tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2162805653380723772024-03-08T05:22:26.082-08:00Stories of Meaning and Importancetold before they're forgottenSkyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559392750250264484noreply@blogger.comBlogger21125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-216280565338072377.post-81514085855151090752012-03-28T15:15:00.001-07:002012-03-29T19:41:47.350-07:00Apparently I forgot I had a writing voice. I think I'll attempt to write a bit more from now on, it's been a long and harrowing journey, but I think I might finally have something worth writing about again. It may be just a pea-sized nugget of words, but heck, it's a great way to track my manic thinking over the years.Skyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559392750250264484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-216280565338072377.post-74556151777691530042011-02-09T09:54:00.000-08:002011-02-09T10:19:00.384-08:00What Next Big Universe?Unfulfilled potential is an unsatisfying feeling. Something like wanting to go out, but having nothing to wear, or having no money to get groceries, or realizing you've just run out something, but the shops have all closed for the night. You know you could do something wonderful, if only you weren't held back by yourself, your apathy, your lack of education, your lack of connection, your lack of courage. There is nothing quite as wonderful as being given an opportunity, but sometimes that just wonderful feeling is swiftly cut short by insecurity, fear and feelings of incompetence. Do I know myself to be competent? Yes. Do I know myself to be smart? Yes. Then what is this all about? Why does my courage sabotage itself by flinging it's entirety out the window? Where did that window come from in the first place? Somewhere, years ago, that window was built within my little soul as a defense to broken promises. I suppose it was a way to escape my own frustration with being poor, homely, unpopular, lied to. It was an escape from having to have my hopes smashed by someone else, and instead I taught myself to say "Thank you folks, but look, I can smash my own hopes! Look I can stop before I even get started!" Oh boy, what a terrible way to cope! <div>Well, news flash, I am well capable of trying hard for what I want, and having an escape route that doesn't involve a window but another opportunity. Yes, another and if that doesn't work, maybe another? </div><div>Perhaps I've let myself be too damaged by unforeseen circumstances. I've felt so locked into lack of community, into lack of happiness and I've felt locked in by my own decisions to move not once, but twice in the last few years, not across town, but across the country. Boston, you sucked my soul out and left me dry of compassion and empathy. Virginia, you have been both the most difficult time of my life and the most enlightening and oh, Seattle, how I long for you, but we are not meant to be at this time. So we need to move on, maybe someday we can be reunited. </div><div>Right now, here, in Virginia, I've got to make my life work, I've got to live here, be present, not withdraw from the enjoyment and potential I have here. I cannot live anymore in the uncertainty of happiness, God is with me, Justin is with me, I am with me. I will settle, I will move on, I will do something great, perhaps, with my pebble sized enthusiasm, I may impact others, and I may change for the better. I will overcome, with God's help.</div>Skyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559392750250264484noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-216280565338072377.post-77733477944465615612010-06-19T08:17:00.000-07:002010-06-19T09:07:05.752-07:00The Beginning of a Long Year.We moved to Boston in the middle of July, leaving friends and family behind and looking forward to what may lie ahead. We decided to leave a week earlier then planned because we realized we needed a few days to look for apartments before August set in. With a Penkse truck packed up with our posessions and memories, we started out on our six day journey across this vast country. The first day, we drove through Washington state, Idaho and made it to the middle of Montana before we stopped to camp for the night. we stayed at a sketchy, pay-on-your-honor, 10$ a night camping spot on a river. The town was nothing but a gas station, a few rickety houses and several "meth watch" signs. There was no firewood to cook our dinners on, so we scoured the surrounding areas for sticks and logs, and when we did get a fire going, it was so dry and hot we thought we'd catch the whole world on fire. We went to sleep with the sun and woke up at 6, ready to go.