Meditation #1

on my back, eyes closed.
all thoughts dissipated into the air around me, humming, no longer trapped in the confinements of my brain.
my body, so heavy. electric energy pulsating all throughout.
i’m in the grass, a stream trickles beside me. flowers burst into color and golden light streams through the trees.
ambient music, chimes sounding in the real space i am in.
but i am no longer there.
butterflies. thousands of them. swirling above my head in the sky. beckoning me.
my body becomes flat. lightweight, just a whisper.
i am swept up into the whirlwind of wings.
i am one with the wind.

the music stops. i open my eyes.
reality has taken me back into it’s arms once more.

15th Apr 2012

i’ve been to rivendelle, heaven, hell, and beyond.
i’ve been mystified, paralyzed, terrified, and awed.
i’ve seen heros and i’ve met with goblins and creatures of the wood.
and if there’s one thing i’ve learned it’s that people are good.

—matt derrickson, caz quinlan, and nevada mullen you guys are my brothers, i love you guys more than anything.

18th Sep 2011 | 1 note

i walk this earth.

i breathe.
i am a living creature.

as stars dangle in the vast ocean that is the night sky, i walk this earth.
a static electricity lingers in the foggy corners of my brain.
i am human. i am alive.

but to what extent?
do not so many people simply drift through life with a careless aim and a blind eye?

well, that is not I. i refuse to become a robot, a machine with a beating heart. i will explore every inch of that which is life, as long as i walk this earth.

23rd Aug 2011 | 1 note

let me inside.

i want to taste your madness; your fear; your pride. i want to become the beating of your heart, the flame that breathes life into your eyes. you are mine, and yet there is still so much of you that is yet to be explored. let me wander the music of your being. body and mind alike. i want to swallow every fiber of your soul and lose myself in the smell of your skin.

let me be your everything.

27th May 2011

the beating of my heart slows to the gentle waves of sound floating around the room as my body begins to grow heavy and limp. this numbness, this calming of the storm. it’s all i need to disconnect myself from reality and become content, for once, with curling up inside my head to drift along the careful stream of thoughts running throughout the map of my brain. opiates welcome me as i enter the into gates of the subconscious, gliding swiftly into the wake of my dreams.

let me lick the flames of your every desire and taste the pungency of your skin.
let us tangle ourselves into one being, one soul, one heart.

2nd Apr 2011

12:04 am

and time became still as our eyes locked together.
we were once again complete
and i felt the hole inside of me close up at last.
all the longing— vanished.
as our hearts beat as one, the flame inside of me flickered.
relief washed over me as we drowned in each others skin.

the soft glow of your smile.
adoration.

i admire you so.

11th Jan 2011 | 1 note
i woke up this morning, turned to you. said, “oh, i wonder what it would be like to be a giraffe.” and you looked at me all puzzled and laughed with your crooked smile and chipped tooth, blue eyes aglow with the morning light streaming in from my window. and i smiled back, because i was happy.

i woke up this morning, turned to you. said, “oh, i wonder what it would be like to be a giraffe.” and you looked at me all puzzled and laughed with your crooked smile and chipped tooth, blue eyes aglow with the morning light streaming in from my window. and i smiled back, because i was happy.

(Source: crazyegg.net, via theanimalblog)

8th Dec 2010 | 1,056 notes
RIP Chelsea it’s been a year since you’ve left my life, i can’t believe it. i still miss you just as much and i think about you every day girl. there is no dog that can ever replace you, no matter what. my best years were the ones spent with you growing up, my childhood and teenage years wouldn’t have been the same without you. i am forever grateful that you were always there for me to lick the tears off my face when i was upset and to act like a goof with me when i was growing up. you lived a life well spent and you were loved like no other. i have yet to meet any creature (human, dog, etc) that has as much affection, love, and loyalty as you. you honestly were the best and i will continue to miss you for the rest of my life until we meet again. i love you. -Chloe

RIP Chelsea
it’s been a year since you’ve left my life, i can’t believe it. i still miss you just as much and i think about you every day girl. there is no dog that can ever replace you, no matter what. my best years were the ones spent with you growing up, my childhood and teenage years wouldn’t have been the same without you. i am forever grateful that you were always there for me to lick the tears off my face when i was upset and to act like a goof with me when i was growing up. you lived a life well spent and you were loved like no other. i have yet to meet any creature (human, dog, etc) that has as much affection, love, and loyalty as you. you honestly were the best and i will continue to miss you for the rest of my life until we meet again. i love you.
-Chloe

9th Oct 2010 | 2 notes
i’m too much of a dreamer. everything that plays in my head is never going to come true as much as i would like for it to. i’m always stuck in my head, i’m rarely in reality. and it’s depressing. now that i’m home and i’m all alone and bored and left to my thoughts, i remember why i felt this way all through high school. up at college, i don’t have much time to myself to get into one of these moods. but now i’m home. and i’m in one of these moods. my dreams are often like a faded photograph— country fields and horses and my grandmother’s house. someone’s baking a pie in the kitchen while i’m out on a river fishing with a loved one. the grasses are tall and there’s always that one tree that stands out in the field with the swing on it, the tree that watched me grow up. it’s always twilight and a yellow glow is cast over the earth and the skin stretched over my bones has a new kind of light to it. eyes light up the way that a child’s eyes always appear to be. there are old acoustic guitars in the attic and trunks of old costumes from the 1920s covered with the dust of years. the sunlight streams through the windows, illuminating the dark wood bookshelves and picture frames. someone’s in the other room sprawled out on the floor with an old photo album. i’m always in that frilly little white dress that you see in country music videos, and there’s a flower in my hair. but that’s not the way the world is. it’s kind of sad. maybe, if there is some sort of heaven, this is what it is. it’s different for everybody though. maybe heaven is just the realization of our seemingly impossible dreams. one can only hope so.

