What do you use to scrub your table with?
I don't. I just use a paper towel.
Oh. Ew.
scoff cuts deep thin red into thin skin.
chaos turmoil outbursts
immaturity spontaneity
drunkenness selfishness
violence
profanity
rage
escapism
dependence
blaming
unhealthy eating habits
unfaithfulness
irresponsibility
should
have
been
saturated
in
mother-child's likeness.
Showing posts with label raising myself. Show all posts
Showing posts with label raising myself. Show all posts
Mar 24, 2014
Oct 16, 2013
With the what.
With the what in the who.
Where?
Inevitable crept up and into the now.
And we sit in the now.
Sit in the inevitable.
Inevitably here where the who said to inevitably be.
Present in the two states away place.
In that space.
In that place where the talk is to self and the who answers never when.
Why, says the her.
We wait, says the we.
And they why and they wait in the two states away.
And You say You are the becoming One. The One whom is what I need when there is a thing that I need. And You say that all things You are working together for the good of those who love You. And You say that it is good to continue to do the good works. And You say that it was You who called out into the darkness and created the light. And You say it was You who brought life to the dry bones.
Will these dry bones cry out for that life?
Irritating itch. Snapping tilt of the head when that too sharp note of a too harsh word spoken perfectly inappropriately. My head snaps. My heart snaps.
Stand straight and brought instantly to attention. That whack of wrong chord sung. Hung. Hanging in the air and given life and legs and muscle and light. Raised up from innocent dependent infancy into towering above terrorizing traitor.
Stop the bad notes from ringing annoyingly in unison abruptly interrupting insignificant moments of smallness on small mind.
Stop.
Repeatedly blowing foul stench into pleasantries. Repeating rapidly despite me; to spite me.
Say again tempting jumble of mistaken misspeaks?
Soothe that itchy itch in that dark smile of a place. That place where words grow mean and dreams dream mean and I'm free to be mean.
Mean like the rest. Mean like the best. Mean like that foul mouthed one is free to be mean. Mean like the best. Like the dry bones laid to rest. Foul like the image of words spoken before thinking.
Pause before saying it.
Just pause before you do it.
Sound a siren. Make a face. Raise a flag. A heads up would be nice. A warning that you're gonna sing that not note.
Where you at strong desire to please not men but God? Where you at holy roller rolling quickly with the holy? Where your calls at that stop the masses from their masses? Where you at that lay down to frown on the calling on the none? Where you at little loud one?
Sit quietly this ride.
Where you at broken hearted at sin one? Always saved one? Up and coming one?
Grown up too big little loud one.
Fall out of grace little hanging dove one?
Read too many words out of preselected representative collected ones?
Yeah, you're the lost one. The once that was one. The oh, she used to be one.
Say you're the free one? The always wanted to be one? The thinking for yourself kinda rebel wanna be one?
Matter of factly churchy disregarding cynical grown up not brat one.
Lover of words, free thinking, liberating, shut your face, you privileged smug faced talking and talking one. Artsy fartsy creative crafty this or that kinda trash hoarder makey make one.
And Jesus.
For shame, what she said, who she said it to, what she did and why she did the things she did when she did with who. In religion's name sacrificing valuable hearts to be heard. To be right. To be right with the small minded right. In the small space of isolated sacrifice. An upside down world of working never paid ness.
Where?
Inevitable crept up and into the now.
And we sit in the now.
Sit in the inevitable.
Inevitably here where the who said to inevitably be.
Present in the two states away place.
In that space.
In that place where the talk is to self and the who answers never when.
Why, says the her.
We wait, says the we.
And they why and they wait in the two states away.
And You say You are the becoming One. The One whom is what I need when there is a thing that I need. And You say that all things You are working together for the good of those who love You. And You say that it is good to continue to do the good works. And You say that it was You who called out into the darkness and created the light. And You say it was You who brought life to the dry bones.
Will these dry bones cry out for that life?
Irritating itch. Snapping tilt of the head when that too sharp note of a too harsh word spoken perfectly inappropriately. My head snaps. My heart snaps.
Stand straight and brought instantly to attention. That whack of wrong chord sung. Hung. Hanging in the air and given life and legs and muscle and light. Raised up from innocent dependent infancy into towering above terrorizing traitor.
Stop the bad notes from ringing annoyingly in unison abruptly interrupting insignificant moments of smallness on small mind.
Stop.
Repeatedly blowing foul stench into pleasantries. Repeating rapidly despite me; to spite me.
Say again tempting jumble of mistaken misspeaks?
Soothe that itchy itch in that dark smile of a place. That place where words grow mean and dreams dream mean and I'm free to be mean.
Mean like the rest. Mean like the best. Mean like that foul mouthed one is free to be mean. Mean like the best. Like the dry bones laid to rest. Foul like the image of words spoken before thinking.
Pause before saying it.
Just pause before you do it.
Sound a siren. Make a face. Raise a flag. A heads up would be nice. A warning that you're gonna sing that not note.
Where you at strong desire to please not men but God? Where you at holy roller rolling quickly with the holy? Where your calls at that stop the masses from their masses? Where you at that lay down to frown on the calling on the none? Where you at little loud one?
Sit quietly this ride.
Where you at broken hearted at sin one? Always saved one? Up and coming one?
Grown up too big little loud one.
Fall out of grace little hanging dove one?
Read too many words out of preselected representative collected ones?
Yeah, you're the lost one. The once that was one. The oh, she used to be one.
Say you're the free one? The always wanted to be one? The thinking for yourself kinda rebel wanna be one?
Matter of factly churchy disregarding cynical grown up not brat one.
Lover of words, free thinking, liberating, shut your face, you privileged smug faced talking and talking one. Artsy fartsy creative crafty this or that kinda trash hoarder makey make one.
And Jesus.
For shame, what she said, who she said it to, what she did and why she did the things she did when she did with who. In religion's name sacrificing valuable hearts to be heard. To be right. To be right with the small minded right. In the small space of isolated sacrifice. An upside down world of working never paid ness.
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