<div>The sun rose up over green hills and pastures, it was one of the most beautiful things we'd ever seen. We drove all that day through the rest of Montana through dry Wyoming and finally into the black hills of South Dakota. Eleven hours of straight driving, and little food made us desperate so we opted for a hotel, where we could get a break from the scorching heat. Early we rose, the next morning, refilled our cooler with ice and hit the road. The prairies were glorious. the felt neverending. We drove through city after city, population 15 or 19 apparently or some other ridiculously small number, but they were big enough to be on the map. We realized then, just how far from home we already were. I had never seen land so flat and sky so big, it was a revelation to be sure, and gorgeous. Minnesota is where we laid our heads that night, in a beautiful little campground surrounded by trees, the campsite director let us stay there for free, because she was amazed by how far we were traveling, and how far we still had to go. The moon rose that night and we were in awe of how good the world could be, we heard critters in the woods and saw lightning bugs in the forest, like fairies in some myth. Our souls rested. The next morning we made oatmeal and changed clothes behind the truck, we knew that today, we would see my sister in Chicago. </div><div>Minnesota, Wisconsin, Illinois and then, there we were. Just a few short hours on the road. It was surreal to find my sister in another state, and to hang out with her though I had just said goodbye in Seattle. We ate, walked the city, there were fireworks on the lake and we watched them from beside a glorious fountain. Every time the wind picked up, we got soaked by fountain spray, but it was magical. Justin went with my sister's boyfriend to get the car, and she and I took a train to meet them. We took the wrong train though, and had a midnight adventure through Chicago suburbs to find an available restroom, then sat conspicuously on a bench beneath a "Park and Shop" sign. the morning was dramatic with goodbyes and my sister's relationship stuff but we had to go and get on our way. There wasn't time to visit other friends, though I wanted to. </div><div>That day we drove all the way to New York through the rest of Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, and Pennsylvania, and we slept just miles from Niagra falls in a KOA cabin. Our firewood was wet, so dinner didn't happen til after 9, we drank beers and wished we could just get to Massachusetts and turn right back around. It was sinking in that we were almost to our destination. </div>Skyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559392750250264484noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-216280565338072377.post-58314747976286948402008-12-02T18:54:00.001-08:002008-12-02T18:56:29.138-08:00naughti wish i had a story to tell,<br />one of nobleness and life,<br />but the only words that sit on my tongue<br />are those of feeble poetry<br />yet to be writ.Skyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559392750250264484noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-216280565338072377.post-66149660003205710802008-09-30T18:08:00.001-07:002012-03-29T19:37:47.158-07:00Don't offer ginger candy to a homeless man<span class="Apple-style-span">I was sitting in the back alley with my husband, having a cigarette, like I do, on a Sunday afternoon. We were chatting, like we do, when I noticed a man walking down the alley. This is not unusual. As the man passed I saw that he was carrying a guitar and wearing weary-looking clothes. He told us to ignore him, and that he didn't want anything, and in general I try not to pay much attention to anyone coming down the alley, as to respect privacy and keep my nose out of other peoples business.(run-on sentence)<br />We had gone back inside, and whilst sitting around the house, we decided that we wanted to get out of the city for the day. Because we have no vehicle in which to escape the city, we chose to ride the ferry to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Bremerton</span> and back. It's a cheap and beautiful option, for us poor, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">car less</span> folks who live downtown. Anyway, we left the house, and when we got to the end of the block we were joined by the homeless man who walked through the alley about a half hour earlier. This seemed like an odd coincidence, but we embraced it.<br />The man, lets call him Bobby, asked Justin if he had any change. Justin said no. Bobby asked Justin if he had any dollar bills. Justin again said no, but reached into his pocket and pulled out a chewy ginger candy and offered it to the homeless man. It was all we had at the time, and was not offered in a rude or demeaning way, and so Bobby kept talking to us. He said; "Do you know what the word eclectic means?" and Justin replied that he did and said that it meant diverse. Bobby then corrected Justin and said; "No, eclectic means that you really like one thing, like, I bet only 37 people woke up this morning and said "I really want a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">piece</span> of ginger candy." That's a really eclectic taste." <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">I'm</span> pretty sure he actually meant "acquired taste," and we were starting to get the point that this man didn't like what we had offered him. Anyway, we kept walking and Bobby walked alongside us, and made a comment-question; " You're probably an agnostic, huh?" Justin replied that the was not, and then Bobby asked Justin if he was a Christian. To which Justin replied; "Yes." Then, still trying to get something other than conversation, Bobby asked Justin this question: " If Jesus were here, right now, in this day and age, what do you think he would do for me, a homeless veteran with a bad back?"