Each month, write a new collection.
Hedera, commonly called, Ivy.Hedera. Species evergreen of climbing plants. Creeping on level ground, unnoticed. Until outcrop is spied, when you twist your neurons, into a tower.Hedera. Time cracked open. Nothing to lose, I thought. Horizon handmaiden, I thought, in dazzling smart cut. A club I’d join, I thought.Hedera. I gobbled with glee, to quench my information thirst. Epidemiology for change. Power chambers, unlocked in verdant hills.Hedera, One day long after, I met you. I came upon a magnifying glass. I crawled on the ground in amazement. Studying the structure of your ivy veins.Hedera. The lens broke open, forgiveness. For why I could not retain, your encyclopedia. Your model of photosynthesis. Your enzyme values.
Such strength and controlI will needTo combat my addict brain.Shut it down, turn it offThink it through, manage a stipend.How will I knowWhen to say when?The girl who always takes it too far.The one who ends up bloodied because of her inability To STOP...So for nowI don't count the days.My palms sweat and my grip on control loosens.It feels okay today.I can categorize and separate.Analyze measure suppress It feels okay today.There is reassurance in that.
If good intentions were a pair of shoesThey'd cramp up in the toesPinching all my good ideasMaking all my highs, my lowsThe laces would be much too longAnd tangle up under my feetWrapping around my positivesTripping me in defeatThe soles would be too hard and flatPainful, like my wounded prideWorn away in the heelsImpeding my forward strideIf good intentions were a pair of shoesThey'd be sweaty, constrictive and hotThey wouldn't be worth wearingMore often than not
great imagery. oh those too tight intentional shoes!
self-sabotageIt’s a kind of ninja stealth maneuver Perfected by an army of quick determinedSoldiers of misfortune. But before thatCome the spies, who only live in the cold.They wear trenchcoats and they are continuallyReporting back to the center of subconsciousIntelligence about what really matters, whatThe target(Moi) really wants. They are always on the lookoutAlways undercover there are teams of them talkingInto tiny tape recorders, calling from invisible payphonesTo their assets who they send out to the grocery store,The wine shop, any public place, and even to private onesAlthough there they are less active because they think that what’s private doesn’t Matter — I knowBetter. I turn the tv on loud,And run the dishwasher and the garbage disposal Simultaneously. If the spies are distracted enough, theyWon’t contact the ninjas, they'll give the assets a day off and they’llLet me write this poem. But I better finish it quicklyBefore theyGetWise.