brought low by "mel gibson"

your words, your wounds
being brought low
to tears
to knees

raise your right hand

more than anything else, i want to tell the truth.
i don't want to be milk and water just so others can sleep at night.
i am trying to clean up my act but i think i'd much rather forget the act all together.

i have a choice.
i am choosing to tell the truth.
the truth is this: i'm tired of struggling for something that feels meaningless in this time and place.

i am giving up. temporarily.

"morning is when i'm awake......"

i've often read about people who have a "stillness" in them.
this seems very pleasant and desirable to me.
i would like to be a person of quiet stillness.
my lover would look at me and say,
"i love her for the way she holds time within her."
i would plant orchards, and bake bread.
i would serve tea in porcelain cups and listen to tongues from foreign lands.

i would converse with birds.

self mutilation

i can't even keep a promise to myself.