<br />This whole time I had been silent, just listening to Bobby talk and to what Justin was saying. But this was it. I had the perfect answer. I spoke out of honesty, and I was not unkind.<br />"Offer you a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">piece</span> of ginger candy." was all I said.<br />Jesus didn't have much, he would have healed the man, and said go and work, you are healed and so on. But no kidding, I felt like if Jesus had owned one <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">piece</span> of special ginger candy, kept in his pocket for his journey, he would have offered it to the first person who asked for something.<br />In any case, whatever Jesus would have done, my answer was not wanted. Bobby's immediate response was, "#@$* you *&$^#, God bless you, </span>#@$*<span class="Apple-style-span"> you, get out of here,</span>*&$^#<span class="Apple-style-span">. I'm not talking to you anymore. God bless you, </span>#@$*<span class="Apple-style-span"> you! </span>#@$*<span class="Apple-style-span"> you guys. God bless you."<br />I guess ginger candy is a sore subject for Bobby, and anything we did or said for the two blocks we walked with him or the fact that we talked and walked with him for two blocks meant nothing. The timing was perfect, and unscripted, I just hope something Justin said made it meaningful.</span>Skyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559392750250264484noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-216280565338072377.post-50470856282525289342008-09-03T19:37:00.001-07:002012-03-29T19:39:26.774-07:00Violence!! Blood!!I was listening to my husband and an old friend of his have a conversation at my table. Our small studio apartment allowed me to hear some of what was said from the kitchen, but the sanctuary of work was what I craved. Generally I feel more comfortable putting myself to a task rather than socializing, so I decided to clean the kitchen and make a little dinner. I suppose it was about six o'clock, I had started to tune out the other-roomly conversation and had absentmindedly placed myself in an comfortable spot in the kitchen. (<span style="font-style: italic;">To tell you where this comfort-spot is, I have to explain a little of how the kitchen is arranged. The refrigerator and stove are awkwardly situated at the end of my narrow kitchen, and they leave a small space in front of the window for me to stand while I cook. I could probably stand in front of the stove, but instead I always choose to stand beside, tucked between the fridge and the oven and the wall and window.</span>) I was stirring the couscous and ground lamb when I heard a scuffle outside. Now normally I would pay no attention to noises from without my apartment, because I live downtown and noisy scuffling, shouting, or other such noises are common, especially during the day. Anyhow, on this particular day, from my comfort-spot, I heard these noises and decided to look. I peered out the window and saw a man wrestling another man to the ground. This piqued my interest, of course, and so I kept looking. I vaguely heard the man on the ground, quietly in his defense, plead to his aggressor. "I dont want to fight! I dont want to fight"<br />Which was promptly followed by his assailant grotesquely fist-pummeling his prey.<br /> "Oh my God!! Someone's getting the shit beat out of them! Justin! Look out the window!" I said, running to the other room. Blow after blow, the victim's facial structure shook with the violent punches of his predator.<br /> "Call 911! CALL 911!! I shouted to my husband as I ran back to the kitchen. I looked back out of the kitchen window. This time I noticed a man, walking calmly past, just inches from the violent beating. How could he just pass by and not try to do something? I yelled out the window to him, "DO SOMETHING."<br /> Somehow this shocked the predator, and he began to flee, I saw a cop drive by, but how could he know there was an unconscious man just mere feet away? I needed to flag him down, I needed to. I couldn't control myself any longer, the adrenaline rush was too strong, my will to do.......... something.....took hold of me. Barefoot, and without anything in my hands, I ran. I heard my feet on the hardwood floor of my apartment, I heard the dull clunking of my feet in the hall, and I heard the slapping of my tender feet upon the rough sidewalk. I circled the building and there, lying on the pavement before me was an unconscious human life. The horror of the crime, the reality of the evil there, punched me square in the stomach.<br /> Someone asked me if the cops had been called. I felt mute, but out of my panting lips came the answer to his question. I called to my husband inside the apartment to bring me some paper towels, unsure of when the medics would come. I guess I planned on putting pressure on the wound. The wound! A grotesque tennis ball sized lump on his temple, bleeding. Bleeding a puddle of transparent blood onto the dull grey sidewalk. Running down his ear! Running.