Tag: freegrandmaa

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July 18, 2018

I am grateful to wake up. I am grateful for this watermelon. I am grateful for a toilet and clean water.

I am miserable. I want space from everyone. I’m tired of this life. How can I start over, how can I erase all that is. I’m sick of my lover. I’m tired of shitty; empty, fake ass people betraying myself and second chances. Let me not attract anyone. Let me say forget the world, I don’t want to share it with anyone.

I don’t want to be pregnant. I don’t want to get to know anyone. I don’t want to make friends. I don’t want to be around anyone. I don’t want to.

Poor baby.

I’m sorry I’ve failed you.

I’m sorry I don’t really want you

not like I thought I did

most times not at all.

I have no one to talk to.

No one to hold me.

No one to understand or be here.

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Connections

Connections aren’t clear as Babylon glitches. We’re here then we aren’t. It puts me off. So I limbo and toe the ground. Put my cheek on it, feel the heat.

It’s the earth. And she’ll make it up to me.

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One day

One day see the fruits of my labor
Miracle after miracle
How lightly I’ll float by
I’m sure I wouldn’t even recognize
How slow my mind processes
I’ve been keeping my eyes to myself
Can’t see me
Refuse to see
One day I’ll be a shooting star and won’t be able to help but notice.
I won’t even be able to stop; catch a glance or nothing
The collisions will simply be an after thought as I’m smoking a winter spliff

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In a year One, 27=9

Returning to self
Year One
Year Twenty-seven
Two plus seven equals nine
The beginning and the end of..
My heart/ My grief/ My loneliness/ My faith/ My integrity/ My trust/ Birthrights/ My abundance/ The empty/ The full/ My sovereignty/ This paranoia/ New softness n rest/ Introductions to hate/ reintroductions to self love/ Sowing seeds/ Reaping harvest/ My purpose/ More grief/ n Love/ n Discernment/ n Blunt honesty/ n Holding space/ Spring cleaning/ Clear paths/ Generational wealth/ Longevity/ Fertility
.
The soil is wet
I will follow me
And I pray to remain sane as I’m
Beginning, beginning
Always ending
Always purging and making space
What no longer serves me has no place in my presence
With ease
Filling me
Seeing
Me
In a shade never discovered
Most ain’t serving me
Most won’t save me
Like moths to a flame
Disclaiming, you may not be able to swallow what you see
But to see
Me
Learning and
Listening
Solitary
Moving gently cause Twenty-seven is sacred
Twenty-seven is pivotal
The turning point
Facing myself
Pricking myself
Peeling myself
Burning of self
Healing
Myself
And yet
I’ve never felt stronger
An aureate light
Fight before flight
Earning perineal roots & my grey hairs
I’ve never felt as whole
Within the peaceful madness
Grateful sadness
Chaotic order
I discovered
Myself
Here and now
For when you know yourself truly and deeply
You move different. You get to exist without a care in the world. You get to trust and believe in everything you are.
The magic
The prophecies
The soil
The tears
The sun
The blood
The moon
The rain
Actions done in vain
The angels and the saints

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Velvet chairs

A seat at my table.

Flames, passion, rage, angst
Bloody and ripe
Burning, cleansing, sowing, forming
Alchemizing
I hope you may feel me
Be brave enough to touch
And be consumed

We create room for fires
Beliefs and passions
For this is what fuels life
We are alive
Are you alive

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I don’t like to yell

I don’t like to yell

But I love to break the silence

To penetrate

It’s the first breath

The tip of birth

And you can’t find that kind of moment in movement and stimulation

Go silent for a moment

Svāhā!

Climax

Hands full of prana

Roar through your pores in the safest place

Feel the goodness and the horror

Accept it and become more than vessel

I don’t need to yell through pressure when I’m molded because of it

I like to whisper and pray in my head by my lonesome next to a river under a bridge or something

I don’t want anyone to hear me either, not now it’s too late now

And jokester is my middle name

I got it from my father and they got yelling from our mother

But I

I don’t like to yell