The Ants Will Play

I walk the orange soaked streets,
feeling the scorching sun, rising over head.

The grass is still damp,
and the ants have begun their busy work.

There is no sound,
but the stillness of the morning.

I often wondered,
why it was,
that people rose so early in the morning.

I suppose it was to enjoy the calm, before the storm.

The solitary,
and silence.

To be in a world, with so many people,
yet none of them have awoke yet.

A summer morning.

So different than the evening.

The kind of peace that will be short lived,
as we transition to another chapter of seasonal change.

I Am Crazy, But Free

It's not work, if you sweat and bleed words.

Thoughts and ideas pour out of me,
almost in an unconscious way.

I try to imagine my life three hundred years ago.

Would I be locked in a dank, soulless room, with other creative dreamers?
Or ignored by the upper class because of my thoughts and ideas?

Everyone's a little loony tunes.

It's molding your craft into something beautiful that counts.

High Style

I flip flop,
on the drip drop,
for no flies,
can tie me down.

To strangle,
and mangle,
is to bedazzle,
the inhabitable.

While I walk,
leisurely,
I reminisce.

A time when teacher said I was no good.

The time I fell off my bike and no one helped me.

A straw,
draws,
this lonely little heart,
only to mangle the little pieces,
and drink it up quite right.

My lonely wordsmith,
is chewing on the verbs,
and counting the punctuation errors as we speak,
but the mind is screaming "fuck you!"

Expressionism is real,
and shouldn't be limited to the ALA's rules.

I put a comma here,
and an extra space there,
developing my own style of rhyming.

Don't shy away from pushing the limits,
for that cold,
no hold barrels,
will be lost forever.

A Hearts Disease

I believe,
out there,
that there are those who feel too much.

From birth, they are blessed with a certain kind of hearts disease.

This disease intensifies, the older you get.

Adolescence is a strange time for these individuals,
because the disease begins to shine through.

A person may feel the wanting need to express themselves.

They have a surge of creative energy coursing through their veins,
but are unaware of particular outlets, to relieve the throbbing feeling.

In my experience, it only gets harder the older you get.

Like a sick tortured super power, you have to master a way to let it out.

For me it's channeling this energy into words.

Others find relief in painting, exercise, singing, dancing.

The possibilities are limitless.

I've witnessed many talents,
end in tragedy.

The easiest way through it,
is turning off that faucet.

I'll admit, that I've had a few bad days,
but ultimately, it's the new bold experiences that make it all worth it.

To love,
laugh,
sing,
dance,
express,
explore,
cry,
revive.

These are things telling us we're alive.

My fears of death are simple.

Though never said out loud,
I believe its final.

We take comfort during life,
that something better waits for us out there.

The cruelty us expressionists face is the reality of the situation.

This is it.

Our chance to make the best of the situation we are given.

It's probably why I feel the immense pressure, to deem notarity.

To know that the words and expressions within my head are not just an after thought.

Someone out there, reading this right now is feeling the pains in their heart,
that the rest of us carriers are burdened with.

That my life was not for naught.

Who's Afraid?

I'm driving down the windy road in the mountains.

Cue the rain and brimstone.

I see that old vintage car swirling behind mine,

but I'm not scared.

He's been following me since I left that five and dime in town.

I don't really remember his features,

but I do remember the hands.

They weren't the typical lotion treated, 

manicured ones you see in this self righteous, pretensions city.

He had rough, callus cracked, working hands.

The kind you develop from outside jobs like a rancher or city worker. 

I pulled up to my gate and typed in the code to my private drive way.

The Iron fence creaked its way open,

he followed in behind me.

I parked in the garage and closed the door behind me,

before he could follow me into the house.

I slinked into the kitchen, discarding my purse.

I untied my red head scarf and let it fall to the floor,

before removing two cognac glasses.

I splashed a little in each and turned to meet him.

He had helped himself inside already. 

I wasn't scared.

In fact, this was part of the hunt.

I handed him a glass and got a good look at him for the first time. 

He had jet black hair slicked back in a pompadour. 

One eye was brown, the other icy blue.

I took a sip of some cognac, still holding the glass out to him.

He knocked the glass from my hand.

It crashed near my feet, but I wasn't giving in to his tricks.

I smashed my glass near his feet to call it even.

He just stared, with those hauntingly beautiful eyes and took hold of my wrists. 

He pulled me closer and ran his paws down my shoulders to the elbow.

I stood emotionless ,but my body reacted with goosebumps. 

I closed my eyes as he wrapped his mits around my throat and leaned in for a kiss.

His scent was that of pine and musk. 

It was intoxicating and troubling.

He firmly kissed me, drawing blood from my bottom lip.

His breathing became erratic as he exhaled loudly through his nostrils.

This was it.

No turning back.

The world began to fade, 

and yet, 

all I could do was smile 

and prolong his embrace, until it was gone.  

Locked Up

I remain now,
stuck in this little wicker chair,
a prisoner in my own body,
yet so free.

The joints don't move like they used to,
and the visits are few and far in between,
but I am happy.

This is my time to relish.

The humidity,
and cool breezes blowing from the still lake.

Laughter carries,
and somber memories creep,
but I sit in silence,
awaiting the inevitable.

My life was complete twenty years before,
but for some reason the universe is keeping me around to experience more.

I should be scared.

I try to prepare.

The truth is, no one can ready themselves for that final journey.