This is my home.

I try to spend my life learning from past experiences. I feel that being carefree had always fulfilled my promises and desires. I've found that over time, I grow more controlling of situations before me. This feeling is unsatisfying. Not only unsatisfying, but it's completely not who I want to be. My compulsions to have things go the way I want them and to the expectations I have already set only send me into a downward spiral of worries and upsets. It points out a series of unfortunate let downs. However, the times in which I've successfully relaxed my mind, my heart, and my body... my entire life starts to work out the way I have always wanted.

I've spent a lot of time trying to figure out this need of control, which tends to leave me complaining or nagging. I feel like it's the fear that I'm being fooled. That everything is too good to be true, and there lies a dark world I'm completely oblivious of. These things may be true, in few situations, but reacting in such a manner has never helped my situation. In fact, I feel like the controlling female that loves something too much and suffocates it. I've encountered a lot of situations where I'm the fool. And the feelings that stem from those situations have only been forgiven and forgotten. But, the future possibilities of being fooled anger me, and I always try to find the truth and put myself on top. Pride.

I've learned very important lessons on humility. Lessons that I've based my life on, learned from (even though I've never experienced them). To see the pain behind the eyes that shared these stories.... I never want to feel that pain. But, I've never wanted to feel the anxiety of always looking out for myself.

I mean this is all branches of my life. Love life, friend life, school life, and family life.

I can never begin to explain how great it feels when things go right with no effort to control it. It's no comparison to how things go right after I instigate or overachieve a situation. That's just tiring. But, the feeling of it all being your dream with no effort. It's beautiful.

This is my concept of my life. Regardless that I don't live it everyday. It's such an astounding idea. To try to put 100% trust in everything, in every aspect. To be completely wide-eyed and innocent to all situations. To have no pent up, repressed anxiety about how something will pan out. To just let my life happen.

My mother once told me she was afraid for me. She said she knew when I loved people, I'd put my trust in them and never second guess it. She said I love with no judgment or accusations. This is how she loved people and she had experienced the life as a judge less human. We discussed several thoughts and worries she had for me, and told me clues to look for. These clues stand by me today, everyday. And in one glimpse of those clues, I'll abort that subject completely. But, on the foundation she thought me, I feel like it sets me up to completely over exaggerate qualities or situations.

So, I've discovered a balance. I plan to lead a life of trust, complete trust, with no nativity. To be aware things happen, life happens, and it won't always go my way. But to lead a life worth living through judge less eyes that are ready to live. And ready to not hold anything back. This life, I believe, will settle my mind, my spirit, and my soul to enjoy the years and never soil a beautiful thing on the basis of my fear of it not lasting forever.

Black ribbon across the sky
The movement.
Fluid.
Expanding, contracting all the time
Lost in the breeze.
Gone.
I brush my fingertips across this blue infinity,
Over my head, under your bodies.
Fathom.
Across the power lines, disappearing in the trees
You've lost my eyes little wings.
Dancing.
In the end, I find myself smiling.

A breath escapes me. Not through my mouth or my nose.
Through my heart, a clinching pain.
A body unknown to me, never crossed paths.
My footsteps embedded where his ended. A never-ending search.
A gasp. A realization.
One minute. Two minute. Three minute.
Three, two, one. Impossible, unimaginable.
A helpless scavenger. A lost soul. Silent.
Still, silent. Still, floating.
His footsteps were right after mine.

Most people read the newspaper while they walk to work. Just to be informed. To have facts - not fiction - to converse about. Walking amongst graffiti embedded concrete walls that lead no navigation. Walking, running. Reading the newspaper. To be informed. I find myself a little dry-hearted. Enrichment ceases. The life of a faceless business man proceeds. Coffee stains on your paperwork must get old, old man. Maybe set two feet to the left and you'll feel some spontaneity.

I can't even recognize what comes out of my fingertips
When you grab the pencil and make me follow. Babbling nonsense
about conceptual thought. My thoughts are thoughts just the same as yours.
How can I show you my own interpretations when you just impose on me
the thoughts that burrow in a mind not mine.
I am made of the same potential, the same matter.
But, the garden doesn't grow if you never start.
You don't know the possibilities of my mind, my hands, my lines.
Excuse me, dictator. I need a little space, a little space for my thoughts.
A free blank piece of paper that has nothing but my own.

Whats the feeling that borrows in my soul when I see the glitter of southern cotton littering the highway. Off the shoulders, it glimmers. From window to window, patches of earth with radiant colors gleam as my grandmothers quilt that keeps me warm at night. We can't deny our roots - baby. We are this. Our homey connections to the southern land. With music playing in my ears, in my own script - my shadow races before me to discover the opportunities. To discover the possibilities. To experience before I do. The colors of this earth, the season enriches me. Tires me. The rest awaits. This is the final fanfare before hibernation. Mother nature has to break too, Laura. She's gotta sleep, so she can show us her infinite beauty. All of that damn potential. Then, the cycle starts all over again.

The sun never sleeps.

The feeling that you're the exception. The one who's body isn't made from skin and muscle. That underneath this protective layer are bones and tissue. That my brain is inside my skull, confined by my identity and comparable to every other female. Not to suggest that I am above or that I'm different, but that I don't feel scientific. I don't feel like my body can be predicted by an individual I've never met. I feel like I breathe real air that only soothes my being and not my components.

