Stop. Breathe. Remember God's Simplicity...

I have a secret, that if I die, I wish to spread through the air so high. Pour through the valleys so throughout the sky it would be stored as a star, and when you pass by they'd shine down with gloats, and although you will try you will not know it (I will not lie). I have a secret, that if I die, will spread like marbles across the sky.

When did my eyes start looking downward? They use to look up, unaware of where I was going. (Not caring either) I'd blindly skip on the sidewalk, or trudge through the mud. I would always look upward though, because I knew you were up, and you were looking down, I was willing to face the ditches and holes that hid in the distance, because I knew you were with me. I loved that I was shielded. You would lead the way and I would trust enough to know how to follow. When did I start looking downward? Tip toe, miserably mold myself to be air-thin, and subconsciously blending in with the cement. Somewhere along the line, the heart sunk down, down, downward. The spirit had no option, but to set off and  fly.

When potentially life-altering situations present themselves on a silver platter and slide across the dinning room table to my place setting, I tend to lose my appetite. Sweaty palms, and rocks settle in the pit of my stomach. The possibility of being presented with a dish of harsh reality ,also known as "failure", mind boggles me to the point where a pinch of imperfection can be self-labeled as "unsuccessful". This life course is not a doodle on scratch paper that can be crumbled up and tossed into the waste basket. What's there is what's served, and it's right in front of me. When these situations present themselves it's best to keep the lid on so no one else at the table sees. Who knows what they'd think. Normally this would be one of those moments where what others think is none of my business, but this predicament will be inevitably served and although I have never tried it, I don't know if I'd want to. Do you get it? Do you unders...

*I found this from when I was younger. I used to look up at the sky and wish that I could leave Earth and go home. I remember writing this and feeling like no one would understand. Little did I realize that this wasn't an unusual feeling. I didn't title it, I normally didn't title things because I felt it restricted my thoughts and feelings if I did it that way, but I put one for the blog. Eyes cascade to mother’s soil Heel toe, heel toe Cold chains, drooping seat Back and forth The night, those stars They dance, slide across the sky One by one   To and fro, to and fro Too far, so close Swing high,   higher! Higher! Light, love, acceptance. One more, room for one more. Love me, shine for me. Swing higher! Light’s warmth holds my face with two hands. Hair strokes my face f orward and backward. Almost there, please! Hands up in praise. Legs stiff like my future. Jump! Reach! Beg! Soar! Drop, failure,dishonor, shame.  Blood slides...

She covers her eyes,and shadows away. She's evil by night, then gentle by day.   She lays in the grave yard,never spoken a word. She's silent to the grave. Nothing's ever been heard.   She lives on the streets, yet said to live in the dark, in the old grave yard down by the park.   She lays by that same grave stone, even as we speak. Noises squeal from the grave yard,light shines through the peek.   I sit by my window, looking down at her at night. While demons dance around her, I hold my cross tight.   She was always such a shy person.She never looked at me before. Then one night she looked at me while standing at the grave yard door.   Her eyes were red.Her soul was black. But I still go to that window, and she always goes back.

The tap dancer in my fan performs nightly maxiford , cincinatti , shuffle turns , flaps , then digs , riff,   and pull backs (from single to double). "cchhhhhh chit cha chhhhhhh" Last night was "Lullaby to the Leaves." He knows I miss it, and plays in my honor.

Gossip is an old christian woman. The pink hats and tight curls, nylons, white clutch purse from the 60's and her worn out white high heels. Gossip is our first language. "Well, I don't know everything, BUUUTTT..." the flood gates open. there's no going back. it's done for. The old christian woman has played this game with God for a while. She found her loop hole, as all women think they do: "Let's form a prayer circle everyone. Come on now, let's go. We need some prayer today. Get together.(They hold hands.)  Okay, dear Lord, I pray that Harold will stop drinking. He beats his wife every night after the bar and now Nancy is out of a job because her bruises don't heal quick enough to go unnoticed..." (You hear that? That's the flood pouring through the gates.) "... Lord I pray Drew will stop having sexual relations will Mary and that he will go home to his wife, Leslie, who is still facing drug rehab and is now ...

Barbie was perfect; perfect hair, perfect legs, perfect smile Purple roller blades with a purple too-too, and pink helmet for her girlie upkeep. She was my ideal woman. Barbie met up with Ken every day He was America's idea of an ideal man. Brown hair, his traffic light shirt and black pants. No shoes (he was cool like that.) I'd put them in Barbie's electric VW bug and have them go out into town. They always had fun. They would meet up with friends, they would hug and kiss. Yet in the end, they were never happy. They'd hate each other and yell. Barbie would cry and Ken would get frustrated and leave. Their daily agenda was always different. The ending the same.