uNPublished post 3/12/12

It's hard to give up, but sometimes things give up on there own. It's hard to see the end. Or imagine past where I am, somedays.

My hair is growing. It curls in an unsynchorized pattern, little tufts flipping here and there. I don't recongnize myself.

There is the what I should be, what I want to be, and who I am. And they all seem to look different.

Dear Blogg,

This is Raquel, I'm considering getting a cat- but for all the wrong reasons. A mouse eliminator- that's all.

Let me clear my throat, leave out all those cumbersome words- over thought sentences and tell you something. Get close, your thigh my thigh make contact- our joined body heat a halo. Leave out puncuation. Reread nothing. Say exactly what you mean.

I'm not sure if I have a hard time touching what is "real" in others, or if it's hard to allow people to touch what is "real" in me.
I think too much.
Today I counted to 10 when I got mad.
          attempted to hitch hike, but walked most of the way
           was schooled in a basketball game with kids half my height
           picked up an injured 9 year old like I was craddling a baby
           discovered mice have personalities when they played hide and go seek with me..all around the house
           made cookies, hushpuppies, shrimp skewers, mud pies, biscuits, touched 400 shrimps
           danced on an empty dance floor- solo, eyes closed
            had a meaningful conversation with a stranger then listened to him perform
            was called "my little sister" and "my sunshine" by a coworker
            had an old friend walk into a gas station at the very moment I was out of ideas and in need of a hand
            garnished my own meals
            went to the dump
            ran when trying to get from here to there
            had a orange creme float
            didn't recognize myself in a window's reflection
            seriously considered buying a house
            was walked to my car after work
            held a conversation between two floors
            ran into my senior prom date, discovered her talented singing voice via karaoke
            felt like I had to write, but didn't know where to start
 
And here I am, waiting for what I want to say to come out. Not publicly, but just for it to be plain said. So I can go to bed. Unintentional rhyme. So I pause, wait for it to rise, to form.

I'm starting to have mixed feelings about people. I would hate to say I'm becoming jaded, because I refuse to be. Sometimes when I'm speaking to someone, I can tell I'm speaking to a pseduo stand in of them. Sometimes, no matter the amount of interactions we have, I continue to have not a clue of who they are, but a well defined picture of all their fears and insecurities. And eyes, so telling, flashing with mood fluctuations, triggers, and so forth. Then those people who you know especially well, so vunerable, but almost too much- one has to choose their words carefully to say exactly what they mean.
            

           

old news

Ode to the Toiler

Other worldly turn:

Wax museum,

statuettes,

wait,

dead of thought

one eye mesmorized upon

the craning arc

of laundry spins

Dryers fry high pitched melodies

Mimicking bubbling brooks

O settle, the hum of Mama's lullaby

blanketing heat

6 o'clock quiet Saturday

Ringless

torn expressions

strut, in the encrusted fluorescent bulbs (light)

Folding their bodies,

respectively, like bruised tin cans

Modelin

floured dirt hand prints

stained on pockets,

smudged into knees,

the boldest of coal rouge

Roadside Attraction,

Hop-pause

Clean and go

Change overflow

Toiler USA.
--------------------------------------


Not a dime a dozen

I'm not a repeating,

archetype, of another,

I am my own sing song time

my own happy go lucky aire

I do not subscribe to your

critical mumbo jumbo

looking to critique the flow of

my soul on to my paper

the movement of my hands

outta the deepest imagination

of my child's soul.

Everything is beautiful because it came out,

So remember oh remember

darling imagination

grow with water and wonder

indulge in curiosity and space coastin


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Bid me to buy. All nations sing out with one angsty cry.

More dollars, let's print more bills. Let's make pretend

we have enough change for all manner of frills.

------------------------------------


Standing solid

angels trumpet ablaze

I thought I saw God,

in your face that day.

A turbulent beehive broke open

and around the commotion

we stepped

eyes locked.

You unaware

chattered in my ear,

undercurrents of a lyrical flow.

Painting philosophy

through broken syllables,

crooked 1, 2 beats

and the world disappeared

one man

one woman your gaze trained on me

in your force

I stretched broken butterfly wings

humble tounge, thoughtful praise

I thought I saw god in your face that day.

yo/tu will

song: breathe me (mylo remix)- sia
state: clarity

In multiplied moments

I know you think less of me and I less of you.

Minutes where

I know that you can't see me (divinity) nor I you.

I know with your expressions, you tire of me,

oh baby, mine tire of you.

And in this theme,

I know you dream of other states of being, because i day dream of those other possibilites too.

I'm laying alone in a queen size bed in the heat of day naked

thinking to dance, or paint, or write, or just leave (plane ticket and all) and I'm free just to lay in bed and dream. Not tied to anything.

I've got my pack on my back and there's no one to know which way I'm going or when I'll be back, no one to compare stories with, just me the sky and my breath. Trusting my way 100%.

I'm searching for God, and with all my energy devoting myself to a personal cause, a vision that with enough concentrated passion will yeild favorable result. Expanding.

No, not caught up in care, that dwelling anxiety. No one to question me, or ask of me- anything. No need to impress, cuz if I'm doing what I want I'm at my best. Oh doing your own thing- is that the epitome of dream?

Then reality strikes-of my own juvenility. I back up to take in the edges and wonder how I've over looked your beauty, even momentarily. To dilute it's worth in my ego-feeding pursuits. My feelings truly pushed away inorder to to fantasize about our divide. Surely a solo mission would be the easier ride. But at the thought I'm at a loss, altogether lost, knowing that I'd be falling captive to a lesser self, who frequently calls. A comfortable rut, often used. Barried at moments, but here still, is our mutal ideal, which has fluttered and reveiled itself with the probability of being real. Working to actualize us, I pledge I will.