Invisible tree

Standing there. Rooted. Committed to the ground as if I might just float away otherwise. Naughty knots tangled and strangling themselves. Tall enough. Strong enough. But, completely invisible. Come to me for protection and food. My service is to you. But notice me. If you come back again and again and again, at least appreciate the convenience of my location. My consistency. I will continue to exist with enough water and enough sun. But I long to connect. You climb all over me and you keep cutting back my branches for a better view. Can you not appreciate the reality of my relation to your existence? Prominent and imperceptible. I should revel perhaps in my usefulness. I should carry perhaps a humble pride of leaves. Yet I find myself waving in the wind and waiting to see if you look my way. I modify and redesign myself every season for your attention not your amusment. I literally throw myself at your feet and then a little piece of me dies there. In desperation I am even guilty of stretching up from below hoping to trip up your routine. Alas, I am invisible and lonely if not deceptively peaceful looking. 

Blind Determination and a Blue Ball

Aimless little hobo pinched into a new cardboard box. Warm and dry and without cause. Then uncontrollably excited by a passing ball. Little bitch has been chasin this ball for years. It is perfect. That is what she was told. It certainly looks perfect. Not even a scratch after all these years. Blue, a beautiful blue, not faded or tainted. Just rolling for years around in her head and heart. She almost caught it once. But she was afraid it might burst and let it go. 

Luckily her attention span it short and she can be pulled away from her obsession for long periods, so long that it weakens the wanting. Stupid ball, who needs it. In her mind she buries it, deep in the ground. She can not have it but at least she doesn't have to see it. But then every so often, here it comes...how did it get out? And there it goes. Fuckin ball. Maybe she was destined to chase it. It may be that it was once hers in another life. Happiness can not be found in a ball can it? I mean in one specific ball! A ball is a ball. She has other ones, why are they not good enough. What is it about that one?

Curious thing the heart and head, blind determination and a blue ball. For now she sleeps with one eye open, wondering if it will pass again. Eventually she will tire and fall asleep and think she only dreamt it. And maybe she did. Maybe it is all it ever was, a dream...and maybe not even hers. 

Holiday Spirit

I'm not going to apologize, or make up suitable palatable lies. Won't wear my new town's disguise. It's good and okay to just be what I am for now. Holidays help past the time despite insincere spirits and commercialize drones. Where are you going little bees... did they tell you today was your day to try to buy the tradition your grandmother made from scratch. It will cost you in many ways for days and days.   Try your best to be real. It's hard to, I know. Paper walls hiding questionable motives. 

Be real but conscious...yes? Life is this moment and it is innate to be in company. Not just any company but amoung the back holders and wet shoulders. The face slappers and reality clappers. The folks who know you or care to or don't care if they do but want to. For is happiness real if not shared? I read that once...it resonates. Embrace the season for your needs...find what resonates. 

I think all I should want for Christmas is honesty ...transparency ...and to share it with those I love. My best gift always comes from the look in my dogs eyes when I call him over. You can't buy that, you can't sell that. It's honest and transparent and undeserved and constant. My heart beats not for approval or accomplishment but for knowing the few who love me regardless and when I'm lost and when I don't love myself. It's Christmas and it's okay to define what that is for yourself. Happy Holidays. 

Are you lost?

