Monthly Archives: September 2013

Standard

Monthly Archives: September 2013

Dancing

Standard

Muscles relax and unclench
Stretching out past the movements of the day
Music floating, strobing electronic symphonies of post modern instrumental harmonies
Synthesizing feelings, connecting to the slightly monotonic pumping beats
Gathering and interpreting thoughts Classifying wisdoms to the count
Of the sound, as if nothing else matters
All of the everyday chatter and the confusing banter, not relatable to anything remotely rational
Senseless noise fades out into the translucent wavelength of a vibrational humming
Gathering together and tickling tiny antennas attracted to any audible sensation
As long as we’re listening
A mournful ending of a connection severely shattered by the limited time of evaluation, appreciation
An attachment to something almost tangible, or as defined by the tangible like addiction for more
Until the first few seconds of the next cry out for attention
A battle for the extreme devotion of claiming soul
Moving body to follow the drumming heart intoxicated by the challenge to go faster, harder!
The satisfying reassurance of head once thought catches up:
This sounds like a promising song to get lost into.

I am grateful for my love of dancing <3

The Ultimate Experience

Standard

Another interpretation of the

ultimate experience and

To feel the response of true

compassion, passion

in return.

Your eyes, your stare

The slight tilt of head and squint;

but the intent is what drags me in

The undeniable force of penetration

of moment that seems too intrusive,

too good, to be given the thought of

forgiveness

An interest in a woman, with the

same pattern of every traditional

love story told to all of the listening

children:

The lore of a hope and a faith that

tempts the daring hearts, what

We’ve grown up to believe.

Now it’s our turn

I am grateful for random encounters. <3

To die for our freedoms

Standard

To die for our freedoms
What a damn conundrum!
Of willing participants offering their heads for stacks of receipts
Little pieces of paper more powerful than life could afford, displaying out
Barcodes ending in the bold: The End
Another number scanned through by jagged lasers flashing in a bloody red
Checking off the last box on the chore-list and hiring the gardeners to plant fate and grow fields of strawberries
The most profitable crop known to man
Each weak seed plucked from the soil and forgotten
Never learning how to grow old and juicy:
A fulfilling plumpness of tasty satisfaction, wanting touch, to be eaten willingly, those
Finding religion in the sensual pressing on lips and being awarded the flavor caressed in mouth
A strawberry for a life who doesn’t want to die but to live until living has been enough
One by one, or however connected throughout those should be
The little receipts become pages in novels, thin sheets of memories kept in history to beg for understanding
Describing the time and the place of each printing of ink
When monsters become heroes because it’s easier to believe
But the harder reality only validates that violence creates the evils of mind and the many faces of man; sets the theme for the future plans ahead
So why must one fight for freedoms of life; gifts of ordinary ideals worthy of battles that vary from the most opportune prize?
To be free is to live but to die to be free without living at all doesn’t seem like the rational response to anything threatening
Or awarding devils mercy as they hold out skeletal hands in wanting:
Either complete surrender or the key to the soul.

I am grateful for a day of exploring with good friends. <3

Nights and Days

Standard

Skin inflamed in sunshine, radiating in a pinkish hue of fleshy human porcelain reflecting in the summer’s glow
An intensity of warmth penetrating beneath the layers, traveling into the very core of being
The sun of the sky can shine so bright
As a lover of light to humble the moon
The trading of their roles of ownership and authority; balancing out the shadows of the world
Giving motion to the flow of life and the days and nights one is awake to see;
How one perceives the random life lessons, how we are all forever learning
Continuing this idea of education and exploring the different methods available to express,
Whether hidden behind a writer’s language and his or her own estimate of the ways of the world,
As if the sun shared his insight by burning, his fiery touch placed upon our heads
A kiss of passion based on the personal inflictions of an emotional soul
Infecting the minds and tightly embracing each tongue
As we wait for the chill of the night to cool a swollen mouth
For the Bella Luna to cover fire and temporarily snuff it out
Clearing the smoke and shaping air
A willful mother offering whispers on the wind of hope and encouragement
Speaking of a loyalty as consistent as the transition of the nights into the days.

