aylabird

[aylabird]

To watch the flame that is not my own

I watch the flame  of palo santo burn, thinking of those hurt by the plague of human interest, which leads me to the question:

Is the nature of humanity to hurt one another?

Content-less vague nature of my endless questions, forgive me...

The burning of palo santo and praying for the humans who bear the  undeserving struggle to protect their home, Another fight for their undeniable rights, WHY Does it feel like such a small portion of beings can recognize 

Humanity, And I watch the flame The flame of inhumane action taking plains upon majestic plains of homeland now and again strewn with bodies and blood and dust and policemen in riot gear with guns and mace running the never ending, economic and racial race

Sour in my words, wondering, in the heat of my room, burning this sacred wood Does my privilege to paper and pens and words cause more pain and how to refrain      in each of my actions, how to stop perpetuating, being white, straight, basic american female writing petty psalms of sympathy

I see a happy ending for me though shamefully     I spill onto paper with every obligation to remember that No matter      my intention  I have been both a miracle and a disease in a sick world and please mommy and daddy 

Do not validate me I stand in full vulnerability to bid sorry for all that my people have done

Albeit, sorry will never do, especially upon content-less, vague pleas of naivety, watching a flame that does not belong to me 

[aylabird]

this is what my mind sounds like

Oregon. It’s me. Stomping down dark, wet pavement. Thinking too much. Until, I look up, someone tells me to smile. Water, it trickles down onto my frown and I realize, I like the way the rain looks when it falls. dripping down my face from place To place. Dissolving, into what I can only imagine would be rich, deep, dark soil, fluffy enough for feet like mine and bugs to find crawling through little trails then dying for the reciprocity of the rest of its being, passed on to our system of earth, ever-changing, the constant fright of our plight, the confusion of being confused with a consciousness that has done so much hurt, why to a beautiful being such as earth. I can only ponder to the direction of my insanity until I truly find the divinity that resides within me. We are all personal reckless beings that bear the power to shake the very earth with the juices of our soul, found flowing in the rivers that resemble us all.  And remember, you and me, dreaming the same thing but saying nothing. We humans, we’re all too shy beings, afraid to speak our souls, afraid to be fool in the conception of what is cool, but look at me, letting myself free, finally, I am free. But look at me, in this moment, making magic with the fear of myself, the fear of if I’ll ever do it again, if I’ll ever send the love that resides so naturally within 

us all and the pitfall of human existence is letting the complexity of the consciousness falter, get to us, break us down, let the power of your mind be found, my loves, you are what you need, you are the seed to all that ever was, is and can be, 

see the beauty that you are, you are the seed that needs to be cultivated , needs to be free.  I look over at my succulent reaching towards the sun, wrapping itself within itself, twirling around its own branches, a collective conscious intention towards light, one that does not speak, one that may not see me in dim light, the fright of myself slowly dissipating the more and the faster I write and what is inside but, Hello, myself, the delight, the bright, lit up darkness, I love you

[aylabird]

Girls and Trains

It’s sad that you would think I was weird if you saw me sitting here, alone on the bench at night beneath the almost full moonlight and the stars you cannot see because the clouds found their perfect place drowning me... here at the wandering goat, shoegaze guitar riffs, bitter beer and expensive lattes, you don’t like any of it. I cannot decide what is louder, the desperate scream of the singer or the horn of the freight train I’ve come to keep track of my life by...it passes...and how cliche of me to dream of jumping-to dream of some romantic journey watching landscapes change and dirty bare feet a little too soft for this reality. Where are the blisters? Where is the pain? Then you imagine the sweaty man in the stretched out T-shirt, oil stuck to the hair on his arms and he finds you on top of that train all young and naive waiting for the rain just so you can say you danced in it. 

Aside from this imaginative folly, I like the blinking of the red lights as the train passes by and the horn that drowns out conversation enough so I can hear myself think clearly And the rough roll of skateboard wheels slamming against pavement, the grunt and groan of their first show, drowned in beer, lost, driving without a steer, somehow they keep making it. Somehow they’re still here.  She screams as the train passes, fuel to the hipsters fire, my stripe shirted lover. You are one of the only things that keeps me going, and the sound of train a’rumbling, the feel of the pen against paper and the struggle to remember if I ever did what I thought I’d do when all I do is seem to end up with you.

[aylabird]

Free Write helps ps i can rhyme arent u proud of me

Shaky hands aching to write what plagues my mind  causes the chaos that keeps me up at night despite             my being tired though I realize the importance of free write 

lack of all judgement and management of my self to express whatever shall be but I have to wonder how long until I stop comparing others to me  is this truly a natural tendency or a taught conditional result of society? LET US BE!!

[aylabird]

mommy pt. 2

Dearest mommy,  Do you remember giving birth to me?  Do you remember my first              encounter with this earth? 

Though the rest of your life seems to escape you,  Why, then, did you give me what you lost?  Where is your life?  Did you pass it on to me as I came into The light? 

