If I:

   If I don't breathe my world is blue.
   If I don't cry it's bottled
   If I can't say the things I need to,
   It's because my lips are locked.


These are the last days of mimzee.  Something bigger is coming.  Because it's cutting right through me. Like glass, knives, bullets and words.  Better. And the science behind it is living positive and true.



Just be patient.

Om Nashi Me:

   Oh infinite.  And the trumpets will sound.  Shakers and tambourines.  J'ai guru.  Om.  Nashi.  Nakedness.  Leaders and Earthquakers. Deva. Me.
   I won't say that you gloating about your fantastical and oh so wonderful life.  Because you are.
  And all the words in the world will not save me.  Because only the intangible is tangible.  Om. Nashi. Que.
  And I will make the words up that must come. Only then will they mean anything.  Quelqu'un m'a dit.

. 

I am a whisper.  But my mind is screaming. 

I am nothing.

And it is all happening.

I will get out of here before long.

   They say I should sing and learn piano.  Languages and travel.  Ma vie. Om. Oh infinite nakedness and soulful woe. I may end this blog.  ....And cry out my days.  And the tears will feed nations.  J'ai nashi quelqu'un m'a dit.

If There's Anything to Say:

   So perfectly right, it was.

   Are we lost without each other?  Or do we wander lost together?
   And his most perfect response was,  "Are you a nomad, and me a vagabond?"  And it was this.  In a moment unrelated and yet, totally encompassing what an epiphany truly is.  I imagine his dark hair. And how he bites his lip and looks at me like he knows something I don't.  Please remember me. Happily.
   If you had a part of me, would you take your time?
   I have called you children, back from the hills, because I will return you to your door steps, even if it kills me, my fight is your fight.  Like a shepherd.  My words are my hope and I cannot deny my heart this.  I realize, I blog for myself yes.  But I write, write and wrap us in words, in hopes that my struggles and thoughts will carry others and help those back on their feet.

  I'll do anything for you. I'll do anything for you.  For him. For you.  For the future of our sanities combined and comprised of this struggle we call life.  It's all happening and we are together. What is there to answer if I am the only one?
  For so long I thought I was missing pieces.  And I am.  But I readily gave them away, they were not taken unwillingly.  Millions of little pieces of me for others.  People needed those pieces more than me, and I'm glad I could give myself away.  I can mend and grow.  I can send more and chase trains, watch colored birds, and breathe.  Because there is so much to look forward to, even if it is not at all what I foresaw or wanted. It's my fight.  Because I can fight it best and not give in.  Because I am strong enough.  I am. And you are too.

   If there's anything to say, or do.  I'll do anything for you.  My summer skin is shed.  I wear my mourning dress no more.  The trapeze wire in my mind is higher. And there's no net to catch.  Only words. Only souls. And we are okay.

Taking a Break:

Until I have something positive to write for you, I won't be writing.  Be safe my dears.  Fight your good fight.  Breathe and live.  We'll get through this.


I'll be back on when I'm positive.

Dueces:

   Tonight, my body will burn.  Because this is the stake with which I'm tied.  I hate this life.



   Anxiety moved in.  I'm just it's housekeeper.

  And now all I want is to leave, and be in New York more than ever.  Blogging and taking pictures and living like I should be.  But it won't come, because it's not the right time.  Because I'm not living. But I'm not dead.  Purgatory. Eternal.  Dearest New York, forgive me.  I'm missing you so.  But I write you this letter from limbo. And I don't know how to get out.  Which fight is the good fight?  What the hell am I doing? And where the fuck am I in this grand scheme?  If this is living?  Hell can't be at all bad.  A vacation spot compared.  And All the while, I pretend pretend pretend.  Like a stupid little girl.

  The devil and god are raging inside me, and I don't know where to draw my sword or when to give in.  I'm losing a ridiculous fight.  I'll dig a grave for the life I'll never have.  My dream.

   One day I'll breathe again.  But smile, that may never come back. Really.

X Marks:

   The spots where I've been erased and taken.  A million little shards of glass. Like stars punctuating my life. A chandelier of time and regret.  
   The pieces of me are fading, autumn colors, leaves and sky. 


    And the birds are flying more South than me. It's so cold.  I am not this. I am not me.  I am.  What the hell am I doing? Besides hating hating and crying and trying.


    It cannot be that.  I have much much more muchiness to give back. 


  I was not made for this era. But maybe decades ago.  I am not capable of this task, of this life such as it is today.  I need to change this low low low.  I say through smiles and falsetto tears, I'm Okay....But....No one knows, no nothing.  And thinking is assuming is making and ass of u and me.  Insomnia meets deadlines blends into days.  When was the last time I slept? 




   I need out.  This is not not not knot what I am made for. Knots in my heart and soul. Anxiety out my eyes.  And I spend my nights in tears and sighs.




      But she's so pretty, in her little white socks that go up to her knees. Wednesday came when Sunday woke, and she's here for me when things are tricky. She curls and wraps into my lap. A blanket of purr and whiskers.  She knows everything and will not speak my secrets.  She holds them in her chest with that rattles that makes her purr.  She doesn't care that I am a crystal-less chandelier.  She does not mind that I am broken.  She accepts it and rescued me.  And she is my heart.

Kids These Days: