I dare you to move

I drag my hands through my hair
They don't slide smoothly
Almost as if my worries take this chance to tangle up in my fingers
I fix my eyes on the cars passing by, but i don't budge.
My legs lay limp and my whole body is relaxed
Rain begins to drip onto my face, landing softly on my cheeks
It is almost too careful, as if the clouds are delicately sending rain drops one by one
I still don't move.
A deafening screech violently moves my attention to the road
A car is coming towards me
The driver's eyes are wild, and fearful...
Their hands making grand gestures to steer the car out of my path
I won't move.
I feel crazy but strangely more in control than the driver...
Then it hits me
Metal and bones intermingling
Everything is black but bright all at once
Now i can't move, it is no longer a choice.

amnesia

memories are flashbacks.
we all have different perspectives from just one memory.
they're little reminderrs that can pop up.
sometimes they can flood your mind, encompassing you...
they put a haze over your eyes,
fade away from the "now"
you look back and think what could've been...
what should've been
you will torment your mind with tastes from the past
treasures
already lived
consuming
dark
playful
held
memories are silent killers

This is what autumn smells like

I smelled autumn yesterday.
It was the sweet smell of freshly squeezed or crushed apples.
The air was juicy, mouth watereing, succulent, and the wind was the scent of crisp apples wisping through my hair.
I found myself wanting to lick the air.
I couldn't capture the smell or breathe in deeply enough.
Each inhale brought a new burst of flavor into my lungs.
And i thought to myself,
this is was autumn smells like.

a million little black polka dots

It must be the heat wave.
There are thousands of little ladybugs crawling across the windows of my house.
They landed a couple at a time on my arms as i stretched out on the grass.
They never fly straight, they always fly in an intricate path of circles and loop de loops.
Some have little black polka dots, and some are all red.
Their wings flutter less gracefully than a butterfly's...
but they disappear when the ladybug lands.
It's magic.
They are here for the last taste of summer.
Outside, they are swarming and flying all around, as their red backs hit the sunlight just right.
Good luck is dressed in a million little black polka dots.

fuzzy scarf

I love taking morning walks. It's become my weekend routine. The dew is still dripping, the frost masked by the shade still crunches underneath your feet, and you actually see a little baby inchworm making it's journey across the road. It's a sort of bliss noticing everything around you.
This post is going to be short because i'm just about to walk into bliss...
The sky is blue, the grass is still wet, the leaves are a warm honey, and maple syrup red, the birds are singing sweet melodies, and i am wrapping my fuzzy scarf around my neck.
Going on a walk is a very capturing experience for all of your senses.

Here's a little enlightening poetry for you:
"No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace
as I have seen in one autumnal face"
John Donne

i wish the real world would just stop hassling me

I was on my rickety old bus that shook me to the beat of the music, while my thoughts were abysmal. I was so mesmerized inside my head that when an empty bottle came flying over my worn, blue, seat and fell into my lap, i didn't even realize it. I was in a seventh heaven, looking outside the streaked window. I just started to write my blog in my head. The best and easiet kind of writing dosen't need a paper or pencil because somehow it hinders your thoughts, a plain rectangle, almost like a barrier. Maybe if I cut the paper into a different shape... So i just sat there and let the music build to a symphony in my ear "dragonfly out in the sun you know what i mean." It's the most alluring time of year. The leaves are sitting on the edge of forever, cut right down the middle, one half is painted red and orange while the other side is a sweet,crisp green for the last taste of summer. We're inbetween fall and summer.
As I came back to the real world, I handed the kid the plastic bottle as he mumbled some kind of half, sorry excuse. It didn't matter anyways because the music overwhelmed the words escaping his mouth.
It's a new dawn
It's a new day
It's a new life
For me
And i'm feeling good
michael buble's voice is his own instrument,
and mine is my thoughts.
As i walked off the bus and the light brushed across my face,
i was feeling good.

Harriet The Spy

I'm sitting and typing away at the computer i'm going to have in my room. It's downstairs right now, but soon it will be in my room where thoughts seem to flow more frequently and easily. I want to do that whole "Harriet-The-Spy" work in my room. I'd love to have a typwriter, even just the sound of fingers gliding across a normal keyboard seem to sound like music clunking along the old keys of a typewriter. A pen stuck in the wild mess of my hair, my legs curled up under me, rain pattering against the windowpane and the "ding" of ressurance when you've reached the edge of the paper. I'm re-doing my room, giving it a new story. There are just three main pieces of furniture i really want. An old distressed bookcase, maybe with an old, clouded , stained door on it. A big desk, right in front of my open window, for paper, pencils, stacks of books on photography, and my computer/typewriter. And lastly a bed, filled with pillows and blankets. I want to hang national geographic pictures teared from my magazines, black and white photos taped to the walls and stacked all over that i've taken on my dad's old camera. I'd love to develop them.
Hardwood floors, black worn converse(i love thinking of their story of walking mountains in cali).
I want my room to have "a little romance without getting too cinderella sweet", i want to take myself, and have my room capture that.
I want my room to look like the sky has come in.