The white light The dearest beam of protection that binds us intimately together,  Forever

I can never part from you, though I wish I could give you What you gave me

[aylabird]

That hopeless rambling, we’ve all felt it

Blankness.  A void of all too heavy an emotion so deep I can see my sweet simple death sinking silently, Just as the good old Joe Ben Stamper (the only real kind and light-hearted character in the book who didn’t have some giant fuck up to deal with inside himself) drown in the river right in front of the careless eyes of another, down down down with his precious lifelong friend and foe, the timber log that so caused the callouses that made him a man and now-death. Such is life, huh? 

I remember this scene as I sit in this too hot room, though all wrapped up in Dillon’s old sweater and I notice how I oftentimes refer to him as if he’s dead, and sometimes it really feels that way. I don’t know how we got here, him stuck in prison for a crime I will never know if he committed and me, all alone on the couch, countless attempts to distract myself and watch a movie though consistently bored with moving images on the screen. I stuff broken earbuds into my ears to drown out the sound of the drunken youth alive to blow shit up and cheer about it while I hide from the outside world

trying to avoid the fourth of July. 

I am not special. None of us are. We all have these revelations and so-called profound thoughts and pretty glowing faces in photographs and letters of our dreams to lovers in fancy handwriting before we die an unfortunate death. Life seems so sad sometimes-the hope we put into ourselves, our potential, and each other, when we’re all too often disappointed by the sickness that plagues the consciousness. We must learn (the ultimate human challenge), to accept the pain as normalcy. As life. The cold hard truth of human suffering. 

And then we re-read all of our thoughts with the hopes that they sound poetic and some of us girls, we re-paint our nails with the hopes of perfection before we see a girl with chipped nails and smudged eyeliner and we think she must have just rolled off the van she lives on with her lover. She hangs her arm out and has that special tan, everything about her changes who I am, which then changes who you are, and suddenly there’s that chain reaction of human interaction where we’re all trying to be so different when the truth is, all we really want is to be exactly like each other-to relate-to feel similar-to find one another- in the all too confusing world getting mixed up in the contemplation, and, I’m too hot again. The fireworks begin and I am forced to drown out the sounds of other humans-just trying to understand the one that exists within. 

I think making love to Alana has influenced this reaction in me. We did so in the early morning dim haze just before the sun raised- to the sound of Radiohead softly in the background, though not quite soft enough, whether that be the music or our gentle little screams, to wake my roommate in the world below me. There was no way I could not make love to that purple-haired, doe-eyed love of mine, you sad, sad girl-the sadness seeping through your bones and now some of it stuck to me. 

[aylabird]

Down by the Willamette River

Mommy, I call out to thee,  Where are you? 

Barefoot on your broken down boat, docked to the shore you’ve claimed As your own Snapping shots of sunsets that make life worth living, oftentimes Wondering If this reality will ever change. 

After the strain of the morning time Recovering from night terrors and the discomfort of a tiny blue couch I am happy to know you now call  The ground, your home

Down by the Willamette River, your remember What it is like to be defined by the outside The beauty of the orange, purple, pink, blue Sunrise anew

Do not listen to what life’s expectations tell you, I love you

[aylabird]

January 15, 2017

I have stacks of journals, old restaurant order tickets and crumpled up receipts covered in writing, (my way of getting through the day) and I like to think maybe there is some good material in all of this...this energy I have spent pouring my heart out onto random strangers double cheeseburger orders and grocery store receipts. Or maybe it’s just a jumble of random overly emotional reveries...though I have a distinct feeling that my sad pleas and flowery musings will surely find someone when they most need it. We humans, we’re all just a strange web of emotional connection buzzing around in the wind trying to understand what’s within, searching for someone who can relate. Someone who can maybe understand what you have felt more than you can yourself. 

The expression and sharing of art in any form is forever a healthy contribution to a sick planet full of sick, beautiful souls. It helps us to remember the love and purity that exists within us all. 

I wrote something in my journal, I don’t know, it could have been a year ago, and it has inspired me to again start translating my almost illegible storm of thoughts into something that can be shared. Even at the simplest level, typing my thoughts and putting them somewhere helps me to better understand myself and in turn, the world. 

I said: “The sad reality is that as of late, I am texting more than I am writing; this dear, sacred act that has saved me, this connection of mind to body transmitted to an object outside of me. How do thoughts change as they transfer from mind to paper? Do they become reality? 

Sometimes, the more I talk the farther and farther away I get from what I’m trying to say. And the more I think when I write, the more I try to control where or in which way the pen rolls. I write to find the truth that lie within myself. I anticipate that all the resonate lingering life, wonder and strife I have yet to stumble upon will swim gently to the surface and pop its head above the advancing and retreating shoreline just at the right time.”

And so the journey continues. 