I am grateful for laying out on a beautiful day! <3

20130905-134052.jpg

The Rejects

Standard

The rejects of a militaristic society
Graduates of a unified humanity, ostracized for their unique scholarly ambitions
Motivational questions?
Of knowledge, regardless of time and of place
Condemning the thoughts of these thinkers and establishing such creativity as the cultural group of a cliche form of crazy; or, identifying masculine as losing his “identity” of self
Their image reflected only from their own facial reactions seen from a glance in the bathroom mirror, oh the horror!
But what is right, that which is based on the very concept of what defines the plural wrongs in life
These views of the everyday normal and how awful that can be
What of this movement?
To live within the means of abnormality and the standard of the current teachings of normalcy and how it is expected to be, to mean
To understand the hidden meanings of the gifts we’re given in a time where anything is possible, or impossible not to believe
Any group of believers can learn enough to buildup empires of memories
And share them in glances of experiences and guidance.

I am grateful for a few days away <3

Happy Friday the 32nd?

Standard
Happy Friday the 32nd?

Band Website

Hey Everyone, welcome to Friday! I wanted to send out a quick message to promote a band I love named ‘The Chromaphones.’ They are based out of Madison, Wisconsin and give off a funk/jam band vibe. They are releasing their newly recorded album tomorrow (Recorded, mixed, and mastered by drummer Will Bailey) titled “Friday the 32nd.” I am super stoked about it!

The album is titled after the same song of its name as an instrumental, written by keyboardist Graham Marlowe. Lead vocals and guitar are shared by Tim Coughlin Jr and Cheyne Trost, who also switch out bass between songs. A couple of my favorites are “Don’t Wanna Know,” “Venus,” “Unrequited,” and “My Vitamins.”

I am so proud of these guys and I can’t wait to share their music with you.

The Chromaphones’ music video for “This City”:

Will Bailey Productions

Enjoy your weekends!

I am grateful for music <3

Monthly Archives: August 2013

Standard

Oh, How I Cry

Posted on August 26, 2013 by MuseWriter

Oh, how I long to cry

To shed these tears as memories, to ignore the pain seen;

Felt from afar

How many families suffer?

Innocents, children in pain?

Can we pretend that we’re still hungry

and feed each other

blissful responses so as to push one step

closer to the unfamiliarity;

Of how peaceful humanity can be?

Oh, how I long to cry

One tear lost for each fallen soul

Those silently attacked while sleeping in their homes

Laying in their beds, dreaming up the stories that the

Collective consciousness strives to see

Are we so cold?

Oh, how I long to cry

We are the same you and I

Hearts struggling to see the good;

To see the love that they try to hide

This isn’t a battle against one and two

Nor an epidemic of hatred

Are we so eager to be told what to think?

Are we really so blind?

Oh, how I long to cry

Even worlds apart the devastation is clear

A time is coming, there’s no room for fear or

fighting over distractions of mercy

Would you show mercy?

Is there anybody listening?

To those screaming out, wailing cries

To satisfy the wicked planning;

Oh, how I cry.

I am grateful for every second of life. <3

 

Stomach Flu

Posted on August 23, 2013 by MuseWriter

Legs straddling the porcelain
One hand back, pulling up sweaty strands in a tight fist
The other, lost in the confusion of the movement
Body shaking, collapsing, suffocating
A putrid stench opens eyes to another wave of volatile cleansing
The bathroom floor has never felt so private
Deliriously making way back to bed
To dream of the reality of the moment
Until feet understand the urgency of the next second before
Eyes open
Another dance into submission

I am grateful for Jess. <3

 

Foreshadows

Posted on August 23, 2013 by MuseWriter

Take a stab in the dark

To see which holes bleed

To see how long before I start silently screaming

wheezing out all of the damages done

Those perceivable wounds that ooze a contemptuous red hue of thick liquid

that slowly caresses skin

before falling down

Escaping body, rejected from the living

Breathing, suffocating from the metallic smell

hauntingly drifting into each nostril

to inhale one’s self

Foreshadowing what’s to come?