<br />Onto the dull. Grey. Sidewalk!!<br /> Cops and medics and new witnesses came as I stared. But their flashing lights and swarms only brought, uncertainty, languid confusion and indifference. The witnesses all told conflicting stories, some saw the man run to the ally, some saw him cross the street. I was useless, too adrenaline shaky, rattled and breathless to speak concisely. I had not seen what the predator looked like, what he had worn. I knew he was wearing a hat, but that was it. I could not claim to have seen anything, I knew that wrong information equaled bad information, so I quietly dismissed myself from the chaos of the streets. My head hung down in an emotion that was somewhere between powerlessness and uselessness.<br /> I heard myself utter the words, "Lord Have Mercy," but those syllables flew sharply up into the trees with the wind, looped and fluttered back down only to land in the street.Skyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559392750250264484noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-216280565338072377.post-19055399916188543842008-08-04T11:00:00.000-07:002008-08-04T11:56:42.632-07:00Insecurities of a Pudgy Young Diva.Yesterday I went to visit my sister and her kids. She lives in a clean and sober house with several other people and some of them also have children. While we were visiting, I was watching with curiosity, my four year old niece <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Zoey</span>, interact with another little boy named Trey who lives in the house also. Here an account of what I observed;<br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"> Zoey</span> approached Trey, hands behind her back and out of the chaos she asked in an almost inaudible voice, "Trey... do you still like me?"<br /> "... You smell like fire" he answered<br /> I could see the confusion and insecurity on her little face. " What does fire smell like?" she asked hopefully.<br /> And with all the matter-of-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">factness</span> of a little boy, he replied " I don't like the way fire smells... its stinky." All the while waving his hand in front of his nose and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">exaggeratedly</span> scrunching up his face as if someone had just ran over a skunk and he was smelling it now for the first time.<br /> Horrified and embarrassed, my niece flailed into a fit and stormed out of the room telling everyone to stop laughing at her (when in fact we were laughing at trey's passive aggressive answer to a question he was bound to fail answering.)<br /> My nephew, Liam, told trey that what he had said wasn't nice, and to go apologise. Obediently, Trey went to find <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Zoey</span>, who was on her way back to the room anyway, and apologised.<br /> Minutes passed and I had gone back to what I was doing when I noticed that Trey had apologised again, and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Zoey</span> and he were hugging. Then <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Zoey</span>, who cant leave well enough alone, said to Trey; "Smell me."<br /> Then they each, in turn, leaned towards each other and sniffed.<br /> She then asked; "What do I smell like?"<br /> Trey looked up, searching his young mind for something good; "Not stinky, NOT STINKY," he said finally and with enthusiasm. Obviously he had recognized his earlier mistake and vowed not to make it again.<br /> But <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Zoey</span> asked again; "Yeah, but what do I smell like?"<br /> Trey smiled as if he just came up with the perfect answer and replied gleefully; " You smell like good!"<br /> And that was that.Skyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559392750250264484noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-216280565338072377.post-55679530969691844502007-12-17T22:00:00.001-08:002012-03-29T19:41:13.071-07:00man on a bus, child on the stairs<span class="Apple-style-span">i <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">didnt</span> feel well this morning, i woke up with the swollen eyes and throbbing head of a woman <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">whos</span> gone to bed wearing her grief like a blanket. i shuffled to the bus, feeling less than stable and more than nauseated, i sat staring north, waiting for the 16 bus to take me to work. it arrived in much less time than i was prepared to wait and as i stepped onto the bus and paid my fare, i noticed a man, clean-cut, with baggage, sitting in the front seats. he was mumbling to himself, and talking to no one and everyone. in this situation i know the drill, look out the window, look distracted, sad, tired, bored, disinterested, etc, anything that will make me part of my surroundings, i make myself disappear this way often. as the bus driver continued on his route, he took a sharp turn, though much less sharp than <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">ive</span> experienced with other bus drivers and so when the man in the front seat slid with a sandpaper thump