Roots and Wedding Lace

I smell roots,
I smell stability.
I smell dirt,
I smell character.
I smell smallness,
I smell closure.
She steps on the hem of her long laced dress.
Tripping over her feet, producing deep stains
She smells like roots, she smells like home.

Translation

Life's too hard : I'm too soft
That's not fair: That's not pleasing to me
I need a vacation: I run away from my problems
Look at her outfit: I have poor character
I know I'm right: I can't admit that I'm wrong
I hate relationships: Mine hasn't worked out yet
I love you: I'm over zealous with my words
I'm starving: I don't know what that is
I hate you: You disappointed me
I don't need you: I delude myself because it makes life easier
Does this make me look...: I have no confidence
Maybe next time: Procrastination

Some Venting and A Sip of Lemon Tea.

This blank page.
It's the only thing that is always here, always waiting on me.
The only thing that lets me reconstruct, edit, and complete it.
It's the only thing that listens to me constantly.
The only thing that is considerate enough to stay.
I belittle it constantly, always erasing and modifying.
It's never perfect enough-and yet; it stays.
It's so bland but speaks so much.
I'm so used to disappointment.
But this white page has stayed.
Thank you bland, ugly, white page.

Beautiful Beginnings

I love Spring. Spring signifies something greater than I could ever hope to be or achieve: it signifies perfect strength.
After a long and grueling period of idleness, everything comes alive. All of nature comes back so vibrant and perfect. Circumstances are forgotten,  and every flower blossoms into a new beginning. Every year is a new beginning.
I wish new beginnings came so easily to me as well. Because of my pride, I am restrained from forgetting and starting over. I limit myself because I can't accept the fact that I could have been wrong.
But as I have realized today- new beginnings are healthy.
New beginnings are beautiful.

Dead Man Living

These cold fingers grasp the screaming air.
The dirt is sifted aside,
Making way for an escape.
They meticulously pick through the rocks and sand
Hoping to find an answer.
The lid is lifted; the timber begins.
An avalanche of soil pouring into the wooden box.
Fighting-
Wanting-
With a heart no longer beating.
Shaking-
Stirring-
With a soul still pleading.
Goodbye forever, to these cold fingers.
Goodbye forever, to the dead man living.

I wish I were a tree.

I often wish I were a tree.
The tree's have seen it all. Through the rain and the wind, the storms and the calm, they have stood strong. They have remained rooted. Some were less fortunate, being uprooted in their weakness, but the more dignified have grown on.
Trees are quite similar to humans, but to me- much better. Trees start out small, needing nutrients to make them bigger. They exist from fathering trees before them, taking on the same traits and characteristics.
With the many similarities, there is a significant difference.
You see, trees never retrogress like humans do. Once they reach their pinnacle of life, they do not submit to age. Humans are inferior to their own biology. Trees, on the other hand, have confidence. They do not doubt or undermine their abilities. Some may reach a point of utter atrophy, but they never give up. They fall by force, not  by choice.
They see everything and say nothing. They have the capacity to retain an infinite amount of knowledge.
I often wish I were a tree,

Drug Me Up

Drugs, medication-they signify weakness. They signify the need for a cure, unreachable by pure human capability. They claim to fix all problems, but what if those problems aren't exactly curable. What if in all our efforts, the substances themselves actually aren't mediators, but instead, destroyers. What if we are dedicating an amount of faith that will only be thrown away.
"You have a problem? They make medication for that."
I think that as divine creatures, we undermine our own achievements. We don't realize the compliant nature of our own beating hearts. The strength that lies in each pump of blood, in every flow of every vein. The capacity of love, and willingness that lies in our own conscience. If we were confident in the faith we can generate ourselves, we could be more progressive than science. The power of the human mind can surpass the inventions fabricated by the human mind. We don't need synthetic luxuries to become greater than our own willing nature. We will not yield to chemicals designed to to compensate for our laziness.