I am grateful for change. <3

 

I’ve Always Been a Spider

Posted on August 22, 2013 by MuseWriter

Weaving the web in my head

Tying and twisting all of the knots, the

suspicions forming their shapes

and the confusions of everyone

as they stare into the transparent work of art

glistening in the sun

I guess I’ve always been a spider

Announcing to the world that even the definable delicate are strong.

I am grateful for sunny afternoon walks. <3

Doubt

Posted on August 21, 2013 by MuseWriter

The first stage of doubt:
Being forced to recognize the limitations
Of time and distance
A one hour flight to travel into the depths of mind;
Second guessing position of desire
And what you want
The incessant rain keeps my feet wet, creating
Dirty tracks that lay out the roadmap of the steps carefully placed and manipulated
Just like want and desire?
Knowing the pain to grow stronger with each layer of question, confusion
I sometimes wonder if there’s any strength available for purchase
The expanse between your world and mine is great
I don’t know if I’m capable of ignoring the empty space surrounding
Even though I crave it, I can’t stand being alone
Or, the forgotten thoughts of those who claim ownership

I am grateful for every thought. <3

 

Paths

Posted on August 20, 2013 by MuseWriter

How many paths must we cross,

Must we stumble through;

Guessing which part of the fork is best positioned for the tastiest bite?

To chew on the destination of thoughts that enable blood to pump and flow

Parallel to the bordered trail like a stream;

A continuous reminder of water and the other elements one person needs to survive

Removing the requirements of life and focusing on all that is surrendered

To a compartmentalized pandora’s box

Categorizing important cargo in a wooden reminder of vulnerability

Dried salmon candle wax puddled on the cracked surface

Staining the purity of all that embraces my mind

I am grateful for friendly neighbors. <3

 

Cupid’s Enlightenment

Posted on August 18, 2013 by MuseWriter

Skinny fingers grasp the threaded line

Pulling back the thin fragments with a practiced hand

Eyes focused, not on object of manipulation but within the two figures out of reach;

The one and the two of the mission

The Amor, as he’s called, marks each piece of the puzzle with his target;

The cross point to aim so as not to confuse the scattered faces and bodies

Humming a familiar lullaby tune

Another mindless act to balance the shot

Calculating wind and distance, counting down breaths until the perfect moment

Two arrows let loose from his single bow

A skillful act of original tradesmanship of the god of love, son of Venus

Forgetting his resentment to his indifference, he contemplates what will happen to his latest victims

Unusually curious enough to sit upon his gargoyle perch to see the story unfold

Imagining his sport as a work of art and reflecting on the murals dedicated to his masterpieces of past

As an excited child he waits, watches as one lover finds another

Two hearts beating to the similar thoughts projected from their maker’s intense stare

Mystified, he trembles, he questions mortality and the gift of happiness

Longing to understand the passion of pain brought about by the penetration of his pointy arrowhead;

Staking claim as the narrator of their story

The reality of his genius keeps his heart beating

Even without the possibility of ever surrendering to his own magic.

I am grateful for Cupid’s art. <3

Most People

Standard
Most People

Most people only ever come into our lives just to be temporary distractions. These walking, breathing, and talking amusements stimulate action to help escape the shackles of the monotony of everyday survival. The Universe perceives these occurrences as the heightened view into the inner workings of an individual human being. Two people can come together as separate entities to try and satisfy some sort of need, whether that means physical or emotional and/or both. The best result of these acquaintances only amount to brief, inconsequential encounters with their mind-numbingly, two-dimensional connections. The moments these relations afford are based more off of the selfish emotional responses to one’s own goal of betterment, instead of relating and tuning into the actual character of a being other than self. The soul, when bound into itself, enables the body and mind to regulate the creation of happiness, or at least to settle for the satisfying accomplishment of instant gratification in finding various methods to not feeling/being alone. Euphoria is met, boredom ensues, and the people disperse to find their next source of entertainment meant to be forgotten.

