same photo, edited twice because i couldn't decide which one i liked more!
 

the music is playing,
dancing in a forgotten rythem 
beside deafened ears

i pay it no attention, for
my mind is elsewhere.

the music, a noise that does not exist
on paper, on a solid surface
has become a blur.

when i am focused, the noises become silence
but a loud silence,
the kind that hums,
the kind that you do not notice
until it is gone.


 

Sometimes, photos or poems will make you guess what the big picture is really about. Write or take a photo about something that will make the reader think more about what they're looking at!
 

 

 

freedom

noun

the power to do as you wish,
to love who you love,
to be you.

to speak,
write,
read.

to not be brought down
by shackles of self-doubt
and longing to see an open blue sky.

to be free
free of anything and anyone
who traps you down

to not have to hold onto the grass
to stop yourself from drifting up
into the darkness of being controlled

to wave a ripped, tattered flag
and still know
that you are free.

I want to write.
And yet here I am, deleting the same line over,
and over,
and over.
It feels like sometimes, words simply...
f
 l
  o
   w
      from us.
And the other times, words come to a
s
t
o
p.
We can't control it. Maybe others can. I can't. It's something so uncontrollable, and yet so unnoticeable. When the words flow, writing is so simple.  
I have a friend who says she can't write. I have multiple friends like that, who spend hours on a small haiku because they can't break that dam that stops the flow of thoughts and words and everything in between. 
The dam can be repaired, of course. But sometimes, once broken and rebuilt, it's easier to break again.

i am falling
trying to catch the hands
of the old analog clock
father time has not yet forgiven us
it's all going to fast

no
no
no

i want to go back
dancing with bare feet
not knowing, not thinking
the clock ticked too fast, back then

now it goes to slow, and yet
so fast
tik, tik, tik

i cannot remember half of the things
i did yesterday
it's nothing but a blur of missing pencils
running until i can't
and wishing i could go back

i am falling,
falling
falling past some of the best opportunities
i want to go back

tik. tik. tik.


 

My brain finds every little fluff of cloud in the sky.

I think it's because part of me wants nothing to be forgotten. Not the little fluff of white, nor the large, flat cloud that's laid like a blanket across the sky. I enjoy searching for the small things, looking at the different shapes of the mulch, or counting the leaves on a flowery bush. Looking at the overlooked. It's satisfying, in a way. Looking at the things that aren't quite considered 'beautiful'.

Like the clouds that cover the bright stars. They just want a moment to shine, but instead they just annoy the watchers. Focusing how it's still something that is there, a part of this universe, and doing something. It's such an odd feeling. I enjoy it, though. Knowing I'm acknowledging the overlooked. Knowing that I can see that it is there, rather than just turning away from it because it disappoints me. Strange.

it's one of those nights
the ones where nostalgia
is at it's strongest

it feels like before
before what?
i honestly don't know

before...
this

this
this
hand sanitizer, masks, and 6 foot-tape

i want to cry,
i want to hope this is all
just a dream,
something i can forget as time moves on,

but no
this is real

tonight,
it feels like a night
where scooter wheels rub against pavement,
and spring sports have begun,
it's warm tonight

this whole year
no, it  can't possibly be a year
has felt so real,
like it was never different than this

and yet,
it feels like a fever dream
so unrealistic
we're a science fiction movie ourselves, aren't we?

on to the next day, i suppose.