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As the winter solstice draws near, I feel the approach of the late nights once again

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Everyone is just trying to live

I beg of you to just let them be

Your truth, my truth, our truth, their truth

If you find it false, then let them believe

Feelings don’t care about your facts

Because we are all just perspectives

Looking for a god to serve

Finding a reason to stay

Filling the hole to stop the pain

But it disturbs you; letting people live

And you don’t ask why that is

Thinking you know best

You vote your people into power

In hopes they stop someone else

From living, or dreaming, or god forbid loving

I’m not asking for you to agree with me

I’m asking for you to live your life

And allow others to do the same

We learn feelings through experiences

And yet we pretend we all share the definitions

I said, we learn feelings through experiences

And yet we pretend we all share the definitions

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I was worthy of trust.

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Where do all the old friends go?

A picture found at the bottom of a box

It’s sticky and sun bleached and forgotten

A woman I know with a woman I don’t

It’s out of focus and over exposed and crooked

Their faces are touching, how strangely intimate

Smiles as big as can be, what was so funny

Eyes gently closed, as if in a dream

Hair in a mess, how fun it must’ve been

I think about this picture a lot

My mother is gone, so I can’t ask

I wonder where the woman is now

And if my mom died missing her

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Was it not yesterday that I held you?

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Filles d’montagne

Une, deux, trois, quatre, cinq filles d’montagne. Une, deux, trois, quatre, cinq sœurs escaladent la montagne ensemble. La première sœur tombe et les autres l’aident. La deuxième sœur a besoin de repos et les autres la portent. La troisième et la quatrième sœur ont commencé à se battre et les autres interviennent. Enfin, la dernière sœur a commencé à pleurer et alors, les autres pleurent aussi.

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I’ve always adored street art. My earliest memories are filled with fascination of passing train cars riddled with colorful bubble-letters. They never made sense, but they didn’t have to. I loved how playful and animated they seemed. From murals to graffiti; sculptures to stickers. I have not yet grown out of that fascination. In fact, it has only amplified.

Oftentimes, street art forces you to to face an uncomfortable truth. With hungry eyes, it only asks you to look. Look into the essence of a martyr, a victim, a fighter, or someone left behind. Look at the reality of lies, truths, hate, love and hopelessness. Look hard and know that worthy ideals are not only told by powerful people or only found in museums. The people can tell the story, even if only for a moment.

The street art in my city often invokes many emotions from me. I am struck with awe at the sight of some of the amazing detail and skill displayed in graffiti art, filled with whimsy when I come across chalk drawings on the pavement, stuck in thought after reading a sticker that challenges my world view, left in tears after reading a poem written by someone who needed to be heard, torn apart by anger at the sight of repulsive hate speech, and empowered at the sight of strong figures displayed in regal copper sculptures.

The museums are all locked away for now, but art itself cannot be stifled. The art displayed on the streets have no censorship and don’t pay the fee at the door. It’s gritty and raw, but it’s humanity screaming back at the crushing monotony. With that being said, I don’t always agree with the message and not all opinions are equal. Still, the art of the street is the art of the people. Some would call that vandalism, but I will fight for the right for this expression.

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Crave

Cycles are broken everyday. Though, as humans we choose to continue in our broken ways. We crave that brokenness. Our bodies want things that slowly erode our health. We trip and fall down the hill, enjoying the whole way to the bottom. Live and let die till the going goes out.

Insatiable cravings that burn hot. Ready with teeth shining to claim it’s next victims. Hungry for blood, unrelenting in the pursuit. Killing in the name of greed, beauty, pleasure, fame, and thrill. We crave that thing that makes us feel alive, yet it is our cravings that take our chance to survive.

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“Please give Pookie a good home.”

No. Pookie WILL get a good home because she’s a good dog. I made it a priority because you selfishly abandoned her. She lives with Victoria and Nashant because they are were kind enough to puppysit for us and ended up falling in love with her. Her home is good NOT because of you. Her name is Leah now.

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The option to quit has been stolen from me. I must continue this sick joke of a life until the anvil falls for good.

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I skate across the sky with my birds eye view, locked on the horizon. I can no longer speak any language on known unto man. There’s little I know in relation to being human. All that I was - stripped away from me in the night. My mind is blank. No questions or second guesses. Spacial reasoning and self awareness has been erased from my consciousness. Pure instinct is now the only words written on my blank page of a brain.

I miss my desire for human connection, but I remain here in the clouds. Every single breath is a reminder that no matter how badly my brain hurts, it won’t cause my body to die. What a crying shame.

I start my descent towards the ground. No fear of falling could make me wake from this perpetual nightmare. I just hold on to my body and enjoy the ride. Once it’s over, that’s it. Pain-free darkness awaits me in the end. I look forward to it.

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God, please send the sun tomorrow.

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𝓳'𝓪𝓾𝓻𝓪𝓲𝓼 𝓪𝓲𝓶é 𝓺𝓾𝓮 𝓯𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓮 𝓹𝓵𝓾𝓼