∆ Neural Alchemist | Self-mythologist ∆
The mystic, the wonder
The ending of my cycles
Severed as selfish stings of venom
It’s you
It’s you
You gave, oh yes you did
Fickle flavor created my taste
And as my appetite fluctuates
I choose to starve
Washed over in drought
Sand dunes and Florida watered illusions
I see you
I saw you
I thank you
Forget
Let go
I’m confused, crippled as so
Our spring through and through
We passion
We shout
We quarrel
Over your bed of moss
It feels secure to love, risk lost
Forget
Let go
Cotton pink undertones
Close by with gentle age
She was creamy, so soft
My eyes sparkled as we met
Pixie baby looking all confused
Going for a ride with mine
I sit silent
I study her magic
The way her skin rainbows
The concern in her delicate sweet face when I leave
My lover was passive
He was made of glass and
We didn’t appear full enough
Tried making eye contact in summer trees
Seeing we weren’t meant to become lucid bees
Just tiny things playing make believe
I always come back to sadness
Maybe it’s a shape shifting anger
Maybe we’ve hung her; together
But it’s all I ever knew, it’s whom I make true intricate love to
I inflicted upon me paired with hesitations and soon to be’s
cause well maybe I’m human
I sink through all your deadly seas
I sort through my pieces of wool and used flannels and cloth
And I touch the human in every passerby knowing it’s never enough
I touch the heart that aches with stone burning parallels
I touch the mouths through mountains of victims as the dead sings farwells
I vow to be untouched
It’s not enough to breathe in and exhale my stomach, my liver; my heart
It’s hard enough to wake alert and dress up the rest with the earth’s hardened dirt
Soul tied to a suit and some layers that aren’t mine
But to most it’s fine, some say quite divine
I couldn’t harm a fly; I wish to kill a billion
And so
I harm the self that promises to let things go (let things sow)
Burdened by the death of each solitary season
Hands pressed in pulses pleading to be granted the sights of a hermits reason
I’m not sure of what I am feeling, my heart can break, my ego; callous
What keeps me asleep is a range to run
Emotional in wake I bake the sun
Holes of bittersweet spit up, you nuzzling my breast till numb
Turning in, on and off
Tuning off, out and in
I attempt to sing those sensitive songs, I pretend with oneself, playing once upon a time
There’s no where to go as my soul is magnetic to your salvation, even here the space of our bodies deafening
I don’t know exactly why this fight takes flight, ideal is a winners war; no casualties
What news!
The arrival
And the departure
Both equal in value and pleasure
To the adventurous wondering soul
You toke hold of each finger
Making promises
Saying prayers
Void of faith
I prayed hard on my way to work.
Feeling at home while talking to source.
Connecting to source.
One day at a time?
One choice.
One decision.
Today at work I will eat my food and drink my tea.
I’m going to dance and write.
Open me up. Recreate. Revamp.
I have some thinking to do with the woman I want to be. I am holding space for all I am in every moment. Maybe this year I’ll find my niche.
I don’t want to get sexually and romantically distracted. At the same time I don’t want to shame myself for wanting to be intimate…I want to break free from the belief that I am only desired physically. I want to also hold that men are attracted to the physical first. It’s survival. I’m mad sexually appealing, healthy, and warm to look at and so it makes sense if that’s what pulls one in. I have programming that has made me unsafe with the idea of men being attracted to my physical and being lusted after. Which is honestly unfair, unreasonable, and ridiculous. I can sense lust and genuine interest in a second.
Freegrandmaa 