Oral

Written

Nonverbal

Visual

Organization

Instructional

Interpersonal

Group

Gender

Cultural

Rhetorical

Mass

Media

So where is Thought Communication?

A little bird told me that you have been feeling quite distraught as of late and

are contemplating avoiding heartbreak at all costs for the remainder of your days.

When your hope begins vanishing into the purple horizon again, I want you to remember how the moment you are ready to quit is usually the moment right before a miracle happens. Perhaps, just perhaps, the reason those vigilant stars outside keep begging you to kiss them enthusiastically every night is because the next romantic partner heaven sends into your life will be the one it doesn't also take away.

There's a horizon

My eyes are chasing,

Rugged mountains seem

So far away

A fall kaleidoscope

Of colors painted

On grey clouds

Obscuring the way

Though somber and still

A breeze moves the leaves

Making them do a little dance,

Their home tree they

Must finally leave

Upon their arrival

To the forest floor below,

They create a beautiful

Remnant of colors left over

from summer's spell

The exposed limbs

Smoothed over and reaching,

Reveal themselves

As solitary sentinels

They guard the secrets

That nature won't tell,

Written on the leaves

That so softly fell

My eyes back on the horizon,

With a new and improved sight,

I appreciate these windy

Autumn days,

Enjoying the opaque, cloud filtered light

Pedals to push round or

Is it up and down? Perhaps

It is back and forth. The impulse

Drives the turning motion.

Getting the feet in place could begin

Finding something within. Eddying like

The pedals that shape a new shape.

This was childhood once, and it

Needed no drive, no thought,

Just an impulse to see and be in

Motion with pedals turning.

The cut inward opens.

Out it pours, what?

I fail to see. Fail and fill

It presses a void left.

The cut outward opens too.

In it welts, why?

I come to see. Filled and failed

It numbs the pressed new void.

And the cut, hidden closes.

Strung, sore, tightening the void.

The water had sunk deeper into the well

More pulling on the rope for buckets.

As a child the game was speed. But not for

Those who drank the water year round.

This was my father's well of childhood and

Stones left bleached soap bricks rounded by

Time. Forgotten they have turned into

Broken teeth that fell from the mouth

Of the well. And the water is not safe.

No, neither are the stones.

When it was alive in summer the pulley

Screeched, raising loaded pails tied to rope.

A weathered cross beam bearing the load.

Who was like the beam? My father? Maybe.

Perhaps his mother who saw the well turn.

One year the water was gone. We were gone.

What is there now does not speak. It can't.

What it was and saw has also been bleached.

Whitened by time and sun and time again.

Reflections of a memory

Tattooed upon my face

Here's where she lied

Here's where she stole

Here's where a stranger she embraced

But more ink appears

And covers my skin

Here's where she loved

Here's where she shared

Here's where she took the high road again

The art swirls and combines

And seeps deep down inside

Want to know who I am?

Look in my eyes.

Dying

      Living

             Alive

                  Dead

I'm losing myself

         Locked inside my head

Reality

         Fiction

                   Fake

                        Contradiction

I'm so lost

      Insanity may be the definition

I'm burning

                So cold

                         I'm freezing

                                         On fire

I'm wearing a mask

               To mimic your attire

My mind

            So numb

                       I'm blind

                                  And dumb

Living in your shadow

                 I feel like I am scum

Rejoice

         Grieve

                   My voice

                                In silence

Just another victim

              Of your mental violence

I'm done

          So ready

                     I'm yours

                                I decline

A zombie in my brain

                       As you wine and dine

Bleeding

           Receiving

                     I'm gone

                               Goodbye

You finally win

              It's my time to die

Daniel

     Jacob

Dabney

And

     Well

           You

               Know

                      The

                          Routine

                  ♡06-23-16♡