i’m too much of a dreamer.
everything that plays in my head is never going to come true as much as i would like for it to. i’m always stuck in my head, i’m rarely in reality. and it’s depressing. now that i’m home and i’m all alone and bored and left to my thoughts, i remember why i felt this way all through high school. up at college, i don’t have much time to myself to get into one of these moods. but now i’m home. and i’m in one of these moods. my dreams are often like a faded photograph— country fields and horses and my grandmother’s house. someone’s baking a pie in the kitchen while i’m out on a river fishing with a loved one. the grasses are tall and there’s always that one tree that stands out in the field with the swing on it, the tree that watched me grow up. it’s always twilight and a yellow glow is cast over the earth and the skin stretched over my bones has a new kind of light to it. eyes light up the way that a child’s eyes always appear to be. there are old acoustic guitars in the attic and trunks of old costumes from the 1920s covered with the dust of years. the sunlight streams through the windows, illuminating the dark wood bookshelves and picture frames. someone’s in the other room sprawled out on the floor with an old photo album. i’m always in that frilly little white dress that you see in country music videos, and there’s a flower in my hair. but that’s not the way the world is. it’s kind of sad. maybe, if there is some sort of heaven, this is what it is. it’s different for everybody though. maybe heaven is just the realization of our seemingly impossible dreams. one can only hope so.

10th Sep 2010 | 1 note

untitled #1.

a quiet piece of heaven rests in your eyes.
the eyes that are reflected into mine— that gaze into and penetrate me to my bones and my core.

this is the sound of time unfolding.
you are mine. and each embrace, every touch of skin, holds the key to unlocking the stars.

as the sky opens up, as the setting of the sun over frozen land casts a glow over the heart of life, you still stand before me. with your raw lips and lazy fingers, carefully bound to mine.

if ever there was a moment when time could no longer exist, it resides in your ocean eyes.


you are beautiful.
and you are mine.

8th Jun 2010

“Death is but crossing the world, as friends do the seas; they live in one another still. For they must needs be present, that love and live in which is omnipresent. In this divine glass, they see face to face; and their converse is free, as well as pure. This is the comfort of friends, that though they may be said to die, yet their friendship and society are, in the best sense, ever present, because immortal.”

-William Penn, More Fruits of Solitude

23rd May 2010

i want to feel the contentedness of lilies bathing in the sun.

The birds are chirping for one another, weeping. They want to be like the flowers. But, the flowers are only empty. They don’t know— they’re not like us, they’re not like the birds. They don’t depend on one another the we do. They simply just exist and rely on the one and only thing that keeps them alive: the sun.
They can rest assured each night, knowing that it will gloriously rise every dawn. They aren’t complicated. They stretch towards the sun their entire lives, only to die in the end. But they’re okay with that.
They don’t weep like the birds.
They are not lost.
They do not feel the urge to fly.

The flowers are not like the ocean. They do not crash into each other. They do not drown the creatures they envy. They do not feel that chagrin, that pent up, wild frustration.
The ocean feels the urge to fly, as do I.
But the flowers are content.

If only they could talk, maybe they’d tell me their secrets.

27th Apr 2010

who will save YOUR soul?

Another day, another dollar, another war, another tower went up where the homeless had their homes, so we pray to as many different God’s as there are flowers—
But we call religion our friend.
We’re so worried about saving our souls,
Afraid that God will take His toll that we forget to begin but

Who will save your soul when it comes to the flowers now?
Who will save your soul after all the lies that you told?
Who will save your soul if you won’t save your own?
Jewel


people please, just get over yourselves. life is so much larger than you know— stop crying about your own little problems that you’ll forget about in a weeks time. people are starving, dying, crying for real reasons. if you could only come out from behind that hazy veil of greed that surrounds you, you’d be able to see that. so please, no more complaining. no more bullshit. cut the crap. thanks.

6th Apr 2010 | 1 note

My College Essay.
rough draft

There it stood, as it did every day, in the elegance of the morning sky; an intricate silhouette against the brilliant, swirling colors of an autumn sunrise. A soft, gentle whisper of wind slowly awakens dawn’s harmonious waltz.

Her morning routine.


Sprawled out, perched among the sparrows to watch the grand symphony of splendid nature at its best. She then understood why birds never missed the unveiling of morn in all its splendor— they had the finest seats in the house. She wanted to stay in this secret place forever, this peaceful refuge where she was surrounded and embraced by the non-judgmental, quiet melodies of a flowing stream, welcoming the new day. She closed her eyes to bathe in the amber light, to feel it permeate beyond her skin and into her frail, young bones.

This was her place. Her secret place where she could sit and write and watch her little piece of heaven emerge from behind its shadowy veil. Her lovely place where she was expected at the same time every day—before the hustle and bustle of life interfered, before the screaming children ran through the streets, before the real world was awake and life got in the way of living. Here was the true world, and she had the finest seat in the house with the sparrows. It gave her a place to think, a place to read, a place to write her poetry.
This old willow tree, for the moment, was all hers, and nobody knowing but for the sparrows, the dawn, the ripples in the stream—the world belonged to the little girl.

“No eternal reward will forgive us now for wasting the dawn.”
-Jim Morrison

15th Nov 2009