Most people live in debt to this life, never seeking out nor accepting in the sensations of knowing something other than self. As the Human ages, daily demands slowly attempt to terminate the innate innocence and curiosity that we inherently practiced as children. We begin to avoid the situations and the people that threaten to upset the defining factors of what we choose to believe in as “me;” separating oneself out of the collective human race and claiming stature as “other.”  But as other, we project an estrangement of disconnectedness, a thick and impenetrable essence that effectively blocks out any passing beam of light willing to shine. Refusing sensations of meeting skin to skin to the point of ignoring the opportunity for a friendly handshake or hug. Refusing any chance of mental stimulation for fear of vulnerability of giving away more of self than wanted.

Most People become static, lost in their hollows; the hollows being defined as the shadow World. This suffocating place where indifference and apathy are born. The bodies and minds found there are lost, having chosen a reality without the attachment of soul, to soul. The shadows are comforting to those who cannot handle the light or the dark. The “others” hide in the shadows, allowing the numbing embrace to cocoon them within their wished-for complacency; never inspired, never inspiring.

But what of us who don’t fit into these black, white, and gray planes of existence? What of us who can relate to all of the moments of awareness; never asking for the experiences but seemingly overwhelmed with them throughout the entirety of life. Tired empathetic souls who were fortunate enough to be selected out of the billions at random(?), whether grateful for the gift or not. What is our fate, when the majority of ‘Self’ is nowhere around to mix within the questioning contemplations floating out of our heads and into the collectiveness of our World?

We are connected, you and I. We share a bond that neither one of us has claimed, or claims to understand. Both of our souls are struggling, battling against the ailments of the Human inadequacies of mind and body. All of the while attempting to recall our past lives and their accomplishments and failures. Giving into the passions of feeling to please our insatiable souls. We do not label ourselves with the mundane and we do not settle for complacency. Our destiny was planned so that we would have the option of choosing our pathway to death, instead of living a life already dead.

We exist in this moment because we believe that we do and I believe in you. I love you. I love you in more than just the verbal classification of the word. I love you in a state of complete openness and vulnerability. I love you more than what is said between one person to another. I love your soul. I love your passion. I love you. I send this love out because it’s not said enough. We should be grateful for the intensity of love, not afraid, not jealous, not embarrassed, not hated.

What we have together, what we have experienced together, is more than average; we are above being typical. And with that knowledge of self-actualization (“self” describing the bondage of our souls into one), we can become lost within the ideals of moral absolution and the stigmas of society. After all, we have been chosen to feel for the World so feel it ALL we must. The highs become shared expressions of elation, and the lows that we connect on, push us apart.

I don’t want to push you away and I don’t want you to push me away. Our infantile shortcomings are at no fault to any of us, we’ve been awarded these roles for a reason. You are not just another temporary distraction in life, you have shared your soul and I have shared mine. That alone is more than Most People can say. But in doing so, we will always and forever be connected; this lifetime and the next. Perhaps we’ve been connected since the beginning of time.

You are my everyday companion, a shining light to keep me from giving into my curiosity about the shadows and any morbid thought that seeks to destruct. We are higher beings who consider the philosophy of life to be easier than surviving here outside of the mind. We are not enemies nor do I claim any. You are my family and I will always love you, and in that, always accept love from you.

I am grateful for changes of reflection <3

Monthly Archives: July 2013

Standard
Monthly Archives: July 2013

Every once in a while I’ll go back and read what I’ve posted in the past. It’s hard to believe that I started this blog back in 2012 and I’m so grateful that I did. I’ve met so many wonderful friends on WordPress and I can’t imagine what my life would be like without this little outlet. In honoring these feelings of nostalgia, I would like to re-share with you, so to speak, some of the writings that I’ve posted in the past. Thanks again for being a part of my story! <3 Muse

Gravel Road
Posted on July 31, 2013 by MuseWriter
7/9/13

Blindly walking down the gravel road
Outlined in wavering oak trees mixed in with pines
I count each forward step, grateful for the movement
Thankful to have the strength to be standing at all
The random rocks scattered below foot
Offer an uncomfortable pathway to travel
Carefully avoiding sharp edges protruding from the dirt
Sucking in breath as one quick glance fails to notice the pointy canine of a monster
Fangs out, hungry for flesh
Bloodthirsty stranger claiming ownership
Gouging the arch of my left foot, leaving a trail of blood behind.
I am grateful for this weekend! <3

