Be like the Earth. She doesn’t care if you love Her or think She’s beautiful. She continues existing the way She has always existed; She continues doing exactly what She has done since She was born. Some people revel in Her beauty. Some destroy it: they tear Her down and tell Her how She should be and try to change Her to meet their needs. But She does not change; She does not bend. She continues to be how She always has been. The streams that have always flooded continue to flood. The forest fires continue to burn. Droughts continue to dry the land. We blame Her for being herself, for refusing to change for us, and yet She continues on. 

Be like the Earth. It is okay to catch fire– it clears crowded places and makes them clean. Let there be drought and flood to allow seeds to germinate and grow. The universe is inside you– do not fear these times. Do not dam the floods within you or try to put out your fires. Let them cleanse you, let them grow you, and no matter what, continue to persevere.

Be like the Earth: cause earthquakes in cities you never wanted built in the first place.

Be like the Earth // a.s.m 

This Is Me

wingedpiglets:

for flamecoloredskies ❤ 

vowels and consonants
will never quite fit properly into
my soul: my musings, my
passions. 
and as much as poems sing
truth, they will always skip
some notes– the ones we have not 
learned to write down yet.
it is scary, having
things inside you you don’t know
how to set free. 

so sometimes i close
my eyes 
and let my hands dance to 
the songs in my mind. and
when you look at the canvas,
you will see me
in the brushstrokes. i will see
a map of my mind, no longer
overlapping streets but
routes to places inside
i’d never figured out how to give
others directions to. 

i am hollow until
i give myself to a canvas or a song 
and let the pieces of me make sense
of themselves. 
then we can look at 
them and understand. 

No Sympathy For The Devil

wingedpiglets:

My blood is too thick 
for Nevada. I’ve never been
able to properly explain myself 
in this climate– always thinking
that just behind some narrow door in
all my favorite bars, 
men in red woolen shirts are
getting incredible kicks from things
I’ll never know. 

I know
these people in my goddamn 
blood, though. Won’t be long now before
they tear me to shreds. 
Too weird to live, too weird to die–
just another freak, in the
freak kingdom, humping
the American dream. Never able to
accept the notion that
you can get a lot higher without drugs
than with them. 

But with the right kind
of eyes, you can almost see
the high-water mark– that place
where the wave finally 
broke and rolled back, 
that sense of inevitable victory
over the forces of
old and evil, 
whatever it meant. 

Summer Morning Symphony

wingedpiglets:

sleepy skies and morning dew
play pianissimo, slowly
crescendoing as the
sun strains
to peek through
my window.
a quarter rest– just to stretch–
and the percussion of
socks smacking
wood.

a high C,
sung softly in vibrato
to the twin toddlers
sleeping
three doors down.
xylophone keys
falling
into
the toilet bowl.
quiet, frantic
glissando down
the stairs.
the
smash of the cymbals slamming
shut.
the final note,
the delicate
click of the key.
the applause.

My Least Favorite Word

wingedpiglets:

Probably:
the guarantee
of a lukewarm promise that
may or may not be
broken.

Probably: like babbling
brooks and babies. Like
babbling on and on and on;
empty words
just to fill the space
you were so afraid
of.

Probably:
a thumbs up for empty air and
words that pop like bubbles.
A contract signed with
probably in the
fine print scares me.

As I curl into your back I whisper:
will you still love me in the morning?
Only the sticky air replies:
hopefully,
maybe,
probably.

if ever you feel far from home,
please know that you are not alone.
for I, too, have wandered far
and made my bed among the stars.

and if you know not where to go,
look to the skies, the ground below
and know another pair of eyes
is seeking out the same advice.

and if your voice shakes when you speak,
please know it does not make you weak.
look at the sun– see how it shines?
you, too, were made from dust divine.

if the future makes you doubt
your life will figure itself out,
be still– the universe knows all
and does not let her dear ones fall.

and when from wand’ring you’ve had your fill
and yearn for your soul to be still,
look inside you to find peace–
the waves within will finally cease.

if within yourself your soul finds rest, you’ll discover home inside your chest // a.s.m (via wingedpiglets)