Shrapnel

Freedom cannot be imposed through war

Bloody hands cannot tender peace

Guns are loaded with violence

Not armed in defense

Most of the blood spilt

Is the blood of the innocent

Not the aggressor

=

Bury these shrapnel children

In the filth of your crimes

Deep underground, away

From the camera’s naked lens

If we don’t confess the sin

No one ever has to know

(No one ever wants to)

=

The media will select its truths

Enslaved, the public’s eyes

Pray the illusions

That will save their souls

That will uphold their fallen Gods

=

The ideals of nations

Fall apart under observation

Dissent tantamount to treason

Patriotism is not blind adherence

It’s the backbone needed to face harsh truths

To recognize when change is needed

And accept responsibility for our own evils

Who do you think you’re really killing

With your self-soothing illusions?

=

If it happens behind closed doors

Did it ever really happen?

If it earns you money

Is it ever really worth the cost?

When its your children

Your eyes will be forced open

With shrapnel

Remnants of disgrace

From your bloodless wars

=

Bloodless I am using to mean merciless and appalling not as in lacking blood

 

 

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Paper Crane

My heart swells with grief

Eclipses everything

This sense of mourning

Heavier with each beat

This pain gathers mass

Overwhelms, heart-shaped space

Amplifying with the breath

Bigger than me, bigger than you

All misery consumes

Taken so far down

With your suffering

=

These fragile thoughts

Like butterfly wings

Stirring up my darkest fears

What if suddenly you weren’t here?

What if I close my eyes too long

And suddenly you’re not there?

What if we came together too late?

=

Your absence has grown

More unbearable with time

This impassive ocean

Stretching between

Takes on a life

Washes away both of ours

We lay low in sorrow

Collapsing under

These unforgiving tides

=

My paper crane

Delicate, your palm-held heart

My flightless bird

You sit motionless

Wait and suffer

Hopelessly unfolding

Creasing a little more over time

=

Following these Delphian callings

I have always been

Given to summons

Isolated and isolating

I hollow the space

For rending seas

Sitting apart

On opposite divides

We are waiting

Always waiting

=

This poem is about my mom ordinarily I don’t write about her because she’s very sensitive.  She lives still in States and I live in Sweden. We were never close particularly (we don’t know how to be with each other, we love each other so much but we tend to hold each other at arm’s length ironically trying to protect each other) but having her within reach was comforting. Seeing her once a month, maybe once every few months but that’s no longer an option. Financial constraints and health restrictions make it very difficult. I recently found out she has Spinal Stenosis and was unable to walk (she keeps her health from me). She is just starting again to stand up and I wasn’t there for her. My step dad is in his 80s (my mom is 52 so still quite young but she has no other children) and I just feel truly terrible that I am not there. I have debated sharing a poem with her but given my dark writing I just don’t know.

Day 9 Summer Must Haves

1. Sunscreen (for the lips too) crucial because I have very fair skin and even though I don’t burn nearly as easily as one would imagine I know how much damage (not to mention aging) the sun can cause.

2. Fruit

3. Sunglasses I have super sensitive eyes so even with them I pretty much walk around unable to see anything

4. A swimsuit must be prepared encase of a swimming opportunity

5. Ice cream and snow cones

6. Hippie skirts long, colorful, but light I really don’t like wearing shorts since they make women’s shorts to be embedded into your crotch there so short

7. My Ecco sandals most expensive shoes I own but like a little slice of heaven, my feiyues cheap (I got mine for 7 bucks originally) but damn comfortable

8. Juice I don’t drink ice tea or lemonade I prefer a nice glass of cranberry juice =)