I think I float sometimes maybe without knowing but my little thread breaks and i fall upward but I'm not complaining of course it's the best way after all to touch the stars.
I know I hum to myself And whisper over and over again So when i reach the double bar I’ll can spread myself across the staff And clink rusty keys together Until the resounding echo Is a resolution of harmony.
I dotted ink in my fingerprint today a small act of rebellion so that they remember I'm here still waiting for that moment where everything changes.
I'm not sure that anyone even exists I mean i have no evidence except for photos taken through someone else's lens and what should that mean to me? its only a memory I stole to heal my bleeding heart
My latest project: A Presidential Map which is basically a way of tracking the election. So the way it works is every state has a date in it which is the day of their caucuses or primaries. The pictures are all of the people running for president in an attempt at alphabetical order with Marianne Wiliamson at the top because she's my favorite.) As the year goes on, I will cross out people who leave the race and write down the date which they dropped out. Every time a state holds its caucuses/primaries, I will write in the state whoever got the most votes for the Republicans and same for the Democrats. (I'm also gonna write down how many Marianne Williamson got if she doesn't get the top score just cause I like her. ;)) Anyway ta da! I'll keep you all updated through tiny writes about the election and stuff so look for that!
it's funny how the stars make you think about how much you've lost snowflakes make you do the same thing I suppose each different though no one can really prove that i think humans are like snowflakes you can't count them and find that they are all unique I read somewhere that there's up to 7 people in the world who are almost exactly like you but that data is all sititng there in empty notebooks because no scientist can count passion no scientist can tell you what you like and who to love. there's studies sure but there's studies all the time full of abouts and approximatelys. But no one can count the hurt you feel or the smile you give there's no formula for how long a life will be or how much love a person can feel there's no equation to solve for loneliness or to tell you where your dreams will take you. when math fails, the stars tell us the answer i think
(A/N This is a copy of a letter I wrote to all 100 senators asking them to remove Donald Trump from office. I am so fed up with being silent.)
We need to remove President Trump from office. Time and time again we have seen that he is guilty of many crimes and that he should not be allowed to get away with it. The president of the United States should not be above the law. And yet, if any other person did the things President Trump has done, they would be held accountable for their actions. So why, I ask you, is he still fighting back against the system that keeps America a just and fair place?
and the candle flame falls but we still try to dream on a cloud dipped in memories emersed in a bittersweet feel of a grudge against the universe, a hatred for the wretched and indolent sky thief for just as we begin to love something it is lost in the great relms of the majestic night sky. only in photos of the quaking earth can we finally find a reason to live and in the stars we see the constellation of the lost and loved for underneath that blanket of light their veins run thick with your tears while you x-ray every part of their soul to hold in your hands until the love of the world zips up your bleeding heart and his candle burns in our eyes forever.
I say you yesterday holding hands with someone as the snow came swirling around you and your boots swished through the flakes and it made me happy. I saw you standing in the kitchen the smoke swirling up into your face like a delicate candle flame that reminded me how much I missed you. I saw you in the mirror and you mattered the most your hair that never falls perfectly and the annoying random blemishs that seem to crop up for no particular reason and your brown eyes and flowing hair I saw all of you cause you matter to me and maybe if I'm lucky I matter to you.
every poem starts with stars and ends with rain because only a poet dares to stand in each of these elements with an already filled notebook, as they frantically scribble in the ripped margins by the light of the stars words that hopefully someone will hear before the cold rain falls and turns thoughts to ink