art, introspection, philosophy, Poetry, Uncategorized

Small

I am not omniscient in my story
Not the author with all the words
Just a player in this journey
Just one chapter quietly heard

I do not make every mark
Have not witnessed each new scene
I weave around within my part
Abide within this grander dream

I like to think I know it all
And see throughout these several spheres
But the only world I can recall
Is what I glimpse and words I hear

And when I see that I am small
I see the cogs that interact
I know in times I rise or fall
Are remnants of a lace intact

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art, introspection, nature, philosophy, Poetry, spirituality, Uncategorized

Quiet I’ve Found

It is the sound of a quiet room
And graphite in spiral-bound
It is the crick of the clock
As the seconds turn around
It is the fervent hum of air
Lightly rowing in the vent
It is the window whispers
Of crickets in their tents
It is leather on my chair
That cracks when I shift
It is light through my hair
As the lamp lights my grip
Of graphite in spiral bound
It strokes, bends, and slips
The shapes are like soft sounds
That bend in my lips
The feelings are like heavy pounds
That from my heart drip
And fill in this quiet I’ve found
As I silently sit

art, introspection, philosophy, Poetry, spirituality, Uncategorized, Watercolor

The Observation Deck

My open mind
Is not a place to write on
You can find
Another ear to hum on
I do not marry
To one line of thinking
Yet you see me
With some kind of lacking
I am a watcher
Not made as a preacher
The only lecture
Is through life as a teacher
Though I listen
And am so eager to hear
I feed discussion
Not forcing answers from fear
My open mind
Is not a place to write on
I am no kind
To come for a sermon
I only ask
Because I want to explore
If your mind could open
I could ask you for more

art, introspection, Uncategorized

Consciousness

I am a paradigm
Broken from static
My light cracks like a prism
And is broken from my labored sleep
I let myself be liminal
I let myself arrive
Swift synthetic release
My authentic peace
I am on
And compelled with myself
Slipping coats and facades
I am clear like water
I am the steel iron in a straight silver pipe
I am the place I am always trying to be

art, introspection, philosophy, Poetry, spirituality, Uncategorized, Watercolor

“The Process” Live Prose

How am I supposed to feel? Where should I be at this age? What can bring me fulfillment? Achievement gives me fulfillment. Respect. . . and being a part of a community. I find making other people happy fulfilling. I like being appreciated. I like feeling valuable to others. I want to be special. I like to express my “special” ness. How? How can I let people know what’s going on in here?

I have been given inspiration by others. Musicians make me feel things. My heart beats when I feel it. My senses light up a little and I get high. I feel a tiny piece of how alive they must feel when they hear their own voice and expression cutting out into the world. I want to make my cut. I want to cut open my own hard shell and let myself out. I feel so dormant and faded.

What would I ever do if I lost that part of myself? If I have ever dreaded something, I dread forgetting how to feel.

I feel angry.
I feel tingling on my skin.
I want to punch something.
But I also want to lay down and dream.
I want people to see who I am
. . . but that doesn’t make sense because I’m so private.

I want to create meaning.

Creativity and expression give me something to live for. Why do I feel so drugged about sharing myself though. Do I have anything to give? What difference can I make? I want to make an impact somehow.

. . . but even as I’m saying this I feel tired. I feel like I can’t. I feel damp.

How do I put myself in inspiration’s way? How do I make good on life’s promise? Is the question the destination? Is this process the art?

I believe in the process.

I’ve always loved the phrase, “Where do I go from here?” How do I translate what it means to exist as me into a hearable, manifestable expression? Is anyone listening to hear? Or do I just need to do it, so I can hear my own voice?

art, introspection, philosophy, Poetry, spirituality, Uncategorized

Pushing Boundaries

In this incorporated world
My existence melts a measure
A faint gray lense tinges my vision
I am powerful, but must stay delicate
In every shift, remain exuberant
In every path, bring my luggage
And leave my own prints outside my world
I must resist the adaptation
That sterilizes progress and renovation
The art I am must follow too
And leave its trails upon this world

Art Credit: Mattie Larsen