to the floor, i was a little surprised. then came the marked change in his attitude, he suddenly became angry, irrational and belligerent, cursing and swearing at the bus driver. the driver tolerated him for a while longer, and when the man kept grousing and asked to get off at the next stop, he was more than willing to oblige. it was a less frequented stop in the middle of a residential neighborhood, the man sat in his seat and slowly gathered his things. when he moved his way to the front of the bus he stopped, cornering the bus driver in his seat and started yelling, swearing and making threats of violence. "ill kick your mother-</span>*&$^#<span class="Apple-style-span"> head in if you call anyone, ill knock the glasses off your face you </span>*&$^#-*&$^#<span class="Apple-style-span"> punk, is that clear?" this kind of language continued at the stop for about 5 minutes. five minutes of which i sat with my phone open, 911 dialed, just waiting to hit send. i was not in any doubt of the man's intent to physically harm the bus driver, and i was actually surprised first, and then relieved when he left the bus. i got off the bus at my normal spot, and went to cross the street when a man walking next to me asked "hey! where are you going" in a creepy, not friendly way. when i walked through the stone archway of the park i was afraid he would follow me in.<br />i got to work a little shaken, i greeted parents and children and started to go around and check attendance. one of the teachers told me that nigel would be late and i would need to lead him to the sanctuary of the neighboring church for christmas pageant rehearsal. he arrived soon after with his mother and as i started to lead him down the stairs, he did something unexpected, he took my hand. it was then that i knew there was still hope, there was still nigel, a sensitive 4 1/2 year old child, willing to learn, and able to love.</span>Skyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559392750250264484noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-216280565338072377.post-16662554137936777132007-11-19T22:00:00.000-08:002012-04-19T21:37:32.124-07:00felted and softhe is always weeping, at least in <span style="font-style: italic;">my</span> visions. he weeps for joy and pain alike, and his eyes always lacquered with the silver of sea-salt tears. he wrapped me up last night, in the dark cathedral, he held me. with his ineffable everything, he wrapped me up in a long, beautiful, and crimson scarf of the softest combed and felted wool. this is far more than love. this is everything, the whole world and yet none of it, a smile and a frown, a kiss, a sigh, a tree's low swinging branches, intangible, ethereal, and at the same time, sweetly-softly-gently-passionately <span style="font-style: italic;">all mine</span>.Skyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559392750250264484noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-216280565338072377.post-91941769071236654322007-10-07T18:36:00.000-07:002007-10-07T19:01:32.229-07:00october seventh, dusklike a lamp lit above, red leaves illuminate the hall casting a blushing shadow on my book's jealous pages. the sky is pink and an eerie yellow. it is full of sallow grey jaundiced clouds, but the trees seem to be aflame with their autumn leaves, a ghostly vibrant fire dripping life into the wind. the gusts of breeze seem to nourish the quivering leaves, shaking them to life from their sweet slumber and kissing each one with its fullness. suddenly a darkness falls, splashing everything with its violence. the leaves' fire dulls to embers and and its warmth is lost in the chill of a fall dusk, but i am cozy, wrapped in a sweater and scarf, warmed by the sweetness of wine and a gregarious fire.Skyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559392750250264484noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-216280565338072377.post-9762988861053024052007-10-06T11:28:00.000-07:002007-10-07T19:01:57.846-07:00who is thisi have awakened with a song on my tongue and a breath in my lungs to sing it. i have woken to chilly autumn morning. i will lie with my eyes closed, the morning's cold breath on my nose. how content, how sweet, how lovely, i am touched by nature, felt and tested, held. i am inspired, i am not alone, i have mine, and you have mine. my senses are satisfied, my eyes full of light, my hands are cold, my mouth has tasted, my ears keep the sounds of nothing and everything. i can smell you in everything. you. you must smell like everything you ever created, and every beautiful rain and fall leaf rotting hill. the sweet apple scent of love. i do not understand, you are a mystery, and i like you that way. you, my father, brother friend and nature. you have not left me, you have not forgotten me. you have me. how have i forgotten your goodness. how you treat me like your own earth, changing me and giving me what i need.Skyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559392750250264484noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-216280565338072377.post-67825278134317109432007-10-04T22:32:00.000-07:002007-10-04T22:42:53.819-07:00i havent written in 5 months bear with me.i am