Trigger Warning!
This world is a fucked-up, traumatizing, and hateful place. I live in this world, and so my words, experiences, and thoughts are birthed from within it. Further, it should come to no surprise that this blog will detail many of these fucked-up things in graphic detail. Fortunately, resilience is what I do, and I try my hardest to ferment inspiration from the darkest parts of my life. It's time to confront, it's time to resist, and of course... it's time to win.

Thursday, May 19, 2011

The Wind and The Wanderer

She's a wanderer

the type that has all other creatures frozen in moments fond of her

a beauty that has mockingbirds directing original compositions of never before heard songs inspired by her

a sweetness that has admirers admonishing the quietest enduring longing for her

...longer and longer the pain will beckon in absence of her

as shorter and shorter the days become without the presence of her

she runs away as if and with the seasons passing

never taking root but always leaving behind an unfathomable everlasting passion



She's a wanderer

sometimes leaving those enamored with her in a whirlwind of uncertainty

yet, unfailingly, every year the snails come out still looking for a sign of hers

because she dreams up the rain that keeps them from getting too damn thirsty

shes the waterfall converting the icy winter snow into an overflowing ever-bearing and over-descriptive greenery

ever expanding the resiliency of colors within the simplest and most complex of forest scenery

leaving most of whom she comes in contact with in a battle against a shortening of breath...

only to later, in absence, resuscitate and rejuvenate those with the lingering scent of lavender



She's the wanderer of wanderers,

so she flees with such celerity on top her calloused pawed feet

yet past her hardened bottoms is the gentlest creature radiant yet meek

her precious presence being the priceless present that she herself never quite gave an inquiring consideration into

because she's been too busy conflating the fearful feeling of not wanting the burden of loss with the feeling, the rush of an everlasting proliferation break through

still, she hides herself behind layers of cynical rocks and underneath a facade of numb ledges

still... overlooking a vulgar cliff

she tries to disconnect from this place that has birthed her

freeing herself from the gifts that her mother has graced her with



See, she's the wanderer who's become tired of wandering alone

still... sometimes she feels no more significant than a murky puddle

yet before the sun gets to settle the wind takes up a rebellious rebuttal

he wraps his welcome around her in replicating the warmest of bear embraces

exposed, her face bares a nakedness that's fragile but not quite broken

she closes her eyes and begins to feel the indulgence of a smile

all the while, the wind continues with his touch

moving feverishly about her goose-bumped turned skin

weaving refreshingly in and out her dirty copper toned curls

and in one whirl she turns on one foot to spin and spin and spin



She's always been a wanderer but now she'll never be alone

because almost as soon as the wind came he left again

but this time taking her with him

she's a wanderer, always has been, and now he's the wind that will forever accompany her

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