Dirt and Dust

[dirt-and-dust]

The sky I experience is an endless blue

An elaborate gray

And I am not convinced

The ground I experience is cool soil

Or soft grass

And I am not convinced

The life I experience is rough and ancient tree bark

Is a small, fragile sprout

A budding flower

A ripening fruit

And the extensive storm that swept golden, red and Browning leaves across every surface of the only world I have ever known

I can't put much into scepticism or doubt

But what would it take ? What amount of strength?

To carry my own faith?

Words softly spoken, succint

I am not convinced.

[dirt-and-dust]

i fill my time 

building the prison that i occupy. 

Sometimes i am just a speck

between these four walls, ceiling and floor. 

Sometimes i am squeezed 

into each of these eight corners.

and i feel it pinching my ear,

the cartilage crushes between cement and skull.

and i feel it in my muscles,

aches because i cannot stretch these legs. 

when i breathe it imitates freedom,

but depletes my oxygen supply. 

[dirt-and-dust]

I feel so heavily alone right now, 

So painfully aware and so heavily alone

Disconnected, Disjointed

what used to be smooth movement 

now a lump in my throat

or tight-wound bundle in my head

or hollowing of chest

which i feel as a scraping of ribs.

Whatsoever shall come

will wreck, tear, demolish and rip;

And only so far I can fly

on broken wings

[dirt-and-dust]

I am in panic

I am distraught

My sunkissedskin

Is chapped from the wind

My feet tired from the winding

Of all the problems I am minding

That settle as poison in my brain

Execute me

Execute a bad plan

That I am unprepared

Is my dishonesty

I am not right

And I am not here

My timeweathered eyes-

Food is cigarette ash on the tongue-

See what I need is me

And what I’m missing is the same

And my name gone unmentioned for

How many years?

Has kept me here

I am in hell

Iam sinking

I take no medicine

I cannot sleep

And I cannot wake up

I call not for help

But for an end.

[dirt-and-dust]

The lightly packed snow is gently lifted

from bare trees by the wind. 

It flutters in the air- a silent, holy dance. 

It is a stark contrast to the torrent of emotion inside.

It stills me. 

It is breath taking. 

It is utterly beyond me. 

[dirt-and-dust]

Here, where the ground touches my skin softly My pieces find their way back together. Swiftly at first,    ‎in a jarring change of reality. Then slowly, stitch by stitch    Until I am on the mend. And it tastes like how it begins. Spinning and spinning Into the cool, lightly packed earth. I stare into the stars staring back, Hands reach out, out and up. I am grateful for the moon,    Home, and hearth. Until I am no more than an insect, Without which nothing would grow.

[dirt-and-dust]

I have been planted and Now I'm trying to return to my roots. I guess I just kept growing, going until it got out of hand. We're all doing-understand, stood, and stated- what we do best, Dying. With each breath, Silver glint, light caught with the rising of breasts. The cacophony and contrast of the knife cold on skin And ground in dirt. From the dirt I will be a bridge into the heavens.

[dirt-and-dust]

Single penny Kicked on street corner Dropped on shop floor Swept with wood chips Into nothingness; Single voice To strangers tasting colored borders Drop kicked to senseless violence Mothers bite their lips to past aggressions Knowing the familiar emptiness: Squish fingers! It's OK to seek sensation or demand order Rejoice in thought and thoughtlessness Thank and forgive and love and accept until Togetherness!

[dirt-and-dust]

The tinny echo of a memory

replaces the magic, that in childhood I knew

as christmas spirit. 

i am one well acquainted with magic,

but also with melancholy, 

and know the uniqueness of nostalgia. 

it comes knock knock knocking gently.

and unrelenting. 

[dirt-and-dust]

How could I have wrapped myself up so tightly in my pain-

how could I forget? The feeling of sunshine or of rain

just stuck stock still behind plywood and spray paint i placed. 

I was warm enough before  i covered my face with blanket

after blanket- not one toe or finger out of line. 

I had more than enough before i squandered all i had- to buy

a shovel

to dig a hole

[dirt-and-dust]

I want to frame every memory

-remember that, even though i cannot give enough to show, 

i have loved wholly- 

like dried flowers. 

she was a sunflower- was an iris- was a honey suckle- was a risk.

It stands out,  her frame against a sunset. 

hitting hard, tip of tongue dancing behind closed lips-

the memory of delicately placed words

against much more delicate skin.

she was a daisy- was daffodil- was a dahlia- was a danger. 

She wore the spring and coming summer as a robe

falling gently off her shoulders as she wakes at the suns kiss, 

she wore the fall and coming winter as an elegant dress, 

walking forward, step by step at the moon’s behest. 

and she wore honesty as armor, 

one could not pierce or break,

with ferocity she was genuine and ingenuity,

curios and creativity, the blank page and the written word. 

Just the soft flutter of her eye lids, and the world swooned-

a feeling in one’s chest that never quite left and unignorable- 

and gods help you if you meet that gaze. 

[dirt-and-dust]

You know you love yourself when you stop.

wanting to tear the skin off your own body. stop

wanting to cut off the fat of your own belly. stop

with a pair of scissors want to fall asleep. stop

medicated.                         stop

bleeding for control, hot breath aching out your mouth and nose. stop

the fat around your neck defines you. stop

the pale of your thighs a food you never liked. stop

the jiggle of your arms arent wings to fly away with. stop

vomiting in the toilet after . stop

feeling like your feet are too heavy to do anything but stomp.

mind you, i look in the mirror and think that i should not exist because my stomach sticks out further than my tits do? 

[dirt-and-dust]

I can’t say I’m feeling good but for once I’m not feeling bad I can shrug off the gray as much as I can embrace the rain and you’ll see- Maybe I’m not the sun But all I breathe is a bright turquoise. With the grace and poise of a young child I dance through the world And I will sing if the mood fits. Whether I am heavy, stood still or still in bits Whether I am paper replaceable Or brick and stone slowly worn away As worn out as my useless name. At least now as I watch the moon I linger not in frustration at the lack of my own accomolishment, But marvel and wonder and dream in every moment.

[dirt-and-dust]

I want to live in the summer of your bed The awakeness of my mind in correlation with the crumples of your blanket The skin tingling thunderstorms of our kiss The screaming cacophony of my mess calming To a harmony of our touch The simplicity of existing Understanding the scars of our skin Rough like the bark on trees Rattling like rain on windows Won’t you wake me up? won’t you make this story up?

[dirt-and-dust]

I would give anything to live In the summer of your bed.

[dirt-and-dust]

I wish I could see you I wish I was free To talk about the hum and buzz Of magic from the trees That light that pushed out of my skin That glow I coughed up in my sickness That guiding aura- I wish I could hold your hand and bring you Remind you

[dirt-and-dust]

I want to fly away

I am hurt again and again everytime i breathe in-

i need to be with that -youthful innocent- green

that - stone wood cottage smell of the earth- fairy tale

that completely indescribably unreal (i used to know)

because that is what turned the sun on behind my eyelids

and driven me this far-

let me jump from pavement into bright clean air, 

and be rebirthed in the trees