Neglectful Owner

These trials of worthiness,

remarkable or not…

are plain as day…nonetheless.

If it were a drug the shaking less intense.

Feelings like a neglectful owner to common sense.

Normally a good runaway…would be

in order.

Yet, the sneakers have gone since I put the blotter away.

Flashbacks of embryos on the floor.

With hatred always wanting more.

Pictures of sepia images bought with the beat of a leather strap.

All and none of the above, correct answers.

With the questions being all wrong…

a fifty year old swan song.

Funny Thoughts about Horrible Things

Don’t compare your insides with someone else’s outsides.

pencil me

When I look at my life I see high-water marks of happiness and I see the lower places where I had to convince myself that suicide wasn’t an answer. And in between I see my life. I see that the sadness and tragedy in my life made the euphoria and delicious ecstasy that much more sweet. I see that stretching out my soul to feel every inch of horrific depression gave me more room to grow and enjoy the beauty of life that others might not ever appreciate. I see that there is dust in the air that will eventually settle onto the floor to be swept out the door as a nuisance, but before that, for one brilliant moment I see the dust motes catch sunlight and sparkle and dance like stardust. I see the beginning and the end of all things. I see my life. It is beautifully ugly and tarnished in just the right way. It sparkles with debris. There is wonder and joy in the simplest of things.

  • Jenny Lawson

Before the Closet Door

Ironic, the emotions are no different on the other side.

Having subsisted in the great pretense of…someone else.

Then…and, now…

when the floods rushed upon me.

It had always been torment that I felt.

Today,

as before,

the closet door,

love was a feast in which I dined.

Hate a rapturous offender.

Dissidence for a bi-lateral kind.

Mockingly,

I bleed now.

As I did,

before the open closet door.

I cry,

as before the open closet door.

Please to meet you…

I am no different from before.

Deadpan Beauty

If I had taken my blinders off.

What would I see?

Everything that others have assumed to be?

The aberration is dim.

Not yet completely out of sight.

Gleam to a dull knife.

So this is what happens when you can no longer afford disillusionment?

Potted and plotted on the earth’s dance room floor.

Within such grounds,

magnetic beauty had not been the cure.

Covens where fashionable blindfolds are of use…no more.

Further proof, ‘you cannot take allure with you…when you go.

Just cold sores…grounded…above and below.

Behold the Eye of Beauty

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I know that I have worn my soul to rags and fretted my spirit to desolation, endeavoring to keep some slight track of the hurrying intellectual world about me, and I begin to know that it is a mistake. Beauty is with us always in spite of all the pedants. Beauty is sure, even in its infinite fleetingness and intangibility.

Gamaliel Bradford