[aylabird]

24 hour coffee shop insanity

I am crazy       and dazy hands are                      shaky                too much coffee and I’m wondering if life on this planet Will amount to anything Or if it will keep      leading to endless nights in 24 hour coffee shops deep in the realms of a dark city

I don’t know if I call my own

and my insanity is playing out in the profanity scratched into the black table beneath me my heart is beating I can’t seem to find the pattern of my         breathing

and I keep thinking...

if now is the time for mine lovely body to fall....to gracefully tumble into the infinite climb to the sky the highest design orchestrated by the mind called           

death

don’t let it be in this god forsaken coffee shop fashioned with the man knitting mysteriously perpetually glancing over at me as I shrug further into my hood I don’t think the long strands of blonde hair trailing down past my breasts Is helping any

this god forsaken coffee shop on powell boulevard I love you Portland But not enough to fade into the remains of my shitty black coffee

it just wasn’t bitter enough

to endure this crazy...dazy....24 hour coffee shop insanity

[aylabird]

Michelle

Sitting in a college café In a red spotted chair Blood Bank came on by          Bon Iver And I think of you

You're pretty mess of hair Pulled back in a bun Those aqua blue eyes     Staring at me in the night When I return, and you Singing beautifully Fingers moving gracefully across the long neck of the guitar

And now mine eyes, shedding tears Like little droplets of rain For your pain                 And my pain Coming together as one Existing with the utmost amount of youthful angst a vigor for This life... I know it so well

I'll sleep on a tiny bed with one blanket And one pillow Stand in a shower with no shampoo Just to be there for you

In this red spotted chair Bon Iver...filling my ears and I remember Winter mornings, a haze of half awake walks to school Then late summer nights Drinking tea, blowing smoke out of weary lungs Awaiting the arrival of an August sun

Michelle, I know it so well The feeling of a person who understand Like I never could The person who reminds you On a long and weary road There is still                Good

And you should know   I love you for that broken heart of yours The sun kissed hair you never wash...the silly way you dance in the mirror And scroll Scroll on your phone for hours In a wet bath towel Because life is cold and hard

But what I love most is when all your pain Crashes down like October    Rain, in the night Into beauty tears falling, your eyes burning And you know it just as well as I do, sitting here In this red spotted chair              Though I care do nothing but remember All the memories created And all the ones yet to come 

[aylabird]

A thousand waters enveloping me Hazy blue shades and soft hues of green Reminiscent of all the times you abandoned me   Not knowing it would cause such Purity...drowning, yet so alive Unaware that I would swim long and hard. That I would grow wings and truly understand what it means to be liberated from a love, deceiving in all its beauty

And I am free

[aylabird]

He told me not to smoke weed

Sorry daddy I couldn't resist the pretty green tree The way it makes me feel      So reaaaalll So true to earth So full of beauty So forever separate from our broken society

Our realities They are different daddy Barefoot and blissful, I dance in flowery fields, Riding elephants Enveloped in a sea of beauty So far from normalcy

You running a never-ending race, climbing an infinite ladder of nonexistent success Looking for happiness, only finding stress

Daddy this has nothing to do with weed It is about finding a reality Apart from society About finding a dream and living it With ever last ounce of your being For this daddy, for your inability...I truly am sorry

[aylabird]

Digitalized

Broken, I am Beaneath the throws of society and Manipulation

Please...do not let me be Another robot

Who am I But a tool in a giant machine to Impersonalize and digitalize this world

Stuck in a constant craze of scrolling Double tapping Fostering feelings of discomfort arisen from another's Status or picture.

Who am I But a product of somebody else? Where do I exist, aside from in a virtual profile Set to make myself different from who I truly am..and More similar to those around me...the other robots Of our broken society

I am so saddened by this technological generation, and ever more so By the amount to which I contribute

[aylabird]

Though, says my free soul

And when I lie awake And think of you My breath    Falls Into short spurts of Life Moving in and out of this collection Of skin And     bone Building back up What you once stole from me In the cold of January All the months through

But I have grown strong A beautiful life exists And awaits ...Though you are back All out of sorts And I ache to help you But simply cannot see Any other way but The road So lyeth in front of me Sunshine Illuminating the Untraveled path Cosmically shooting upward

And I love you darling With all that I am In all that you are The sweet           Simple                 Perfection Of our eyes locked on that Sunday afternoon ...But our lives are leading In faraway places I hope one day they can meet Though, says my free soul I do not know If my uneven footsteps Will follow you Any longer

[aylabird]

Oh what the night instills in me

Such a beautifully Mystical Happening Being taken Consumed By the darkness Eyes shut to the troubles of the world Into a land of subconscious Wonder Glimpses of heaven And

Hell…

Remembrances Of what once was And what will one day occur As if these little hands of mine Could change it As if the light inside me became a Flame Burning, creating Shooting far and wide Into the darkness Opening closed eyes Into a world, void of trouble Full of magic

And that same darkness Will somehow Someway Turn the light into a Flame In every lost being Every empty caverned chest Walking earth

Oh what the night intills in me

[aylabird]

meddled musings

Generic blue ink              scratches into a blank, looseleaf Void And I have to wonder Who is creating this nonsense? Of whose breath   Escapes From this collection Of skin and bone?

I could answer If I really knew Who sits among treetops  Sips cold mint tea Dons bare feet In the depths of winter

Dreams of knowing when I can be free And who, really, is                                me? 

[aylabird]

I saw your    face In a cloud of                    space

And I loved you Floating in that drop of time                       You were all Mine