“I write entirely to find out what I'm thinking, what I'm looking at, what I see and what it means. What I want and what I fear.” – Joan Didion
Night mode mistakes the time of day
turning up the light to display
the color often clocked in darkness
during the night hours. A beauty
to admire as the autumn days
continue to shrink suddenly,
I admire the days where I walk
outside without a chill causing
the hairs on my skin to stand
at attention. Right now I am
blinded by the moon, unable to
make out the craters.
Follow the rhythm of your lungs
as you walk or sit or simply exist
for your breath tells your a lot
about the state of yourself
how to regulate your emotions
the ways in which you drift
in and out of time
the choices you avoid
the to-dos you put off
another day for this day
isn't the time or place
to check off what could
be done tomorrow.
in the rolling of the day to day
trust you will remain okay
you will steady your paddle
instead of floating away
you will fight your battles
learn how to not unravel
discover your mantras
to quiet your inner critic
embrace each challenge
move with the rhythm of
the ever-changing reality
that is life
A poem can
simply be a poem.
My personal beliefs
are mine to hold close.
The wording can carry
as much weight
as I choose to know,
the readers interpretation
is theirs alone.
The chill in the air
welcomes in the new season
prior to the official date,
bundling under blankets, I drift
between sleep and the day,
slow mornings remind me of
end of Septembers by the lake
staring up at the sky
spotting shooting stars
and talking about
the meaning of life
while the warmth of
the fire dwindles away.
Dreams from the night before
linger in the background
for the remainder of the day.
We pray for what we cannot control
to have a positive outcome.
Sending wishes out into the universe
to be on our side, for everything
bad to turn out alright.
Luck teaches us lessons, we don't
always know we've been dealt
a bad hand when we're drowning
in the consequences of years
filled with poor decisions.
Leading with your heart
lends poorly to logistics.
Learning lessons only flourish
once you grow out of cycles
then proactively choose
to make different choices.
Adults tell you as a kid
time moves faster for them.
Which you don't believe
because time moves at a
glacially slow pace.
Days feel like weeks,
weeks feel like months,
and so on and so forth.
Shifting into new decades
do you begin to comprehend
what you were told as a kid.
My thoughts float above my being,
I drift through days,
watch the moon rise,
listening to the waves,
drifting through the dreams
I will surely forget in the morning.
Over the bridge, there's a river
reflecting the trees
on a cold summer day
laughs linger through
the quiet of nature
reminders of seasons
as the heat finally breaks
the possibilities of
what could be await
in the mirrored water
only if you choose to see.
The season blooms as the leaves
continue to vibrate through
the late afternoon.
My skin warms in the salt air,
the streets filled with people
who don't understand a one-way.
Children cry, adults yell,
seagulls try to steal food.
I continue to wander beneath
the cloudless skies
just trying my best
to get by.
