Ink

[creativescramble-blog]

False Alarm

Rain fall and night has fallen too - rivulets whisper on the palms of openhearted leaflets and here I sit, on edge feeling as though each drip is a faceless passenger creeping through the impenetrable dark. So I must tell my mind to think, to calm itself and envision tranquil tidal pools of gathered dew instead. What I don’t know, will not always hurt me, and one can find peace in unknown melodies creating a passive dissonance to soothe the soul. The vibrating hummingbird anxieties, which cause my heart to shiver or feel faint, can be put to rest in the blissful opportunity of acceptant stillness The dark I see is not always a beast awaiting the moment to pounce - if I squint just enough, through faded moonlight and murmuring branches - I may see in its place a friendly face.

[creativescramble-blog]

Roadside Skeletons: Desert Poem on the Eve of Departure:

Roadside skeletons dance behind my eyelids, painted in shades of orange red and purple. They beckon, they want me to stay in this place dry and simple and ever unchanging. Now they paint my body fingers to toes, tracing down my spine just leave me alive?

[creativescramble-blog]

Mundanity [Insanity]

And I have come to see that the people surrounding me are steeped  in the mundanity of everyday life. I say ~steeped~ because there is a overripe stagnance to their behaviors; a palpable unwillingness to move outside of their habituations. I think this stems from a feeling of settling down in one’s environment, as sediment sinking slowly in a water glass, making its home on the bottom. This is such an innately human phenomenon; the fading of excitement and curiosity, which comes to be replaced with apathetic inactivity. I think the shine has worn off. The honeymoon phase of travel and exploration has given way to laziness, with a smattering of excuses dismissing their petrification. Oh how the invisible fetters wrap themselves more and more tightly around their ankles, until I come to see that my friends have been jailed in their own domiciles. The chains are numerous, manifesting in the form of addiction, temptation, loneliness, and sloth: the glowing screen to which you glue your eyeballs, the bottle tugging at your shirtsleeve, your lungs wheezing for another drag, inflamed nostrils begging for a bump in between sniffles [we all have our vices]. But I am not exempt, am I? My plague is somewhat different in form. I drift through life in a state of delusion, refusing to accept the realities of daily life, in turn creating messes  upon messes and perpetually running from the consequences. I am the problem-child, cynical idealist, lazy perfectionist, and never quite overachiever that no one aspires to be akin to. (Add melodramatic to this list)

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Poem From The Beartooth Crags:

I melt among the roots and knots of the trees around me. I mold myself into the curves and ridges of the mountains that enclose me. My hip bones bend and try to break themselves in the hopes of blending in with craggy boulders. I want to summit my body, to conquer its flaws and force my mind to follow suit. In my dreams, I begin to crack open along the fault lines of my rib cage My spirit seeps out of my human frame, and is finally set to fly free among the peaks, dragging my fingertips through the carefree clouds above.

[creativescramble-blog]

pages and pages

I came to you eager, open, excitedly waiting for you to read me page by page- cover to cover. I was ready for you to trace my spine, and tell me that you loved every word that you’ve read. But when I showed you that I was a novel waiting to be understood, you told me you had no use for words- you’d prefer a picture book instead. But I can’t be all beautiful images, short phrases- there is too much inside of me. I’d love to be ten pages long, but I’m actually still a work in progress, you see- my author hasn’t yet decided my fate. With pen to paper, she can’t decide whether she loves me or despises me. So I’m subject to change, subject to mood swings, and wild dispositions. I run across the pages of my daily life like a thunderstorm drenched in sunlight; all chaos and refracted light beams. It might be a bit much to handle (I know it is for me) but I can’t erase who I am, what has already been written. I just have to storm on.