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Canning

When I was young

I liked fireworks

much to Mother’s chagrin

“Big Displays for one So Small!”

She would say

At the time firecrackers were all

I could even hold in my tiny hands

Don’t ask me how I lit them

I do not know

My mother’s Mother would scream

“Get that away from her!”

“How did she even get that?”

My mother tried to understand

but never defend me

At some point she stopped

trying to understand

She bought into the idea

that I could be stopped

Mason jars

“See? The air will kill the sparks!”

My mother tried to indulge

Since they Must Be Lit

The after will be contained

as long as i put them away

in the mason jars.

Once consciousness ailed me

I tried to forego the fireworks

but they always found me

and they started to arrive lit

so i’d rush to the mason jar

and close it back in

sometimes i couldn’t

didn’t have the time

i was punished for the destruction

no matter how small

i began to fear the fireworks

as i did

they got bigger

my mother gave me larger

mason jars

one day (and many following)

the mason jar exploded

with the firework inside

glass shrapnel struck

my baby brother’s hand

(bandaid)

the television

(not bandaid)

my mother’s arm

(bandaid)

but it tore a hole

in my side

i was gasping

and rasping

about how sorry i was

to be bleeding out

on the carpet i did not own

my mother admonished

my grandmother screamed

my brother declared hatred

i glared

at the mason jar

(or what was left of it)

that too was blamed on me

while i healed i worked

to earn more money

for mason jars

i researched tempered glass

i spoke to my mother and hers

trying to craft the ideal mason jar

they offered suggestions

“wash it every day!”

“do not drop it on the ground!”

“have you tried closing it faster?”

i wish they had tried

listening and learning

not just to me but anyone outside

the bubble they “secured” us in

“christianity” the ultimate sin

at some point i gave in

to the sin, so i thought

‘let’ the mason jar explode

gave up on replacing it this time

the fire raged unchecked

i mourned my wounds out in the open

my mother blamed the sin

my grandmother called me weak

my brother left confused

now many years later

i carefully feed my fire

safely tucked away

in a ring of rocks,

dug into the ground a bit

a fire pit

i feed it and let it grow

i sometimes let it fade

(but never let it die)

the fireworks these days

are appreciated where they belong

in the sky

soaring high

those around me these days

appreciate my displays

help me tend the fires

if they leave my control

i smile more often

and say fuck mason jars

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what a tragedy

that even my daylight can be stolen

every waking moment consumed

blame consumerism

blame communism

blame capitalism

at this point however

i care not for whom with lies the blame

but for that which i mourn the loss of

such as my sunshine

my peace

my breath, even trees

i cannot want

for wanting is a sin

but yet i’m told

time and time again

i should want to live!

but wanting is a sin

therefore also is surviving?

for i cannot survive

without sunshine

without breath

without peace

but if each is stolen

(in the name of survival,

what a farce!)

what is there to want?

struggle do i in the name of freedom

struggle do i in the name of peace

struggle do we all in these same things

though the named may differ

how am i

who am i

when am i

but im told why i am

im told where i am

do i believe?

i wish the tragedies to end

the sulfur on her* skin

the oil in her breath

the felling of her trees

the shaking of her peace

is wishing wanting?

are these things a sin?

i should cry yes with passion

but yet still i find apathy

once where wonder grew

what a tragedy

the earth rumbled and shook

ash rains down upon her once green hills

forever stained by pride

she screams once

they scream with many voices

the silence hits her atmosphere

the seas still

the breeze quiets

every living thing preserved

everlasting

in her final cry

the boy stands at a door

looking out at pure light

“mine?”

dissent is not spoken yet

he understands

for beyond the door

lies those who put it there

he only *perceives* the light

therefore it must not be his

for how can a moment

belong to him?

the very air he breathes

is only on lease

the things he sees

put there long ago

each step he takes

must NOT be a waste

“you owe your life!”

the void speaks

tremors and trumpets

“what is a life?”

the boy only breathes

yet more now he does owe

further yet past the door

there are more

like him

the void teaching them each

their place and their worth

dividing spoils of wars

not yet fought

gambling with the fates

of lives not yet lived

the boy with bated breath

steps through the door

he learns warm that day

the void rolls its dice

the boy learns to smile

click clack clatter

the boy learns fire

click clack clatter

the boy learns tears

click clack clatter

the void knows

one cannot multiply

zero

from behind the light

the void spots a boy

hesitant yet yearning

click clack clatter

a door is born

a boy learns manners

knock knock knock

click clack clatter

wheeling and dealing

one can multiply

a new boy cries

yet another boy dies

the void multiplies

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i think i’m at peace

with most things at least

things that don’t follow

this weird journey

of peace (and war)

i’ve been on

oft get ignored

or pushed aside

but like all middle children

lit fuses only have so much string

peace once disturbed

must be found once more

when thinking isn’t being

one must wage war

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i would like anybody who may see this to enjoy with me this series of photos in my camera roll

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sometimes when my dog and i went to the dog park we would see a Certain Owner and Dog come in and our collective spiritual hackles would raise and we would leave. In those moments i never felt more connected to nature, my dog, and myself. I miss that!

(now she has 24 acres to f around on) (she’s very anxious around other dogs but we lived in an apartment so we had to go to the biggest dog park nearby)

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Tag yourself I’m the “Overdressed and Underappreciated”. Artist : http://www.mattadrian.com/ 

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reblogging to save

hey jsyk while hellofresh is dummy expensive and i wouldn’t reccomend it if you already know how to cook (if you’re a beginner like i was when i had it for 3 months, then it’s worth it), you should know that ALL OF THEIR RECIPES are free on their website and they all fuck hard

i will say that all the cooking instructions for veggies are pretty much the same (season with salt + pepper and roast on the top oven rack at 425F), but if it ain’t broke don’t fix it.

that being said, it also introduced me to methods i wasn’t at all expecting. i would have never thought to use cream cheese in my meat sauce, and now all my friends are constantly asking me to make my special rigatoni.

happy cheffin! :)

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it's funny how humans have the capacity to love so much that it hurts, but at the same time have the capacity to hurt so much that all the love is taken. In essence we are selfish creatures. But there has to be more than that.

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in my darkest moments my purpose is to find the light so that I might not fall back into what hurts me

“The poison leaves bit by bit, not all at once. Be patient. You are healing.”

— Yasmin Mogahed

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“If nothing else, one day you can look someone straight in the eyes and say ‘But I lived through it. And it made me who I am today.’”

— Iain Thomas

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“Most people are much better at saying things in letters than in conversation, and some people can write artistic, inventive letters, but when they try a poem or story or novel they become pretentious.”

— Charles Bukowski, Women. 

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“All truths are easy to understand once they are discovered; the point is to discover them.”

— Galileo Galilei