soft, lonely, happy and soft. like a handful of feathers, a polished wooden table soft. i am your mother, your sister, your bestfriend as a kid. i am a lover of, a holder of, a cherisher of. i am the sweetest thing youve tasted, the most savoury, i am. i am what loves you most, what feels your pain, what makes you laugh and what dries your tears. i am what holds you when you feel like your skin wont even do you the favour. i am what kisses your rough knees and pushes you back to the playground. i have looked in the mirror, i am. i am beautiful, i am full, i am free, i am loved, i am. far from where i stood just one year ago, but i am still there. i am loose, my heart is loose, my heart is open and free and full full full. fullest. i can love. i can feel. i can just be. i am what you have allowed me to be. thanks be to god.Skyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559392750250264484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-216280565338072377.post-55339082567901229022007-05-10T17:39:00.000-07:002007-05-10T17:56:20.640-07:00faux lovewhat is it about love that scares people to death? open love that makes people run? we have all loved before without inhibitions or fears, but that was years ago right, before we learned our lessons, before we got hurt by "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">faux</span> love." love is an interesting thing, and as i grow older i realize how much love i still have for many people, more love than i even did 3, 2 or even 1 year ago. something has changed in me, i am able to see people's potential, where they might have come from, where they hope to go, all of these things, and this ability also makes it so easy to stop judging people, and start loving them. somehow knowing that so-and-so had an alcoholic father makes it easier to love him, or knowing that the girl working at the coffee shop was verbally abused as a kid makes me less likely to call her a bitch or a whore, i know her, and she needs love too, even if she is orange from too much tanning, and wears <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">alot</span> of makeup. i used to think that i could not love everyone fully, and i still <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">acknowledge</span> that i cannot emotionally give 99.8% of people in this world the kind of love and care i have the ability to give, but i can give love to some people. the love i give is maybe more intense than it should be, i like to smother, when i love someone, i let them know with hugs or gifts or words or time spent. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">im</span> not the best listener but i try. i open my heart to many people, but something about our world twists and skews love into something sexual and dirty when it is really quite innocent.Skyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559392750250264484noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-216280565338072377.post-80744724655897326702007-05-09T11:37:00.000-07:002007-05-09T11:56:56.929-07:00what i am, what i cant bei am a breeze, i never settle, i am never able to just settle, settle in the branches of a tree or on the surface of the ocean to feel the waves move beneath me. i will always be a breeze, i might <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">accelerate</span> down a mountain, or pause on on a rooftop to look back and see where <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">ive</span> been, but i will never be able to rest. i long for rest, i long to lie still, i desire more than anything to be able to just stop, drop into the household of some family and lie still between the coolness of plaster walls. instead i frustrate the branches of little bushes, push wee birds out of their nests, upset piles of papers on desks, steal napkins and plastic bags, and snatch balloons from children. i agitate everything i meet, i cannot leave anything else to rest either, everywhere i go i cause trouble, occasionally pleasure but mostly irritation, i am the hair in your face, the leaves scuttling up the road, i am broken branches and displaced families, if only i could rest, or wrap myself around the trunk of a tree. even if i could just lie flat in a field and be content to rustle its grass, but somehow, i am always pushed, pushed to continue, pushed to move where i <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">dont</span> want to go, to do what i <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">dont</span> want to do, to hurt what i <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">dont</span> want, to be where i <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">dont</span> want, and never to have what i do want. i am the breeze, i will never rest.Skyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559392750250264484noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-216280565338072377.post-56393932347407386762007-03-28T15:10:00.000-07:002007-03-28T15:41:14.827-07:00knowing my placehe is out of reach, so completely above me it sickens me a little. he said my name last night, for the first time ever, ive known him for months, but hes never said it. in fact we've never