Success
Sun, 08/16/2009 - 23:59 — MeganEying the sliver received from nervously running his leathered hand back and forth across the weather-beaten bench, the man waited. He knew not what for, but yet he sat. Feeling the sun and the spring breeze upon his wrinkled face...dreaming of yesterdays. He blinks, seeing again the look on his daughter's face when she opened that Barbie doll for Christmas so many decades ago. He brings a tattered finger to his crow-footed eye and wipes away the tears...leaving clean streaks amid the grime coating his face.
Southern Cross
Sun, 08/16/2009 - 23:55 — MeganI miss...long for...the things I've never known. Makes the pain almost unbearable at times. So I laugh away the forged memories.
Waiting for the time to become what we want to be. Sometimes things come together on their own...not always distinguishable from the uncertanties of tomorrow...fading to routine.
wish. be the breath you take.
Jive Drivin
Sun, 08/16/2009 - 23:54 — MeganYesterday was just one of those days that will be etched in my mind always. I try to find a smile wherever I go, so a lot of times happiness blurs together in my mind and specificities are somewhat dulled...but there are exceptions.
Remnants
Sun, 08/16/2009 - 23:53 — Megansmells of spices, the scent of the wind on an old, nicotine-saturated coat...bought from the clearance rack at K-mart over a decade ago. A smile clouded...never true to itself...but yearning for the freedom to be...as is she. I miss the person I know she could be if she stopped letting life get her down. Tears hidden...always concealed behind a facade of hardness, a crude tongue paired with a warm heart...no stranger to sacrifice, but a guest all the same. Crow's feet tell the story of the sights she's known...daily reminders of a life once lived, fighting to come back.
Blink
Sun, 08/16/2009 - 23:52 — MeganNodding off in a beat up chair, a relic of the seventies, thinking of tomorrows. A repose of sadness that bewilders many...yet all too familiar to the thinker. Blinking away the years as boxcars on a train...graffittied remnants passing with the breeze. The rails grind, spark every now and again...the ushering of a new dawn. Unwanted by the nostalgic, the young at heart...but endured out of necessity all the while. For even when there is no longer a tomorrow, time does not, will not cease to exist.
The Search
Sun, 08/16/2009 - 23:52 — MeganDon't know where I'm going. Getting closer every day though. Time won't stop- and I don't want it to...not really. Just wish yesterdays could exist as more than memories...existing as we breathe, not just in the heart. Some things, though, some things must pass...and it isn't soon enough. We learn. Always learn. Never forget to wonder, and do not ignore the passion. Such things emerge, uncontrollable, never meant to be confined...though the world busies itself over trivialities...silencing the magic.
Yes, it is.
Sun, 08/16/2009 - 23:50 — MeganI recognize that I am overly sensitive. I let my emotions get to me far too easily, and too often for that matter. I overthink things and develop neuroticisms that are ridiculously out of proportion. I am impulsive and indecisive at the same time. I want everything, yet nothing. But, for what it's worth, I do give a damn about the state of the world; shit, the state of the guy walking down the street. People interest me deeply, and I am always in the mood for getting to know someone new and listening to their story.
Animistic
Sun, 08/16/2009 - 23:50 — MeganSitting on a springy mattress. Discomfort inadequatley masked by a $20 foam mattress pad. I stare out the window- beyond the glistening spiderweb, past the ripped screen. I breathe in the breeze of a summer rainstorm in February. My eyes land upon two Canada geese circling high above the tin trailer, the 4-wheeler, the cinderblock fence across the rutted road. Life is a strange trip. I think of freedom- or at least what it has come to symbolize...I don't believe it is anything that may ever be defined well enough to give a true sense of its impossible meaning.
Jubilance in Ignorance
Sun, 08/16/2009 - 23:48 — Meganbreathing in a crazy place:
the dawdled daydreams of a faulty race.
marching in a line of oxymorons:
the deed of a myriad of squadrons.
hailing to the fabled red, white, and blue:
a pledge that ascertains nothing "true."
not knowing for whom to think:
the rendering of minds extinct.
Living life for what it can be:
the clearest one may ever see.
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