A Master of the Call
Posted on July 30, 2013 by MuseWriter

Passion seeping, seething to begin to tell the story of an introduction of the most extraordinary kind
A kinship of identity, feeling apart of something at the very first discovering of voice.
A master of the call patiently carrying out thoughts and creating thinkers who long to continue the traditions:
Of thought provoking, mind boggling, completely ordinary phrases that trump any trained structure taught to little boys and girls;
Who paint pretty flowers that represent the generics of an underground world, but not him.
Disregarding the perfectly placed soapbox and stepping off into the crowd, emerging self to penetrate the barriers of the weak mind
One of the brightest stars known to our eyes,
I can still see him burn, burn, burn
Igniting the fuel in those who feel alive.
I am grateful for motivational conversations, especially about a hero. This might not be the last of Kerouac <3

1 + 1
Posted on July 27, 2013 by MuseWriter

The backdrifters:
A picturesque display of the 2D sideways view of the
stick figures climbing
The stairs into oblivion
Is this transition so modern, so irrelevant
To anything meaningful at all?
Patiently we tremble
Buckling from the strength “borrowed”
for the good of the people and all of the good that will do
Masking consideration with indifference
So as to not draw any unwanted attention
Of what he said/she said
Have you heard what he said/she said?
Would it be alright if we could
replace uniformity with a new kind of thinking;
to save lives?
To promote the spiritual awakening within the familiar
memories of everyone gazing at the stars,
Those curious enough to see past the barriers and restrictions
of our world
and forget the basic math of 1 + 1
I am grateful for you! All of you wonderful WordPress writers that put life on hold to read a stranger’s random thoughts of accidental sentences. Thank you for making this experience so rewarding! <3

Where are the heroes?
Posted on July 26, 2013 by MuseWriter

Making friends with the little face in the blanket
An onlooker with a friendly smile to offer
at just the right glance, to see the full bearded grin
Knowing me, myself, deeper
perceiving all of the idiosyncrasies to claim, that I navigate
Giving in, to someone
Anyone relatable to vulnerability
An abstract being committed to acknowledging
every ounce of the commitment to waiting
Even if I dive down into the deepest depths of the ocean,
just for a quick dip, every once in a while.
To find balancing minds that comprehend a particular understanding
Those who challenge all of these pent-up frustrations;
Every building block balancing on the last square’s sharp corner
Escaping face, running away
Blaming those who claim to penetrate the thought
but then falter when the war horn starts blowing;
Cowards that brave the training but abandon the reality
Of it all, if this is all
just a daytime act of the fairytale world
Who are our warriors?
Where are the heroes?
I am grateful for those in my world that keep it spinning round and around. <3

Everything, or Nothing At All
Posted on July 24, 2013 by MuseWriter

6-14-13

Soft humming, whispering through the dark
A song that carries a familiar melody,
a voice that I hear often
Deep, harmonious onto itself, splitting moments of sound into a stereo
speaker of what is being said, sang
I understand what it costs, to be yourself and forget
the thoughts that project, interject
from everyone screaming around
The intensity is loud, overbearing, uncontrollable
What of this awareness if there is no one to see it?
Time always proves the existence of man
To see him stumble, fall, and still rise, to lift himself up;
True will; impenetrable determination,
until light is eventually extinguished
Is this the song, the meaning behind the feeling suggested;
An introduction to the power of what rules the world?
The angel sings, echoes softly within the breeze
Catching on the particles that reflect off of the moon
They flitter, flutter
Dancing to the flow
Little fairies of a fraction of light to behold
I hum out a wish to further push the troops along
A breath of exhaling frustrations searching for the mutual understanding
of companionship
and what that means, if I could believe in everything,
or in nothing at all.
I am grateful for writing and late, Radiohead kind of nights. <3

