still in progress... slowly
though my eyes were hard to see
my sight was 20 20
my eyes pierced with judgement
that sometimes I needed to run from.. and when I ran i ran
to distant shores
where waters go from fake versions of oceanic wasteland.
Like the blue you see in postcards
or the water that really just reflects the changing overcast of another blank sky
the fogbanks that make you claustrophobic
the green of the pollution and mangled seaweed..
the brown of the mottled sand constantly being hammered by waves that were in a hurry
and the condoms and tampons you find when you're swimming there.
you wonder how you don't have fungal infections
and somehow I ran past those abominations -
the shores of los angeles -
or those spring break places in mexico - where ocean is another word for puke and maybe a few used condoms
- but somewhere..
somehow ..
when you are given access to..
when you're allowed to run away from the abominations that they call the wild.
when you bow your head with respect and are allowed to see the true beauty of the wild
when you're finally allowed - into that other kingdom
tha places where muses dared to create for their own enjoyment. the distant shores on islands with water so clear you see the sand right through it. and because you can see through it - you commune with that power. someone something beautiful. you knew you were seeing the real color of what water was meant to look like. you saw it. and you walked through it.baptising your feet with every step. and that color - the palest of the blues - so truly blue- that you feel that you've barred your heart to something
serene
alive
something so profound - so pure and authentic. the color of beauty.
i've never been there physically but my mind visits there, sometimes. when i need to wash away the fakeness from my heart. I go there and clean my skin. i look at myself in my reflection of that water. And I see someone I want to be. Someone worthy to wash myself in that clear blue water. knowing somehow. nothing I pollute it with, could ever affect its beauty.
my sight was 20 20
my eyes pierced with judgement
that sometimes I needed to run from.. and when I ran i ran
to distant shores
where waters go from fake versions of oceanic wasteland.
Like the blue you see in postcards
or the water that really just reflects the changing overcast of another blank sky
the fogbanks that make you claustrophobic
the green of the pollution and mangled seaweed..
the brown of the mottled sand constantly being hammered by waves that were in a hurry
and the condoms and tampons you find when you're swimming there.
you wonder how you don't have fungal infections
and somehow I ran past those abominations -
the shores of los angeles -
or those spring break places in mexico - where ocean is another word for puke and maybe a few used condoms
- but somewhere..
somehow ..
when you are given access to..
when you're allowed to run away from the abominations that they call the wild.
when you bow your head with respect and are allowed to see the true beauty of the wild
when you're finally allowed - into that other kingdom
tha places where muses dared to create for their own enjoyment. the distant shores on islands with water so clear you see the sand right through it. and because you can see through it - you commune with that power. someone something beautiful. you knew you were seeing the real color of what water was meant to look like. you saw it. and you walked through it.baptising your feet with every step. and that color - the palest of the blues - so truly blue- that you feel that you've barred your heart to something
serene
alive
something so profound - so pure and authentic. the color of beauty.
i've never been there physically but my mind visits there, sometimes. when i need to wash away the fakeness from my heart. I go there and clean my skin. i look at myself in my reflection of that water. And I see someone I want to be. Someone worthy to wash myself in that clear blue water. knowing somehow. nothing I pollute it with, could ever affect its beauty.