acererak

I craft a lot of stories that never make the journey from my head to the outside some that ill admit I could really do without

ill tell you one story but listen.. this one I tried to hide

its about a child, playing on a beach with azure dress and lemon hair who lays on the sand

waves wash in as she glances a bone white medallion close enough to reach she doesn't hesitate she puts it to her hand this rough and warm sand dollar

for a moment nothing, than it buries itself into her palm

as corals erupt from her fingers she goes to run away when seaweed lashes from her legs into the ground she goes to scream, but sand erupts in a spray her eyes turn towards the shore she goes to move as seafoam falls down her body

Its then the water moves in

she never knew what waited to be found beneath the sand As easily as wave crush dirt her days were at an end

#poetry

sitting here. eyes closed. it feels like, a flower settling on calm moonlit lake. stars pressing themselves into the blanket of water the universe losing in a pool of dark tapestry undulating motion, ticking the pebbles on the shoreline.

#poetry

The endless lights that scream, Against and across the empty vastness.

I want to be a star.

Raging against it all.

Not because its a conscience revolt, but because it's what I am.

I'm a force in this world.

So are you.

Shine.

#poetry

Prologue ~

I approach the door I see in my dreams. The shifting dreams I've had for the past few nights. Sometimes its the same door, sometimes it's new. So each night, I focus and describe it in this journal The door, so that one night I can choose.

door of lost

I don't remember.

Tethers that Stretch Deep hang, slack now Without Connection to Memory

The door is here. I'm dreaming.

I'm standing although I don't know how I know that I'm standing

I'm closed, so without knowing how. I open.

{{ The Door Is Here }}

The door stands in front of me. Silvery tendrils flow like seaweed from the core of the sun. The tendrils, translucent, beckoning heartbeats in a vacuum. Flickering against a pouring light – So white, that if I had flesh, I knew it would already have burned away.

As I go to scream, a tendril reaches my cheek and I remember my mother.

The smell of her long dark raven hair. The autumn eyes, the first eyes id ever seen in the world.

The warmth of being held The first time I knew I wasn't alone. held.

The forgotten memory, my first one, retches something so deep so personal, it hurts.

The light around the door, pulsates, in satisfaction. Rippling the loose shadowy threads

I don't know how much ive forgotten For a moment I ponder staying For a moment The pain of remembering vs The pain of forgetting struggles until at last I turn away teary eyed, I force myself to wake up

#poetry #doors

as the rain subsided as the blanked of night freed itself from a mask of clouds

looking out from my tent

puddles bloomed in the moonlight galaxies of reflected stars

#poetry #camping

the water washed the pebbles in a ceaseless ebb and flow soft footfalls of pixies running through a summer breeze

#poetry

I think i might know. after hours riding alone where the freeway drops away, where the heart beat of yellow lines start to fray, where nature gets a wild and the sun prickled road breaks.

I think I might know where I belong

#poetry

Have you ever seen spongy dinosaurs?

You know, those kinds that start as pellets Then you add a little water.

Wait.

But no matter how much water is added, for some reason

they don't grow.

I'm like that sometimes.

I keep myself hidden most days but some days I can't stop

I can't stop taking everything in

When other people talk When other people speak its like screaming

like being so full but so tiny you don't grow you just fill up

she walked us to her tree house she helped us up inside then pulled out the flashlight and looked deep into our eyes

“this willow walks away from here every thirty years if you see it walking if you see it move its said this tree will find you taking what its due

she pointed at me

“thirty years ago today it saw your mother stare

she pointed at my best friend

“your father saw us too

then as we tried to run the tree started to move

we filled the scrapbook with many things we all poured everything we could think of into it hoping it would swell instead that made it hunger

more memories. more time.

more and more and more and afterward

we gave up

#poetry