Old Shoes
Posted on July 23, 2013 by MuseWriter

Someone I once met, was an advocate of shoes
“The most important aspect of walking,”
Said an older man with a learning soul
Enjoying the day, enjoying the people
Showing off a younger brand than expected;
However, they were all white,
I’ve heard that’s cliché?
But he didn’t know, and if he did, he didn’t care
Happy as a satisfied customer invested in selling his satisfactions with another
Who happened to be me, as I reflected on
The time I first put my shoes on my feet
One year, maybe two; my disregarded
necessity of almost everyday wear
Mostly gray with a rubber sole of neon pink,
Perfect balance of my kind of fashion, comfort
If I have to be convinced of buying new footwear, it must be easy to find the replacement;
This, coming from a skeptic
I’m hesitant to admit that my shoes are old.
I am grateful for the many trails available for walking in this city! <3

If you were here today…
Posted on July 22, 2013 by MuseWriter

Laying back, ground warm and soft
Wrapped in your arms, on the comfort of an old quilt
Pretending to care about the stars shining overhead;
Making that a reason to be here anyway
Whatever works, I’ll take it.
This is how I would imagine it
if you were here today…
I am grateful for technology. It makes communicating a lot easier <3

Ink Blotches
Posted on July 22, 2013 by MuseWriter

A festival for summer to gather the thinkers
Collecting names and creating futures one by one
Marching them in like cattle to be herded and sorted
Ironically matching identity of self into what self stands against
Creating an image, creating a challenge, creating a burden?
As a child I wander; not searching, nor pretending
Was this to witness a gift or a plot of destruction?
Another thought added to the list of doubt and pessimistic questions;
But I think everyone has some of those
Whether locked up in the moldy storage trunk, long forgotten in the attic
Or, burning in eyes until question mark ink blotches stain face black
I am grateful for these opportunities of learning. <3

Music
Posted on July 21, 2013 by MuseWriter

The melody is soft, playing slow,
harmonizing air to produce the flow of sound
With vibrations thundering through to the heart, keeping beat or count,
of how much life costs
A transcending thought from artists to listeners, connected by the
shared moments of understanding
One medium yearning to strip naked of bodily self and
give soul to all;
the other, open to enlightenment and
characterizing feelings and emotions,
empathy
A satisfying gift to witness, to experience
Assisting in quenching the thirst for inspiration by saving the full glass of motivation
for the dry tongued, those of the communicators
of mouth and word;
conducting phrases of letters and
weaving them into various
sequences of belief(s)
Only those worthy of
interpreting voice should ever
listen to music at all.
I am grateful for the musicians of the world, the lovers of sound. <3

Anew
Posted on July 21, 2013 by MuseWriter

Searching the crowd
Dedicatingly scanning faces for someone, anyone
My body as self-aware, before mind could respond;
maybe humbled by the overall feeling
Foreshadowing that any particular day may have an outcome
that defines the rest of life
Sometimes fate leaves the harder decisions up to the Universe
But not always; sometimes one’s given the chore of deciphering
choice from careful consideration
Although I find balance best, it’s harder to be patient for the motion to end
Carrying the weight of the world and assessing the burden of mankind against
the sky and the trees, the prairie grass and the seas, or the mountains and the river streams;
The natural magical wonders that feed the curious,
tempting retreat outside of any kind of stressful physical means:
I envision an oasis of pine and oak leaves bordering out
green edges against the blue summer sky
A slight breeze to shuffle the air and freshen the mood,
to create energy and movement
When I picture myself standing inside my utopian safe-haven,
I am not alone
But with you, a new lover of heart who
answers to the call of the beat when heard
Imprinting empathetic minds, living in the world anew.
I am grateful for all of the people I have met this summer! <3

If it is…
Posted on July 16, 2013 by MuseWriter

If it is song, then we can sing
If it is prayer, then we can pray
If it is silence, then we can think
Too many if, then contemplations to consider
I find myself remembering less when I focus on trying to figure out more, details
Of this and that, of her and him
Faces that shift shape and illuminate questions of recognition
But are we that familiar?
I ask for forgiveness from the deep vibrations of my bones
Can you hear the echo bouncing off of the muscles and tendons
digging down into the deep, dark edges of my soul;
Hiding from the reaper, seeking within?
Belief seems fake and brittle these days
But I’ve never understood the belief in the falsity of placing so much meaning on
any particular word, words, to outline:
Some definition of phrase to listen to or compose for a muse’s kind of gathering
Would you listen to the voices calling out random names,
Quiet whispers dancing on the erratic changes of the wind?
The identity of a character determined by the mind of the reader,
And who hears, what is being interpreted the “correct” way;
to trust in communicating and giving up on all other
interpretations to shuffle through.
If it is song, then we can sing
If it is prayer, then we can pray
If it is silence, then we can think
I am grateful for today and what I have learned. <3

