my life was a line. a straight and narrow path, all i had to do was take one step at a time and id reach paradise. paradise was the end goal. paradise has shattered, and i see the broken pieces glittering on the sidewalk of the straight and narrow, beauty hidden in seeming darkness. I chase after hope, one step at a time. closing doors behind me, i push forward. I change. I grow, and the world is a stained glass window
Ode to a Friend
The world told you women were weak.
So you went and stayed strong.
The world told you only money makes the world go round.
So you went and quit your job to raise a family.
The world told you men are assholes.
So you went and loved the kindest one you could find.
The world told you children need a better education.
So you went and homeschooled them because you realized the educational system sucks.
The world told you white people were racist assholes.
So you defended the right to base our opinions of people on their personality traits and acknowledge that people are products of their environment.
The world finally called you a Troll.
So you went and wrote a beautiful book on how to be a better fucking Troll.
To my fellow troll EstherFlowers1 - for teaching ME how to be a better fucking troll :) I'll always love you, dear teacher/mentor/mother/mediator/friend
---
The hero's head was pounding
the world spinning
muted crowds of thousands chanted his name
and the villain lay at his feet.
he would've enjoyed it
he would've cheered with the newly freed masses
his tears might've been with joy instead of sadness
but he could not tear his eyes from the girl.
The girl in the front row
five, maybe six years, he thought.
her wrist was tightly enclosed by the hands of another
a gruff man who did not smile.
they weaved through the shifting crowd
and when the girl tried to pull away,
the hero could hear the fist hit her small face, even through the clapping.
The hero bolted to save the girl
but she was gone, a nameless face in the crowd.
it seemed the hero had saved the city,
but he could never save a single one
luminous points [ and skin structures of an aching soul
because how long
can you write about sugar and dust ?
forever
if the wind blows
from under the things that bloom from you
even under the snow,
eternal things
and those ashtrays filled with stars
that once screamed into the cosmos,
begging for the release of the erupting light
barely a fracture of a second in someone’s life
just a seed
falling in your opened hands
that one night, so long ago
when all there was to see
was just the moon
and you
.
