(no subject)
Am recovering who I am.
Stoked about this.
Yayayaya.
Going to bed now. Tired.
p.s. I'll make this statement: If you know me in real life, pay special attention to my language. Pay attention to the words I use and how I use them. Pay attention to my actions, as well. It all has meaning.
p.s.s. The poetry of Diana Garcia is wonderful. I have come to love it. In fact, I'll leave you with this poem of hers [it has special meaning to me]:
If I Trust Myself
This time I swore I wouldn't be
like the squirrels in the park, drop
my guard to the first friendly handout.
I woke up before dawn to watch day break
through designer drapes, your own savannah
of stripes, spots, horns, tusks.
I studied how light eased past beige
giraffes and cheetahs, blushed the left side
of your forehead like a large ivory
rose petal lightly veined in blue.
I listened for the way you hacked a bit
when you woke, the way you turned and smiled
when you saw me watching you.
These things take years. At times I broke,
afraid I broke a trust with self, a sense of who I was.
I followed trails to the beach, past sage and Torrey pine.
I picked selected shells at the base of cliffs,
then, pockets filled, I'd find paths back to you,
cleansed, renewed, a gift freely given.
The bond we form insinuates.
I wake these days and smell your scent on me,
the mint that overruns my garden,
a sweet fragrant planting impossible to remove.
-Diana Garcia
Stoked about this.
Yayayaya.
Going to bed now. Tired.
p.s. I'll make this statement: If you know me in real life, pay special attention to my language. Pay attention to the words I use and how I use them. Pay attention to my actions, as well. It all has meaning.
p.s.s. The poetry of Diana Garcia is wonderful. I have come to love it. In fact, I'll leave you with this poem of hers [it has special meaning to me]:
If I Trust Myself
This time I swore I wouldn't be
like the squirrels in the park, drop
my guard to the first friendly handout.
I woke up before dawn to watch day break
through designer drapes, your own savannah
of stripes, spots, horns, tusks.
I studied how light eased past beige
giraffes and cheetahs, blushed the left side
of your forehead like a large ivory
rose petal lightly veined in blue.
I listened for the way you hacked a bit
when you woke, the way you turned and smiled
when you saw me watching you.
These things take years. At times I broke,
afraid I broke a trust with self, a sense of who I was.
I followed trails to the beach, past sage and Torrey pine.
I picked selected shells at the base of cliffs,
then, pockets filled, I'd find paths back to you,
cleansed, renewed, a gift freely given.
The bond we form insinuates.
I wake these days and smell your scent on me,
the mint that overruns my garden,
a sweet fragrant planting impossible to remove.
-Diana Garcia