Woman of fire

IMG_20180527_103914.jpgHere are all those things I wished I could have said but I couldn’t and I can’t because its nasty or too nice,

Like how

You’re my friend and I’ve known you since forever but you’ve got a thing about the things you do, like art, where you are into the feel of it all but fail to go through the process- the ugly boring mind shearing process that has no poetry in it, just you and a medium; you like reading, except you never read, and love writing but without the words of others on your mind… all this is more fun to you than a expression of yourself without which your soul dies.. you love wise words but its always someone elses and your own lacks power because of your vantage point- so high off the ground you no longer know a thing about the poorer people you claim to champion, you talk about dreams but never take that step to fulfill them, its always later- when I go to uni, when I graduate, when I go back, when I work.. at least you ain’t pretentious about it but hell I wish you hadn’t given so much of your soul to that which could never feed it or let it be content.

Hey you may be a classmate from way back, and I guess I stopped talking to you cuz I felt not unwelcome but unnoticed and unseen… you live on the bright side with your self on exposure, and its like that’s all there is to you to me only that’s me being sickening and judgemental, its like the world is yours, but you are empty inside, searching perhaps for something more than just that… Hey You!

When I think of what you must think of me, I hope you think me frumpy, and messy and a little too out there with all my opinions and arguments, and a little too unaware of myself. Because that’s how I see me.

And my heartbreaks too just like yours does.

I feel sad at all that I gave you, my entire slavering soul, and yet you turned me off and away and treated me like a wall. Made of bricks with no feelings.

Made of clay.

You talked too much, a non- stop steady rumble that seemed so cool to everyone else but was so damn annoying when you grew up and your talking grew exponentially.

It hurt when you didn’t see all of which I was and didn’t have the capacity to do that and didn’t bother to try until it was pointed out to you and it took you by surprise… there’s no way you can walk without taking baby steps and somehow that idea failed you, dreams failed you…

“My dream is to have a job, any job and be successful in it.”

Perhaps it was that you’d died long ago, when you were a child. That is a life process, but only a sad soul would call that a dream.

Perhaps, what annoys me the most is how you have to be all cute and pleasing in every which way, in your words and behavior and actions as well as your looks to ever be liked, for what you do to ever be liked…

To hell with that. I have always been a woman of fire.

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Fashion of today

The fashion of today is a reaction to the past. There was a lady at the pharmacy who seemed so close now to my age, and that just seemed a little weird. You see, her scarf looked a little stylish and a little new, and her face had that sass that those cool nice girls a little senior used to wear as they swished in front of us in their green graduating robes and made us feel awed that there were people who finshed in this place. Thats what the pharmacy lady was- and her face was a little care worn and strained and it got me thinking of the real meaning of graduation and its implications and what was it all really for. And also why does the pharmacy worker suddenly look cool and stylish to me, when for years, they, all this ones age at various points in time, my time, were dowdy frumpy old aunts who were a little too brisk, careless and hurried? Why does the fashion of those close to me in age seem to be all right in fashion taste and ideal wise when those below are too radical and those above are too dowdy (again)? Do dowdy aunts look fashionable to other dowdy aunts? Do they go out of their way to be dowdy and impress other aunts with their dowdiness? It is just a subtle way of folding ones scarf or holding oneself or

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There’s so much we miss out on because of these little things- like what were you thinking of and how do you do and was there anything interesting that happened to you?

Its pure raw emotion that we communicate in instead, I can’t look up at you, but you can’t stop looking at me, and it cracks my heart that we didn’t have any other conversation except with our emotions and it breaks my heart that I couldn’t give you any other emotional moment or any sharing or anything at all, just my raw emotions that seemed so much like a blinding wrapper now.. I hate that you couldn’t tell me anything else, I hate that I wanted to tell you more but I couldn’t .. I hate the unsaid missed moments that we could have had instead.. and yet I’m enthralled by it all..

When I look at others, especially the selfies, its as if their lives are all pulled together much more so than mine, like they wear their smiles better, and don’t ever look frumpy or out of place, even when their hair is just out of bed or their clothes are all dirty even the ones they will wear tomorrow, they just seem that much more photogenic and superior to me, walking in a sophisticated world of their own modern making, where up doesn’t quite mean up and down doesn’t quite mean sideways either, they are just Vlah! Vi! O!

And I look at them and feel sad because though I know that every human feels pain, and experiences clumsiness, they probably always feel it with more grace and decorum, without a hair out of its limits, without knocking things over and walking on them, without saying all the awkward things I do.

I don’t know how they do that- not embarass themselves at all even in their altercations and scandals, and fits

and emotions..

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This life

Image (10)

This life of ours so precious

I walked down the road to nowhere again

in Westerly 98 drive

it’s 1998 again,

& it’s too precious, too precious,

too full of hope and flashes

of yesteryear as one city flashes by underneath,white and grey, but mostly white, no green, no green, only dust & the Salty Lake, the one so revered on postcards & castles & seagulls, revered on them all,

& flashes into another, a city far away, revered & legendary, longed for & missed,

& the apprehensiveness we felt,

the patience , the strangeness,

the oddness & the weird, but above all, those smiling, polite faces & the green, dark deep green, green, and more green…

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she didn’t

that awful sadness when you realize that the thing you couldn’t understand about her was that you had good parents and she didn’t and that was your right, but it was your privilege too. “Why was she so accepting of things that were cruel and unacceptable?-especially to herself?” Maybe you know a little bit more of that answer now…Just a little bit more..dress

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the tree ball

The tree ball is coming!

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I have always wondered…

flabby plates

I hate elitist-ness in anything art, coffee, road accesses, book prices and availability, smartphones and coffee again…

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