muzukashi

everything is difficult,
it is not easy to love,
it is not easy to be loved,
or know love.

it is not easy to remember,
or to forget.
to move on,
or to take root.

yet loosing your grasp gets easier with time,
and forgiveness is easy on the mind,
roots placed in love, will harvest in worth,
and 'round spins the earth, 'round spins the earth.

remember love: (it is all that we're worth)

garden

I am going to plant one this summer, with the help of my mother and, any who wish to join me.

lists:

happy-lists help me to sleep better.
LIKES:
warmth,
sun-rays through my car window, 
long open roads, 
re-wearing clothes,
purple gut pants
the heater in my room and my snuggie
oatmeal
the oatmeal with everything on it
the oatmeal for a dollar
throwing ice,
Princess Mononoke,
breathing into my scarf to warm up my chin,
flowers on my shoes,
short nails,
hammering notes on my guitar to make
me sound more folky,
the right amount of smoothie in a jamba juice cup
smile lines,
slow smiles,
loud and laughing smiles,
lyrics like: "ain't it like most people, and I'm no different
we love to talk on things we don't, know about.. "avett brothers
croissants
french fries
basically.... i like carbohydrates.
praying and seeing something happen. 
staring at strangers as i walk by them..
laughing for no good reason
and for good reason.
a burning sun in an endless sky
clean car! 
just enough gas money for the next half-week,
Flowers.
cream puffs at night
watching movies with friends,
dumping smoothies onto the counter by accident,
probably your status update.
haha.

<3 and good night.

dear st. valen

It ought to be simple
like leaving the screen door open on an easy summer morning.
Or perhaps remembering the weeds dug and lighted up--
air begins to smell like fire and you control the flames,
pushing the earth round in circles,
till it recedes and small smoke-wisps like breezed hair.
simple. controllable.
is love any of this?

falling in love might be simple,
maybe then, staying in love is what's hard.

then perhaps, love is not something we've expected, and perhaps "luckier" (whitman).
Maybe it is delighting in what seems so common place,
steps down a road,
rapid blinking,
muscles stretching out to breathe and build,
the stillness of the earth...

Love is many things, such as selflessness, which I cannot hint toward,
because I love to dig myself a cold-warm cave that makes sure no body can be let in,
and nothing can go out, and nothing can stay.

Perhaps love is letting light into a cave, and
though revealing of
the things we try to hide,

eventually it becomes strong enough to
nullify
wrong-doing
or
emptiness.

Someday I may know you very well

एंड सोमेदय, इ माय क्नोव वहत लव इस, वैरी वेल.
and someday I may know what love is, very well.

traffic

One day I want my writing to be meaningful and filled with truth, like the Bible.
Today I saw a crescent moon and the sky was pale behind it,
birds took flight, black beans scattered across the plastic blue table--
I really should focus on driving more.
One hand guides the wheel
and the other eats oatmeal
and the eyes keep blinking to
the window on the left.
Burning red tail lights warn me to pay closer attention,
the people I pass by,
with grave-face and eye...
they warn me to pay close attention.



"Cast your bread upon the waters,
       for after many days you will find it again. Give portions to seven, yes to eight,
       for you do not know what disaster may come upon the land." ecclesiastes 11:1