Fear Becomes Your Noun

Let me become the character of my choosing;

not falling prey to the world you own.

Making the world of my choice,

I become something that I was meant to be.

And here I sit—

Exactly where I am suppose to be

Exactly who I am

Exactly who I intend to be.

Does that mean

comfort becomes my ally,

casting fear into the wake

of what my past has given,

what  I  am taking now,

and what the future intends to give circumstance?

Still silence enveloping what only I can see,

What I want to see

and what you don’t want to see—for that matter.

don’t refuse to back away

even as Fear becomes your noun,

the motivator for your decision,

or indecision of your choosing.

Don’t let the silence eat you,

like so many others.

it’s what is said and done that you see.

But choosing not to see beyond your eyes,

like the façade of brittle, useless words—

manically strong in the pit of your stomach.

They will

determining who you are.

Fall into the Path

What would your world be

Without those indigestible ingredients

That rip out your heart

And take a peace of your soul

To wander the streets waiting

For the rest to someday follow.

Not in the path of the lonely

But that of the strong.

Emptiness beats in that broken chest sealing

the new configuration of what you are meant to become

Free will? To that of the stars

And the fall of the tallest tree

Sounding nothing like the fallen

In a roughly dense forest

Fall and expect the unexpected.
Except the things that you cannot change,

Change the things within your ability to do so.

You cannot

change the opinions of others;

you certainly cannot

undo those moments past.

Your moments of great weakness

Turn into memories of strength –

A god-like strength so large

That no other could comprehend. 

"What If"

You will always wonder
"what if"
Just as if it was meant to be.
As if something belonged
Embraced by your soul
Looking out for who you
Are now
and what you intend
To become.

You know no more
Than the length of your breath
Or the wink of your eye.
Intentional or involuntary
Such is a movement
Like the holding of another's hand.

It hurts right now--
Those feelings of misunderstanding
And longing. The love that
You once felt
Knowing that those feelings
Must change.
Not knowing
What tomorrow may bring
Always wishing for moments of
Changing the yesterday.

Reach your hand out. 
and grasp
At those moments that belong
To all of your today's and
Tomorrows. Because
The control is not yours
It never was.

White Elephant

A door has opened

And you are all alone

Alone by yourself

Awestruck by the loss of possibilities

And you wonder if you are really

Alone

In a world full of people

Interested in themselves

Uninterested in you

In nothing other than selfishness

Incapable of understanding

Clairvoyance

Clearly connecting yourself to that

White Elephant

Conveying your voice to a

Consciously confused

Crowd

And all you truly want

Is the undeniably

Conscious response,

“Yes. I heard you.”

Muffled Bark

Stifle the mechanic,

Bark.

Hands grasp

Earnestly around

The snout of a clueless

Aggressor.

Afraid

And passionately curious

He becomes

Unsure of how to

React.

A whine.

A growl.

A muffled bark.

Air exits the sides of his cheeks.

A pressure touches

Your hands,

Warning you that there is more to come.

And endless cycle of excitement.

But he goes no where. Because you’re

Holding his voice

And not letting go.

Premeditated barking,

Instantly discontinued--

Like the obnoxious whine

Of your favorite

Childhood toy fading

From 5 year old batteries

Deciding they had a last few

Moments to breath.

Quieting under your hand

And the passing of an

Unidentified subject

Foot clomps softly

Fading into the distance.

And now you’re both

Free to stretch and

Resume

Whatever you where doing

Whatever that might be.

Never Your Future

Your fingertips spread methodically

Like the wave of a fan.

Joints stretch and bones lengthen

To close the distance

As you reach

Your long awaited goal.

Eyes closed,

Anticipation meeting your fingertips.

And there it is—

The star.

Your finger tips

And then your palm

Wrap tightly around

The brilliantly glowing star.

And you make a

Wish. But nothing happens.

You wait. Patiently.

But nothing happens.

Perplexed—you release

Your grasp.

And you watch--

As your life’s goal

Floats away.

You’ve been told

Every moment,

Of every day,

To reach,

Reach for those stars.

Because maybe

Just maybe,

You will come in contact

With one. And your dreams

Will come true.

But why would you

Reach so far,

So far outside of yourself

To try and become

Something you're not,

Something you’ll never truly be?

Your fierce disbelief sits

On the tip of your nose,

Astutely smiling at the answer

You already know.

You never truly needed to

Clutch the star.

You never truly needed to

Make a wish.

You never truly needed the

Star to permit your success.

All you truly needed was

You.

Background Noise

Born to breath

In the path of your

Closest friend.

Discovery made from

Circumstance.

A far cry from what you thought

Or imagined.

Did you honestly think

That you could avoid

Events personal to the result of your being?

Loud and unforgivable

Like the faucet smothering

The sound of conversation.

“She shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,

I can’t whssssssssssssssss.”

But who do you feel sorry for?

Is it not yourself that

Stomped one

Proverbial foot in front of

Another

Eating and gnawing

On the words

That you so cleverly created?

Or did you create them?

Confused person.

Never looking

Beyond the tip of your nose.

I pass the puck

Into your able hands

Asking for only what

You are capable of:

Loud Silence.

Thought.

And the ability to

Overcome

What you’ve perceived to have

Lost.

Defeat clings to

Your outfit--Mispronouncing

The words you’ve

Chosen to respell.

But who determines the orthography?

You’re not wrong to

Speall the word

Differantley.

You are simply

And utterly

Creating

And recreating

The hand of change.