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Tuesday

helping hands


there's a dark cloud hovering over me. it's been here for a long time but i've tried to ignore it because so many good things are happening. this cloud has become a shape changer, like most, and is taking on the shape of a hippo's mouth: large, wide, and dangerous. it's dangerous because this space is all too familiar and i know exactly where my groove is, to sit comfortably like i never left. there was a time when i didn't know how to get up and leave the welcoming space. now, i might catch myself sitting there long enough to see a movie end, but i always get back up. i don't know whether to sit or fight right now because i'm tired and i'm 1/2 afraid of how poorly i'll do in the battle, running on fumes. i can't focus on the good stuff solely and pretend other things aren't crashing to the floor in the next room. i always have help either catching things before they all hit the ground, or picking up the pieces once they've fallen. i'm acknowledging that now before it even comes to pass, as much to say thank you as to remind myself that i'm not alone.

helping hands

i am in need of silence

i can’t hear the echo from whence the breadcrumbs fell,

telling me which way I came from

another of my suns has set on an extended dream sequence

i’m left with a pillow made of sand

sand and salt water make quicksand and when I wasn’t looking…

i put 1 foot in

1 of my arms is on the other side, across the way, reaching for tree limbs to pull me out

but I’ve always been a shorty

if I make it out, my lungs will be full of muck and my breath will smell like stagnation

only my torso hasn’t been swallowed and these shallow breaths aren’t enough to keep me conscious

bubbles above the surface are full of light, but underneath the earth they can be dark, and scary, and familiar

wants and wishes feel like distant memories that not even ruby red slippers could return me to

there’s no place like where?

the skills i need now don’t come with correspondence course certificates…

or guidebooks for Dummies

my inner voice, which resides 2 doors down from my 3rd eye, is whispering something about faith

the desire for sleep seduces me and i allow for the dark embrace

i make it through, like always

and still can’t trace my path,

though i’m sure i owe thanks to some guide or another

they always get me through

(c) 6/15/2010
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