Parental Guidance

My mother is good at adapting-

I am not.

When change is necessary

she tackles it with all her might-

no fear

no worries.

Just strength.

I cannot adjust so easily.

Change does not come naturally to me-

I am afraid of the unknown

   afraid of what cannot be seen.

I want to be strong,

     brave,

   (like my mother)

but I am not.

But still my mother is there

guiding me in the right direction

giving me her strength

giving me her wisdom.

And for that,

I am thankful.

   

The Process

There are one thousand words

flying through the air

squeezing out my oxygen

tempting me to pick

       to choose

       to decide

which word to write next.  

Hurry.

Or the oxygen will leave-

the last breathe pushed from my lungs.

They fly at the speed of light

(waiting/tempting/begging) me

(my lungs pleading)

to grab a word.

I do.

The ink stains the page

oxygen is released.

I am free.

I write. One page. Two. Three.

  Hurry-
before the process repeats.

Spectrum

I try to disguise myself in filters

hoping

that eventually

I will turn into a kaleidoscope of beauty;

 something worthy of reflection.

But the duplicates dulled my senses

and the filters destroyed my reality.

I cannot distinguish between photography and authenticity.

I tried to develop from the negative Polaroids

but the masterpiece I made of myself-

the pastel colors that filled my flaws,

the dark room that my mind wandered through,

the angles of the world that my soul saw-

Was overexposed.

Interstate-64

Yesterday, on my way home from a college visit,

I counted six crosses on the side of the road.

Multiple lives have ended on interstate-64

six of them stopped forever in the hundred mile stretch

between Mt. Sterling and Louisville.

A cross placed on the side of a road

is the most tragic events

that is inflicted upon innocent eyes.

A life ended in that spot

without warning,

without goodbye.

There was no period or end mark given to them ahead of time to say their farewells,

Only metal against metal

brakes screeching

and loved ones yelling.

Reporters recite a memorized speech into a microphone

in hopes of drawing compassion from an otherwise

desensitized humanity.

There is no beauty

in a cross of the side of the road,

no matter the number of flowers

or coats of paint

or angle of the sun.

There is no beauty in a tragedy that steals lives.

Let Them Rest

We are incapable of rest.

Our society is relentless

always going

always expanding

always moving.

We have ceased to be still.

From day of birth,

to day of death

Our minds filled with thoughts

of Manifest Destiny

and the curse of placidity.

But there is a day

that reaches everyone

when the earth will take our last breath,

and disperse it.

Then,

only then,

will we be still.

Once they are gone,

let them rest.

Do not dress in elaborate affairs of black

with hopes that it will bring them back

They are already gone.

Let them feel the peace

                  the tranquility  

that society never has.

Let them rest.

Anxiety

My thoughts are silent.

My feet are still

My hands calm.

But tranquility never seems to last.

The words arrive

Whether by feeble silence

or thundering  detail

They always find me.

They crawl in through my ears
 my fingertips

my toes.

They find their way inside

no matter the boundary

no matter the dose of medication

no matter the amount of slumber.

The words find their way inside,

traveling through my organs,

up my spinal cord,

weaving into my bones,

clenching my heart.

Till it reaches my brain-

where it imprisons my mind,

traps my soul,

interlacing with my feelings,

ensnaring my whole being,

and I am completely submissive.

My feet are pacing,

my hands are sweating,

my body is shaking.

My thoughts are no longer silent- they are running a mile a minute

playing on repeat before my eyes like a movie flashing on the big screen.

A tornado of unrest,

a hurricane of emotion

with a frightened child trapped inside.

With each breath taken in-

I pull water into my lungs that are already filled to the brim.

One more deep breath-

and my lungs will collapse.

Causing all the water I was drowning in-

to flood out through my eyes

spilling like a tsunami straight from hell.

I am ten miles deep in the waters from my eyes,

      ten miles deep in the emotions that stole my peace,

ten miles deep in an ocean with no outlet.

But somehow-some way- the words are pulled

from my feelings

       my brain

       my heart

       my bones

      my spinal cord,

      my organs,

Shoved away from my entire being.

My thoughts are once again silent,

my feet still,

my hands calm.

Where I'm From

I am from the endless supply of horse tack 

lying around the dusty barn.

       from the blue ribbons

covering the walls.

       from the smell of leather cleaner

in the morning.

I am from the house in the country-

both of them.

I am  from the trees.

        from tireless hours spent

setting up a tent.

        from the lake with the slimy bottom

that always smelled like fish and pine needles.

I am from summers spent on the trails.

I am from the clothing dryer I tried to hid in

when my parents were fighting.

       from the words yelled

and objects thrown.

       from the gravel thrown up in the driveway

when my dad sped away.

I am from the decisions of surface level love.

I am from the five day drive

to the promised land.

       from the stays in cheap hotels

for one night.

       from roadside bathroom breaks

and gas station pizza.

I am from the journey to Kentucky.