Lying on this plateau, sweating in this heat.
from my skin, its puddling around my hands - my feet.
I am surrounded.
By nothing meaningful. I've never been so alone.
I am so in control, yet so un-united with myself.
Can I hold myself together?
Oh, the ball just started rolling...

Where does my love and consistency lie? Absorbed in this earth,
no longer tangible. Illogical it seems.
Erased from brain, from heart.

I have the garden, I am fully grateful. Beauty still -
It reigns. But I'm sitting in an orchard and all the near trees have passed.
The shade I loved so much. So gone. So lost.
I'm sweating on this plateau.
My palms are wet.

It never falls on needed ears, always my own.

I'm a paralyzed blank staring body. Empty of all emotions. For the split minute. How I wish these minutes would stay. My mind, the flood, comes back from all my suppression. Out my eyes, not out of my soul - I wish. I am human, with gardens growing from my stomach. Out of my mouth - they bloom. These words... do they find their resting place? A settled piece of earth.
A beautiful garden I am, with withering plants with no home.
I am nothing but soil - ready to hold beauty.
Where am I? My goal was happiness during this time. My season, my time. I feel nothing but yet I feel everything. I am nothing since I have no recognition.
I'm wandering mazes and there's no outlet. Where is my home?
My sanctuary.
Where do I feel myself?
That home is gone. I'm the ivy that's pulled off it's stand.

my brain is a knot, a neverending line of thoughts
overboard i feel and i'm drowning in the sea
material over person.
overboard it seems.
We talk in collisions of thought, bouncing on posts
careful not to fall.
Where are we? We are lost.
I drive and find my new best friend, a vestibule to follow
one that i can streamline behind
put my mind in neutral and let it roll.
these thoughts, they come to mind.
my light in my hands are dying.
material over person.

Tap, tap, tap.

 To the beat, beat beat. 

They walk, walk in sync, sync. 

My life is a piano. We are all pressing the keys. 

The keys. 

You pass, I pass, we both pass each other. 

Music to our ears... music in mine & music in yours. Here is where they connect - I smile. One excited moment after another. 

Tap, tap, tap to the beat, beat. 

My beat, your beat. Our mutual beat together. 

It's like a bridge among two strange worlds, the other- a world I have no idea. 

Plugged into my own and letting it consume me. 

This tap, tap to the beat, beat 

that we are making with our feet, feet 

gives me a tunnel to that world, or a bridge. 

My life is a piano, and we tap, tap to this beat, beat.

I am ordered to write crisply and creatively to express my ideas to my clients. 

Clean canvas smoothes my worries before I get the chance to trial and error. When my pen touches this clean canvas, it is ruined forever with my thoughtless and ridiculous expectations.

Oh! The anguish destroys me. 

All the complaints I get when my room and mind are filled with balled up and rejected mistakes. It's a landfill. Why so much waste they always ask me. 

This field is GREEN!

Your life cannot be separate from the sea of pollution. 

Pollution in my brain, commander sir. Do you understand?

But my mind is inhibited by everything, and I always need a empty canvas. 

One day, I followed a small insect with my pen because it beat manufacturing ideas. 

Manufacturing ideas.

So, as I'm balancing on this ball, sweat dripping off my face and onto my shiny shoes... I begin to wonder if this is how I am supposed to be. Juggling makes my arms weak and sometimes I just want to walk away, but I feel like it makes everyone happier... and sometimes myself. The paint on my face feels like plastic wrap and it's slowing suffocating me. The bleeds down into my eyes and makes me lose my balance.

I am walking mazes within this tent still searching for my soul. Finding pieces but not the whole.

With murk around my feet and fish nibbling at my toes,

My hands burning from the wood beneath them.

The feeling of warmth across my entire body.

Oh, how I love this season.

My hair, in tangles, lightens in the sun,

while my skin gets to be a deeper shade.

Wen I get in my car, and my cheeks turn red,

I almost feel like I can't' breathe.

I wait to roll down the window,

Because I love the feeling of summer.

Barefoot and running,

I could do this my whole life.

This is when I'm happy

And in a sense,

Who I am.

It defines me and my childhood.

Oh, how I love this season.

The Essence of the Idea of Form.

If I was to say that I am the biggest thing,

I would be too proud. I know I am not,

I am yet a seed in a vast garden covering infinity.

Who is the gardener?

Oh, corny question, it is!

An artist, a musician, and a idea that devours the idea

of beauty.

If I was to say that I am the biggest thing,

I would be unlearned. I know I am not,

I am yet a stroke of paint in this beautiful mural.

Painting the sky, the grass- each blade.

My mind cannot even fathom the mass!

Oh, Artist of my life, show me the beauty

Musican, please play the melodies that will

Feed my soul, my life.

You don't need our compliance,

our prayers. You know how we really feel.

We embody you, and you embody us We represent

One another in some intangible interpretation.

If I was to say that I am the biggest thing,

I would be a fool, to assume that this all happened

On accident. I would be denying the elements that lie at my feet,

Under them, in them, and above.

I need to feel the raw of this being. The feelings

That makes me whole

Man of Fire

Man of Fire
You reach to grab the phone,
But you singe it with one touch.
You ache with rage, and it
Blossoms from your fingertips.
Man of fire, you inspire me.
You ignite my passion of strength.
To demolish, and to destroy
Everything you ever wanted.
But what sadness on your face,
The loneliness you behold.
What you touch turns to ash.
What you want you can never have.
Man of fire, you take my sympathy.
I'll give you the tears you cannot cry
To demolish, and destroy
Your flaming heart and soul.