Apotropaic Gypsy 7/29/2012

It's not easy,
    living a life where you fit in everywhere;
    but belong nowhere.
It's not easy,
    living with your mind and your body
    and a restless heart.
I'm a gypsy. A wanderer. A vagabond.
I have no home.
     Surround me with trees and I'll be comfortable enough.
I have no anchor.
     No one to keep my heart safe from harm.
I have no ties.
     I love people dearly, but expect to be forgotten.


Though all of this pushes me forward, I'm still trapped...
I have no course.


I often think about value and worth.
     My own value and worth.
If I have no port, why keep a ship?
What's my purpose if I have no bonds?


Perhaps it's not worth it.
Maybe Gaia doesn't need me.
Maybe I'm not in her plan.
I could just disappear.
Yet I know I can't.
I can't extinguish the light.
I have a calling. I can feel it.


Yet knowledge is often a curse.
I wish I didn't know better,
Life would be so much easier.
I know too much, think too much.
There's work to be done.
     Yet I'm left frustrated and unsatisfied;
      unaware of my task.
I cry out, but my Romany is heard by few,
      understood by fewer.


So I continue to stray, drift,
     do what I can to feel...
                          to feel.
I want to help, Gaia, my people.
I want to extinguish the darkness I see
      creeping through the roots,
      seeping through our pores.
Extinguish it before it eats everything
      that makes life beautiful.
Perhaps this is why I must wander.
My task is too great.
It cannot be accomplished in stagnation.
I must be free.


My home is Gaia.
My heart beats with the pulse of her swelling tides.

The Shard 7/26/2012

    I don't know why all my most inspired ideas come to me at the most ungodly hours of the night...but I guess "se la vi".  So here I am again, scrounging for my notebook with weary eyes, scavenging for a pencil within reach in the dimmed lighting; simply because I fear forgetting the thoughts that are flashing through my brain.  I'm also confused I suppose, I have no clue why this came up, why I'm thinking about this when this period of my life has reached a close. Finally.  But, in any case, I have obviously decided, subconsciously or not, that this thought was worth all of the effort.
    "Change is nature." We are all continuously changing, slowly, gradually.  However, each person also experiences defining moments that storm through in a flash, and change them forever.  It happened to me.  I'm not sure whether this is an ode or a lament to that moment, perhaps a little bit of both.
     I remember it vividly, visually.  I remember what you were wearing and what I was wearing.  A salmon colored button-up which complimented your hair, a light blue graphic shirt to compliment my eccentricity.  I remember what I was expecting, a release, a reunion, a reactionary. The anxiety and excitement fueled my already giddy gait.  We walked, talked, sat; you away from me, the first clue.  You complimented me, brushing away my doubt.  Then you said it.
     This part is a blur.  Sensory overload.  Fighting to understand while straining to retain composure.  Trying to take in every word.  The effort left me inescapably behind, lost.
      You finish. My turn.  That's how it goes right? You serve. I receive.  But I was still lost.  Sensory overload.  In that flash, I changed.  I can never again be who I was before that instant.  I remember the image so clearly. So distinctly.  My transition was quick, but certainly not painless.  I was silent, but my spirit wept, perhaps for the first time, and I changed.  That image will never leave me.  Perhaps it never should.
      I have been unsure of how I feel towards the person I've become since that instant, but I'll have to learn to love her, because I can never go back.

Blood. 7/03/2012

I love the color;
      It fascinates me.
How can something so subtle
      be so rich?
It represents life;
      Portrays passion.
It streams through my body
      Like the tributaries of the Amazon.
It dances through my veins
      to an inaudible beat.
The steady pulse keeps me alive.
It keeps my thoughts flowing
       and my hand moving across the page.
                             But sometimes it feels trapped.
                             Sometimes it feels suffocated.
                             It tears at my brain,
                             Pounds against my skull
                             Begging for release...
                             
                             And me?


                             There are times when I want to comply.
                             Grant the wish.
                             An escape. A release. Freedom.
                             Sometimes I long to see it flow.
                             Trickle out from my arteries
                              to drip onto the floor.
I love the color.
The sight of it surging out from under my skin
Soaking the pages
And drowning my world in its deep red paint 
Reminds me that I exist.