Muse Of My Heart

It is clean smelling, like a hint of pledge. It smells like fresh laundry and clean sheets. The smell lacking real character. You notice the absence of smells really. The absence of coffee, old bread, dirty socks, Mary Jane and anger. It's lavender and grey. Not a cold pane grey but a sort of soft grey you could use to glamour yourself and never appear again. Soft like for and warm enough for you to take a nap at 3pm. It sounds like laughter, footstep echoes, machinery and softer movements like dancing from the room above yours. It sounds like slow rain and fast rain, page shuffling page, softly trying to sing outloud for the first time, and, every now and again, silence. --loneliness

I could have been Anything But it would never be enough for you Now I know I lost you a long time ago Only love Only love Even though it's Not enough Only love Only love Even though it's Not enough. *firstaidkit*

Join in mother fucker. Times go one and the wheel turns and I feel immense pleasure in loss and earth and moving forward every time. Let it fucking go! Yeah... Okay next time I will be more articulate I promise.

The birds continued to sing and I finally heard them...among them my heart rested in downy feathers. It is possible to be free and completely captured.

If only I was angry. If I was angry I could maim, I could rupture and destroy. Instead I timidly ask, as if it is even a question. Just a simple request, please leave me alone, thank you. I wished for bravery years ago. I wished and wished and never truly gained the bravery necessary to dish out what I have been served again and again. Right now I need a hand to hold. Right now I need a place to run, a hole to bury myself in. Right now I am afraid. I am nervous and scared and sad. I don't know if I can do this. I even think I might break apart. I think I might not be able to finish it....What if I am stuck like this forever? What if I wake up and I realize that I have been faking it for so long that I don't even want to see what I look like. How is this done? If only I was angry. If only you wouldn't cry. If only I didn't love you.

{The Lacuna , by Kinsolver } Since when did the human mind have a boundary. How dare you shut me out. How dare you decide what the mind is capable. How dare you tell them not to listen. How dare you. We allow you to speak un sheltered. You who we allow to speak without any boundaries, underlined and bold printed.

You needn't gild the lily, offer jewels to the sunset No one is watching or standing in your shoes Wash your lonely feet in the river in the morning Everything promised is delivered to you Don't neglect to pick up what your share is All the winter birds are winging home now Hey Love, go and look around you Nothing out there you haven't seen before now

i can't stop thinking i keep trying to stop to pause but its like reading, once you can read you cannot not read the signs on the side of the road. next time you are dreaming however, try to read something within your dream. then try to read it again. is it the same? can you? this is the place i feel that we defends our sense of self. we created self and then we fear anything that affects what self is.

It was like a swelling of butterflies came tumbling out And smacked into my teeth. They proceeded to tumble around in my mouth cavorting and spinning. They tasted like warm butter and golden lamps on nighttime streets. They hit the roof of my mouth with such force that I was unable to keep them caged there. So I opened my lips In that dark room with only one light and the old green wallpaper. The music was barely audible int he speakers on the desk and my arms we falling asleep from holding them up for so long. They dripped past my lips to land on my lap with a crispness and then they rolled along my bedspread like sprites iceskating on that frozen pond from that one scene is Fantasia. They lit up the room like some sort of screen and it was illustrated with such beautiful freedom. Every single word tasted savory and every single freeing of a word was like another being invited to the midnight tea party.

Watch "Moon Shine with Shiva Rea: Yoga at Home from Yoga Journal" on YouTube

Take my love, take my land Take me where I cannot stand I don't care, I'm still free You can't take the sky from me. Take me out to the black Tell them I ain't comin' back Burn the land and boil the sea You can't take the sky from me. Leave the men where they lay They'll never see another day Lost my soul, lost my dream You can't take the sky from me. I feel the black reaching out I hear its song without a doubt I still hear and I still see That you can't take the sky from me. Lost my love, lost my land Lost the last place I could stand There's no place I can be Since I've found Serenity And you can't take the sky from me. The SKY

Reading Sones I realize I have nicknames too. My grandparents call me AutumnRose. As if it is one word, one name instead of two. My parents call me Sisy or Precious, I'm the oldest and the first. My friend far away calls me Autumn-otopia. I used to be called Thumbelina, and Noodle, and Almond. My little brother's friends used to call me Godzilla, I hated that one. Just because it didn't make much sense when I finally got one of them to explain it to me. My smallest siblings will call me Anum. I feel all kinds of love and giggles when they call me that over skype. When he T9's my name into his phone it comes up as Button. I like it best out of all the silliest of things that he calls me. Muffy, he calls me when he is fake angry. Chic little biscuit, is what he calls me when he is pretending to be classy. Flake resulted from Flaky Biscuit, and I do not like that one. When he wants to be scolded he will call me pumpkin or bumpkin… Die. But the best of al...