shared a civil word in eachothers direction before. my name sounded foreign on his lips. i turned around, i had been trying to slip past him unnoticed, but somehow, he recognised me. "yes?" i asked. he started on about whether or not i approved and made comments well studied and articulate, premeditated even. i stood there, so awkward, like a child being asked math questions that were too advanced. i stuttered and stammered through answers, hoping they were clever enough, or smart enough. he and i are on different planes though. he is high up in the ethereal world and i am the earth. we mix like oil and water, there will always be a separateness with us. the laws of nature say it must be so. the thing it uses to separate us is like a knife, so sharp that if either of us leans the slightest towards each other, we will get cut. this is how the universe tells us that we are not meant to know each other, not a little bit, not at all. <br /><br />we are on different planes<br />we are different worlds<br />i am water, he is oil<br />he is beauty, i am function<br />he is sky, i am earthSkyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559392750250264484noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-216280565338072377.post-28748663637151467412007-03-15T15:07:00.000-07:002007-03-15T15:20:50.470-07:00the life of a loyal doormatright. im a doormat. i let myself get stepped on all the time and i do it in the name of love. i am a doormat. i am at your mercy, if i care about you, i will not say no to something i can reasonably give. if i can do it for you, i will, if i can sacrifice it for you, i might give up everything. i let myself get used. i pretend to stand like a desert tower, strong, diligent and full of definite boundaries. i am its moat instead. walk over me, walk straight into my heart, do what you like, make yourself at home, etc. etc. etc. i am uncertain, i value relationships above my own thoughts, i will do anything (mark this) anything, to keep, maintain, and protect the life of a relationship. after all, they are but little plants struggling to grow, and i will pour my own blood before i let them die. i will live sick for days with a nervous stomach ache before choose to do anything that might, might effect a friendship. i am loyal, i will lay at your doorstep til you throw me in the dumpster, i am your doormat.Skyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559392750250264484noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-216280565338072377.post-63339610018908663742007-03-05T15:27:00.000-08:002007-03-05T15:45:45.908-08:00lovelywaking up to the damp sweet smell of night being gathered up by the sun. a soft brown nest of blankets keeps me enraptured in dreams, inquisitive breeze plays cautiously with the window linen. i slip my feet from the covers, pulling myself up, i gaze upon the newest day, bright, but hazy, open the window fully, earthy, leafy and sweet. feel silky wind slide past my face, fresh baked walkways, clouds of wool, and still barren trees greet me. i am home.Skyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559392750250264484noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-216280565338072377.post-59409910355275920602007-02-27T10:55:00.000-08:002007-02-27T11:41:19.379-08:00change of heartshe had broken down several times that week, but todays breakdown was different. it was like the storm that marks the end of a season. the winds that purge the dead leaves from the trees before winter, or the torrential rains that herald the coming of spring. todays breakdown was a fight, a battle, and the end of a war. it was time for change and she felt in her soul the desire for a new direction. it was time she shed last year's skin, and she did it in one day, scrubbing it off in the shower, blow-drying it from her hair, and starting with a new face. feeling new, she stepped from her front door, strode down the hall, and walked down the hollow-sounding stairs. she stopped at the mailbox near the base of them, reached in tentatively and pulled out a single envelope addressed with her fathers sweeping handwriting. an instant smile found residence on her mouth and stayed as she opened the door from the cool hall and stepped into the temperate sunshine. she held onto the letter, too fearful to open it, afraid of the tears that were inevitable. in agonizingly slow numbered steps she opened it, #1: read the address, assess the envelope, #2 rip open the top of the letter, #3 read the first line, #4 place the letter back into the envelope unread. #5 pull out the letter again, look at it, put it down, pick it up, read it all and cry.<br />it said,<br />"dear skye,<br />hey there kiddo! how is work? how is life? i am so proud of you and all you accomplish. but just know that my love is unconditional! no matter what you do, you will always be loved very much by me. i was very proud, but not surprised by you being on the seattle P.I. i would like a copy of that if you could get one. things here at the ranch have been good. breakfast is served between 7:00 and 8:00, lunch 12:00 and 1:00, dinner from 5:00 to 6:00. we also get a snack at 10:00 we have a pool and a weight room to work out. I work 40 hours and i take 6 to 7 classes a week so i am quite busy. I have to go now since i have to go to work. I will write again as soon as i can. please write soon and send pictures if you can.