The Monster Within
Posted on July 14, 2013 by MuseWriter

Glancing down through the storybook
Fumbling through the pictures and stopping on a familiar scene of intense contrasts
Background black but outlining a lone figure illuminated by an opened door’s light
Just a shadow caught in-between the different realities and wondering how to connect
As the true self opens up, the metaphorical sharp teeth grow into a snarl
The monster within scaring away the person who finally solves the riddle, whatever the answer may be?
Understandable resentments that pop when squeezed hard enough,
And ooze a tainted green slop of contemplation; not that it really matters.
I feel a sense of understanding; wondering why darkness seems so stereotypically engulfing?
This liminal body, reflecting curiosity into the story
Always tempted by learning, perhaps addicted to the questions asked as chance happens
I try to focus, least of all, on the other aspect of individuality;
That we often find ourselves exploring these thoughts alone.
I am grateful for moments to myself, being alone and enjoying it :)

No One
Posted on July 14, 2013 by MuseWriter

Should I cover mouth and smile,
Through eyes so as to cause less discomfort?
What child stands upright at the break of learning how to walk?
There is no one who can blindly lift themselves up;
every pathway cannot be claimed, walked
We are a body of matches and pairs
Silloutes of shadows and meaning
To disgrace oneself by judging the unknown;
no one is good enough to predict the many faces of the future
But if you have opinions to share
Please let me offer;
if you can’t believe than get the fuck out.
I am grateful for distractions. <3

Hard to Tell *New Music*

Standard

I love to sing but it’s even more fun jamming with my boyfriend Tim Coughlin Jr. We had a lazy day yesterday of coffee and music. I hope you enjoy :)

If you would like to check out more of his music: https://timcoughlinjr.bandcamp.com/

insert title III

Standard

Memories and Reflections

12-12-13

Standing on the hill with a random breeze catching on
His strawberry hair ruffled and soft to the touch;
Succumbing to the force within the currents of the wind

The sun and the moon endure their usual aversion of each other
As they sit on their thrones to enjoy the splendor below;
Loving the thoughtless creatures of mortal limitations

Of this one in particular pretending magnificence

(As a peaceful representation of living in perfect harmony
and fighting the fear of indifference
while promoting beauty in the uncertainty,
or at least the everyday moments that the
World can be too busy to notice)

As the ordinary miracles catches his attention;
A man of notice and the gifts of perception

Breathing in the reality tasted by the events determined
From the recordings of the subjects in question;
Their memories and reflections of them

She’s Not Me
7-7-15

I heard all of the rumors and

The messages that she sent

I thought maybe I was her but

She showed me that we’re different

Her wounds bound her together and

Although they seemed similar

I knew that I was only myself, that

She was not me but someone else

Another drifter saying the same things

Thinking the same thoughts day to day

Except she claims to see more

As if she knows the future

Or maybe bits and pieces of our

Memories shaped together

Dagger
7-8-15

I’ve got the fire burning in my belly

My heart is pumping strong

There’s a few words I’ve been thinking

That lay balanced on my tongue

I thought you were my brother

I called you my best friend

But at the first chance you got

You shoved a dagger into my back
Supposed Friends

7-8-15

Calling all supposed friends!

Oh where Oh where have y’all been?

I’ve found myself among the wolves

Their howls keep calling me home under the moon

Have I died and been gifted a life reborn?

I woke up soaking wet and standing alone

Dripping droplets of their bitter scorn

Leaving puddles of poison on the floor

The grass is always greener in this war

Battles of greed to keep us wanting more

You can claim all of the fields of clover

A fake reign won’t live on forever

I am grateful for lost thoughts <3