious creatures in the night
in balance with the cosmic sky
leaving behind lies
that once trailed them and forced them in a direction where there was nothing but chemically created illusion to meet the eye
opinions rush to the forefront and set up their defense
not allowing visitors for fear of offense
my feelings must be protected
they are that immense
i forget feelings are there to inspire and express
not to protect
feel – g.c.
expectations ruin the little things
but the little things mean so much
when you don’t need them to be something more