Condensation leaks down my glass of orange colored creamy deliciousness. It is red tea with cream on top and I like to use my straw to push the cream down and swirls of orange start to emerge. The noodles to my left are orange too, with bean sprouts and some pork that has been barely seasoned. It has peanut sauce and all kinds of vegetables scattered throughout the cellophane noodles. My dish is white sticky rice with pineapple curry on top, orange again, with tofu and bell peppers. Huge chunks of pineapple sit in the serving spoon for later. To my left is the desire of the evening. Sizzling and sputtering with the almost caramel sauce, are huge pieces of fresh spinach. They are topped with crispy pieces of tofu, as crispy as anyone can get tofu, and for the first time my mouths starts to water. The noodles are tangy with some lime that was added after they got to our table and my curry is much spicier than the 'mild' I was prepared for. But the spinach, oh it melts like so muc...

Blue light from my butterfly sari curtain comes in to make my skin feel like a lithograph. It's too early to get ready for work, so I put some left over curry in the microwave. 'Don't look at me like that.' I say to my cat, her judgmental stare piercing through my tough morning facade. I lied. I look like shit. I walk into the kitchen, getting goosebumps on my breasts. Maybe sleeping naked is a bad idea. I always seem to flip flop on that one in the winter. I turn to hear a laugh out my window, realize the curtains are open and decide sleeping naked is, in fact, a stupid idea. I mean what if there was a fire. I would be in the cold outside watching my house burn down, naked. I go put on my robe and eat my curry with my judgmental cat. I hate waking up when it is too early for work, but too late for anything of substance to grace my morning until work. So, I go back to sleep. These fifteen min have not happened, I decide as my cat slips into the unconsciousness I wish to...

With a bit of an inward sigh, smoke trickled and then tumbled out of his nostrils. His elbows on his thighs and the seat of his pants on the only seat in the dry bus stop. I with my bags, likewise, tumbled into the bus stop. There was a imperceptible line of dryness form the rain where I could only stand twelve inches away from the smoker. My knees matched his and but my hands were on my belongings in a vain attempt to keep my library books dry. Though my hair was plastered to my face and my faux leather jacket was dribbling rain all the way to my heels, this stranger was as dry as his damned cigarette. I scowled down at him. He only slightly raised a brow and drug once again on his wrapped poison. I racked him appearance for another way to judge him, when he slid over and offered me a small amount of the steel seat. I relented with an arch of my own eyebrow. He leaned even farther down and offered up his temples to his hands. The embers began to burn near his hair. In a moment of comm...

I look down and there they are. You hands around mine. The ones that were just recently covered in ice cream. You refused a dilly bar and instead went for the drippy twist. You got chocolate on my floor. I don't mind, because you hands are mine now. I would never mind. Warm, worn. Your nails are practically non existent since you started that nervous habit, habits. And your fingers are smooth from so much wire play. That was the first thing I really knew about you, guitar. I felt it on your hands, and the way you resisted the wobbly, clashing, distorted music we danced to. Your thumbs are so smooth, like marble. I love your hands, so sure of mine. Always there when I just barely brush the back of your hand with my pinky. Welcome home hands.

Comatose. Dysfunctional. Study buddy. Postal service.

My view is half a bottle of cheap Californian wine from 2007. I know it is going to be a painful sip, but I reach for more any ways. This is a wine sunset. It is deep orange over the trees behind me and the volcano is white and pink. I know the sky is still blue here and the moon being us is irrelevant since it has been up all day and I believe it will dip with the sun. The sky is classy tonight, pearly textures over everything, like a net. Like the nets of the fishermen down below me in the river at the bottom of the bluff, getting ready for tomorrow's fish packed morning. Catch me a moon in the river...

My father would end this with a bad case of lovin' you. He is officially a doctor, Doctor Watson I presume. I am immensely proud of him. That is what today is about for us. My lover has a great point about the holidays, specifically Thanksgiving, Valentines, Veterans and Memorial day. We are using these holiday's as an excuse to not treat or act this way towards the ones we love and the ones who deserve it all year round. Why do we only come together as a whole family on Thanksgiving? What was wrong with last tuesday or next month when everyone is stressed about taxes and needs a reminder of what life is really about? Love and family. We use Valentine's day as a day to appreciate the ones we are a part of forever, instead of spending everyday treating each other to lovely gifts and words. We should be reminding our Vets and our lost ones of how much their sacrifice means to us every single moment, not one day out of the year when we can put aside our busy lives for these...

It makes me Dance! I think I am Glowing! Ah…my muse returns….