<br />love, dad"<br />the letter read like from a kid at summer camp, but in even in its simplicity it thrilled her to read it. it blessed her to know that her father was thinking of her even in drug rehab. it was that day, like the other changes that took place, that her opinion of her father changed, and she remembered the kind of father he was. she remembered who he had been, not what he had let himself become. she remembered, that even though he had made bad choices, and been a bad person sometimes, that he had always treated her well, with love and respect, with care and teacher-like patience. she also came to the realization that if he was able to exhibit those qualities to her, then they truthfully existed within him, and that change was not impossible for him.Skyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559392750250264484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-216280565338072377.post-2305026606034663962007-02-25T17:08:00.000-08:002007-02-25T17:36:31.694-08:00what im falling intothe sky is a cup of cream,<br /> a flat canvas for me to paint my self confidence on<br />ive lost myself in a state of elation, a frivolous sweet feeling, peanut butter tongue, cranberry lips. feeling especially beautiful, new haircut vanity. tequila dizzy, and sleepy rose-faced delight. im losing myself in senses, smell, taste, touch, liquid-soft prophet's eyes. hazy gentle rain. sleeping beneath soft sheets of music. i hear the played chords of sea breath and the quivering of harp fingers. i long for the feel of moss beneath me, the rising of tides and sharp grass to lie lazy among. things do not revolve around my hands. words, breath, birds, all find their own course of life, and so will i.Skyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559392750250264484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-216280565338072377.post-3369803405428156172007-02-25T16:25:00.000-08:002007-02-25T16:38:34.580-08:00clipped wings growi sat listlessly in my car, considering the past week and the manic ups and downs ive dealt with. i turned down the radio and let myself listen to my own breath, the sound of passing cars, the rain dropping methodically from open clouds and the hum of the engine. as the rain fell and slowly slipped down into the earth, a thought trickled into my mind and i realized, life is delicate. its easy to let it slip by unchanged. i am fearful of breaking it, and so i avoid touching, embracing, or changing it. it is scarey to think of changing things, and it is easy for me to be afraid. i sometimes tend to look at life like i do snowflakes, with awe and the knowledge that if i take it into my hands, even gently, iam likely to cause a meltdown. sometimes the beauty of life is in the meltdown though, in the uncertainty of watching something that is solid, become liquid and changable. this time of my life is exciting. the newness of feeling, original thoughts and freedom of spirit is all so intimidating, but exciting and freeing.Skyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559392750250264484noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-216280565338072377.post-51367426789877970742006-11-30T09:45:00.000-08:002006-12-27T19:20:07.896-08:00unusually beautifulas i stepped outside, i marvelled at the soft noise the large feather snowflakes made when they landed in my hair. i listened, and heard nothing more than the sound of snow colliding with earth, and the crunching of my feet as i walked up fremont avenue. i looked up and stared with squinted eyes to the streetlights and the black sky beyond. i left my tracks behind me. <br /> i love that when it snows i cant keep myself from giggling like a preteen when a huge flake lands spot on in my mouth. earlier that night i had dinner with my mates, then sat on the couch, legs curled under me, sketching. sometime after, steven stepped in the livingroom, and with a childish expression, asked cory if he wanted to, "go ride bikes in the <em>snow</em>" with the emphasis being on the word snow, he definately got our attention. we were all action then, each of us making our way down the cold hall to the door. i saw the mood change in us as we stepped, one by one, into the night. by the blue light of the street lamps we saw that everything was slowly being erased by snow. unearthly sounds of awe escaped our mouths as we crunched and slid and skidded along the ice. <br /> we know our world so well and the places that surround us are so familiar. its strange, but that all changes when it snows, we step out like toddlers exploring what we've never seen. then, with joy, we revert to our childhoods, and scream and giggle, and play games, throwing ice and snow at each other, and searching for cover. thirty and twenty five year old men become eight again. we forget what bothers us about each other, we forget our pains and struggles and at that moment, we are ageless, happy children.Skyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559392750250264484noreply@blogger.com0