The raw emotions of a woman Read Online Free PDF

every so
longingly, so easily like a sun that won’t set, like an answer in
the desert, like a lover we can’t fix. And we run towards the
oceans that evade her horizon, the water inside a mind that has
lost its way home, inside of a superficial sacrifice for the
foundation of money instead of love. And inside of who we used to
be is a disease, as if as if we were children running towards
safety, ready for poverty.
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    A faceless boy
    I am no one says a voice. It was created by
parents who thought a foundation of love was made by sugar and
protection from the strangers who come as thick as walls, that we
can control and demean and easily turn our back on, with words that
are too easily manipulated as metaphors for the experiences we know
we will never have, a second population that are too easily wiped
away by a simplistic cultural compliance, by a faceless boy sitting
in a room of non-humans pretending he understands
wisdom.
    And we sit there, these longing strangers
playing games with our tongues and our superficial thoughts as if
we were candy, simple and sweet and so easily digested with licks
and happiness and inner points that are constantly redefined as
boundaries and inner beauty, as a blue sky on a busy day that has
nothing inside of it but children’s palms reaching for the clouds,
and playground rhymes. And we live in these make believe lives
searching for protection in one another, similar truths in a war
until we meet the strangers with a knowledge that haunts at
night.
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    Hate
    Life
is odd as it moves, the voices that we have heard before, the life
before we fell in love again, over the same cup of coffee the same
eyes, and breath; the same yesterday we always go back and dream of
thinking the past is better perception we carry inside of our
heart. And we wait like travelers moving towards the edge of time,
cocooning into different bodies and different minds, different
agendas as we walk over one another, thinking about one another,
forgetting one another, so easily like the flick of a wrist on a
broken word that hasn’t gone out of style yet.
    And we breath waiting to know what is on the
otherside of love, what is on the otherside of the foreplay and the
boredom and the hopes that wait like leaves on a lake,
superficially drowning themselves in dew. We wait like the hunters
and the predators do, on solitude, the beginning of life as time
moves below us now, we just stand in the same place. And inside
this strange solitude with new people, clawing to get out or
clawing to get in, stuck in the hate of power and the hate of
powerless-ness is the cracking of morality, the heckling of another
drunk man being bullied, of another girl thinking she was being
sweet but was called out as dumb, another too sensitive too needy
too lonely person waiting somewhere to be found, waiting to be
liked by the popular kids with their money and beautiful clothes,
wanting to fit in, inside the world of make believe kindness, of
having too much, to to to much juxtaposed against someone who is
too shy to ask for help.
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    Pretty houses
    A girl sits and waits and watches making dents in
the piles of things that stand in her path, who feels overwhelmed
by those mountains that block love, that throw children under the
bus, that think survival is about who looks prettiest in a picture,
and love is price tag instead of memories, instead of caring,
instead of paying for your daughter’s doctor bills, instead of
showing up for phone calls, or dinners, love is about having the
prettiest best happiest family possible, those who look good in
photographs which hang on the wall next to the laundry room with
granite tabletops in a multi-million dollar house. And against that
stupid crap, is often just a broken heart and an unheard of voice
that was silenced, as all the people become robotic in how they
behave and believe, and eventually they all leave so that it
remains just a pretty house filled with photographs.
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    Caught on someone