I'm always fighting a pull or pushing a limit. Disconnected mostly and full of fear sometimes. I'm always wasting my energy on thought and regret. Thinking, rethinking and trying not to think. Writing lists and clipping wishes. Like reminders of normality or what I think I want to be. It's never ending. A genetic defect I assume. Because heaven knows I won't take credit for it...or anything. I would love nothing more than to roll with it but I know I don't have the wherewithal to take it any place real. And my real place holds me here regardless. This is a perfect excuse to do nothing about it or blame you for letting me do nothing. I keep fighting it and I force being normal but I want to be part of the bigger thing. I want that to be my thing. I want too much I suppose. Or maybe I'm just partly shackled still. And the guilt of my non-participation is wearing me. But I have seen less do more with less and more, if you know what I mean. Reading back on my thoughts I conclude I think a lot. I think about doing and complain like a spoiled child and then I do nothing and complain some more. Are you lost? Because to me you look somewhat put together. I don't believe that no one understands me. I know for a fact that I actually have very little to complain about. But I have seen the pattern play out generations before me and I don't want a part in it. Hell, I've seen runners run with no legs. It is my goal to break the cycle I am. I am always fighting a pull or pushing a limit. But not in a good way. I've been swimming against the current of possibility, watching others ride it downstream. I'm jaded. Underestimating myself. At what point do I figure it out. 
Well not today, today is not that day. What if this is life. That would be something...

Plastic flowers

It's not a good time to write...or it is a perfect time. I'm tired and hanging onto heavy lids. Not worn or deeply disturbed just weary, just today. Life is good, blue sky abound. But the nagging impending doomsday rest anxiously upon my mind's hammock. Swinging in wait I can't help but feel like the weather will break, the fighting will escalate, the states will fall and something ....something will happen. I ponder on the cloud on whether my innocents will emerge from it or if they could succeed at all.  It's a fine mess we built. Naive ignorance laid the stone that will crush us all. Worse off so Canadian is my current awareness in that I will smile at the wolf in sheep's clothing, accept my silver metal and feel ashamed at my thoughts. Helpless, Hopeless, Powerless. I am not the one that will resurrect anything. I want to be. But atlas I am bound by the very rope I weave. It's so funny. Funny in the way that I will laugh great tears of defeat and confusion. Swing, swing.... it is soothing. I drank from the vile as did you, hell I made the packaging and advertising too. Just a brainwashed brain brainwashing the sane. Lovely optimistic human spirit. Like dumb dancing children in a field of plastic flowers. Can't they smell that there is nothing left. But they are too busy dancing. And I am too busy making plastic flowers. It's over...at least 'as it was' is. But maybe some of the new will survive and be less tired and sacrifice everything to get it right. That which we so royally screwed. Because even through my disgusting weakness I feel hope, if not my own than theirs. And I hope its real. 

Heart's home.

Sitting there and trying to feel something. Prominent picturesque perfection sprawled before me, blinding me with all its evidence. Waiting for my heart to gambol. Nothing. It is not possible to force feeling. Like your mother it just exists or existed. Like drinking table salt to fill the sea of memory or is it memory of the sea. But not this one. My footprints were not born here. For what crime am I being punished? As much freedom as a glass cage in an open field. An illusion presented to prove that my longing is deeper than the surface of the sand. Much deeper. It is the proverbial hole in the heart, the missing puzzle piece. It seems as though others have found their way with more complicated maps or simpler destinations. It seems as though some are not looking. But you are sure when you see those who have found it. Or more accurately have found yours. The deep green envy pounds in your heart, making you know there is life left. So it is just the situation that has to change. I hope it is always waiting and that my truth does not get more complicated then that. For at this moment I know my heart's home, I have just taken a lengthy detour with a stubborn tour guide.

Lost? Found...

Short and sweet these days. Like sunlight woven through clouds projecting breathless proof of our insignificance. I lean on my bank of memories. Heart stopping moments of existence. The blue of that fire taunting my truth that this perfect moment is only here now and won't be tomorrow. This part of recollection is mine alone and most likely not being witness by anyone else here right now. That golden sun on my path to nowhere. A path I took a thousand times without notice of that color. Life is short and sweet and we could linger on either explanation. But you will be different if you prioritize "Short" over "Sweet" life. I don't get it, and I am a little more okay about that everyday. Sometimes it is wise to believe that your luck is just being able to taste a fresh strawberry.  Your privilege is the freedom to not just catch the moment but to linger in it, love it...live it. We don't know how short it is but we all have the capability to swim in the sweetness.