exhuming trinkets of my past
finding that i can tell you their story
but i no longer feel
under
them
they are memories
not talismans
rocks skipped across my glass lake
making no ripples
just soft sighs
as i finally release them
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ergonomic sounds roll from
pbr lubed lips
the gravity of grammatics
lost on the soul
who's nourishment depends on it
letting the liabilities of linguistics
be some one elses burden
interested only in the nuances
how does it feel
to say that. out loud
does it caress your ear drum
with the same tenderness
as ghost lovers, stroking your breasts
un inhibited by what someone
once told me was the
rite way
to spell it to feel it to have it
exhuming tales is slowed only by my
inability to dismiss the red line
that attempts to correct my bizarre form of spelling
to babel,
but never indirectly
to feel the taste
the physical ingestion of hearing ones self
scribbling the thots
that fly faster then i can
i find my self cradled amongst my own black marks
pressure to attain some
rhythm, form or measure
halts that which other wise drains with ease
in the moments
unencumbered by notions of how its supposed to be
i do not struggle to fill pages of this unlined book
About Me
- miss brae
- finding peace in a medium that encompasses rules i don't understand.
thots on writting
pbr lubed lips
the gravity of grammatics
lost on the soul
who's nourishment depends on it
letting the liabilities of linguistics
be some one elses burden
interested only in the nuances
how does it feel
to say that. out loud
does it caress your ear drum
with the same tenderness
as ghost lovers, stroking your breasts
un inhibited by what someone
once told me was the
rite way
to spell it to feel it to have it
exhuming tales is slowed only by my
inability to dismiss the red line
that attempts to correct my bizarre form of spelling
to babel,
but never indirectly
to feel the taste
the physical ingestion of hearing ones self
scribbling the thots
that fly faster then i can
i find my self cradled amongst my own black marks
pressure to attain some
rhythm, form or measure
halts that which other wise drains with ease
in the moments
unencumbered by notions of how its supposed to be
i do not struggle to fill pages of this unlined book
thots on humans
oscar wilde once said “ we are all living in the gutter,but some of us are staring at the stars” that’s the people i embrace. people say eyes are the windows. i think hands are. truth can be sought in the eyes, but can not be hidden in hands. maybe its coming from working class folks, but i believe all can be told just thru the touch of hands. . does your hand shake actually carry the weight of your word? do your cuticles tell of playing in dirt, are they rimmed with oil? do they show, with out hesitation that you care more of your passion, then your appearance. are they clean and lacquered, or do they encompass a reality worth flourishing in. with a defiant show of the filth of hard work. are your hands strong enough to break glass, and tender enough to ease the pains of birth? calloused to the point of leather and yet suede to ones lover? assertive and encompassing self belief, with out being pretentious? knowing ones strength not needing validation
thots on love
Someone's gonna get hurt before you're through
Someone's gonna pay for the things you do
How many hearts must break,how many will it take
To satisfy you,just to satisfy you
Another love,another fool
To play your game
Another love,another fool
They're all the same
Someone's gonna get hurt before you're through
Don't be surprised if that someone is you
You're gonna find when it's too late,a heart that just won't break
To satisfy you,just to satisfy you
How many tears were cried,how many dreams have died
To satisfy you,just to satisfy you
waylin just said it better...
Someone's gonna pay for the things you do
How many hearts must break,how many will it take
To satisfy you,just to satisfy you
Another love,another fool
To play your game
Another love,another fool
They're all the same
Someone's gonna get hurt before you're through
Don't be surprised if that someone is you
You're gonna find when it's too late,a heart that just won't break
To satisfy you,just to satisfy you
How many tears were cried,how many dreams have died
To satisfy you,just to satisfy you
waylin just said it better...
others words
the experience left her
disillusioned and cynical
with warped ideas
of fidelity
-picoult
taking chances
and courting fate
-jodi
poems are
fire in the cold
ropes let down to the lost
something as necessary as bread
in the pocket of the hungry
-oliver
we come in to this world alone
we leave this world alone
maybe that is why we spend all our time here
infuriatingly trying to find a companion
-some chic
disillusioned and cynical
with warped ideas
of fidelity
-picoult
taking chances
and courting fate
-jodi
poems are
fire in the cold
ropes let down to the lost
something as necessary as bread
in the pocket of the hungry
-oliver
we come in to this world alone
we leave this world alone
maybe that is why we spend all our time here
infuriatingly trying to find a companion
-some chic
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