Lucky? Go Happy!

'Happy go lucky'

Never been the type.

Rational Rachel.

Calm Casey.

Or Negative Nancy, some would say . . . 

Regardless, Happy places are sometimes spaces - I would like to fill.

Feeling. Flying. Hopping high. Jumping Jack and Jill. 

Happy places and sunshine faces.

My recollect have grown so dreary.

I wait hours and hours, peek moments in time.

 my worry . . .  the reason I sob in rhyme.

Happy places are moments away.

I await them everyday.

I'm gay with envy of everyone who has a brighter day.

My mean girl mug throws darts and daggors

Baggor friends who seem entangled 

with other things to do- 
To do the check on their list = I'm always left - Boo Who!?!

Happy places?

What is that? 

Yes - mind control

I understand

Its MY mind

NOT what you do.

Get it, got it - I'll chew . . . on that.

Out one ear and out the other

I suffer longer than anyone I knew

already long past in slumber
while rumbling covers hide my blue

Happy places and lucky aces

where did you go?

I can't seem to find any of you.

You skipped one space

to the left, to the left

just me, myself and who?

Happy friends in happy places

ummmmm - did you forget me here?

The one 'happiness' I once had

you stole by age and fear

I wish I could hold on to those 'loves' 

the few I barely cared

I cared a lot and still I do

you know me very well?

Happy places and no more rhymes
rhythm awaits another day
to turn the page of random rage
and past the passing graves
skim over the shocking waves
a memory not far in daze
I crave:
Happy places and fulfilling spaces
space to be . . . HAPPY!

[Fear in Route]

There's doubt
There's shout...ing!
We pout, predicting pathways that are personal
Loudly wishing clout could save us from...back to doubt.
About ...we can not hold on to.
Impatient we avoid the question - what is about to happen?

Leave out the way we see ourselves - when ever asked to reveal.
We scout those feelings ... Oh so real
They sprout  up like dani-evil-lions

Out . . . side we can not show that fear has held us back
Lulu would feed us lemons to teach us which route to come back 
. . . to

Our jaws are now stout -filled with excuses to render
Like louts our behavior begins to change into 
[begging batters baked into broken bits]

Inside . . . the fear we have has turned into gout, 
it destroys who we are on the . . . Inside
We turn up our snout when we don't agree
We try to tout others to vouch by mouth - what we're worth: greed?

Why can't we just sit still - 
Oh! FEAR . . . come out! come out!
wherever you are . . . 

my ROUTE is what I doubt~
-------------
the only way to succeed at times, is to make decisions within our fearful journeys!

FIGHT CLUB - Part 2? 3? 4? 5? 6? 7?...

Psh! We never fight.
Ummmmm YES we do.
I do.
Well . . . I say after: I love you.
But!
No marriage here
Nothing of the size.
just 2 bickering friends
on roller coaster rides.

He tried it!
I tried.
We settled the storm.
HE settled our storm
with his warm . . . 
. . . wishing for his hugs :(

once/per wk - he said
I would disagree
Ok! numerous times at best
but NEVER wanting to leave.
Hours on the phone
good like GOOD TIMES! "every time I need a payment"
Bad like BAD GIRLS . . . club
Now That's! A Fight Club!

No No No No No - not like that at all.
No fist at hand, just words like stones 
bruised and baffled - who won?

It's getting sooooo intense!
I don't know what to do :(
I AM . . . the things upon 'his list.'

Oh! What happened to me?
I think I think too much
At least he answers my calls
when fuss, a cuss, from lust

I have to take in his patience
from pushing him so hard
no dry wall can hold me back
folds melt from wet
the wall/
unbalanced - you get my drift?
I fall
"stop crying" 
he's ALL
and everything I need
can't understand the WHY?
he CONTINUES to help me BREATHE . . . 
-------------------------
when I think 'age' separates us - I learn 'age' makes me stronger. Am I the one who lost my years, as he is the one: More mature - no tears? 

from daggers to dust . . .

[The older I get - I watch my life as it unfolds and hits this 'rock bottom' state. You never envision your life taking drastic turns and hitting so hard that you have no breath left . . . I experienced that today.]

from daggers to dust . . . 

I used to leap in latitudes 
but now 
I'm as grounded as the movers of post-modern decades:
My iridescent light used to shine in neon green - the time I felt free to enjoy the ride. The ride now has sliced my clothing with its sharpness and has produced birthmarks to last me till death. I shake my head as I press replay - my thoughts of all that has transpired - numb in my agility to lift my face from drooping, magnets pull it down. 
I sigh in wonder of the seed that has grown and wilt inside of me - a molded deep sea green in opposition 
of the pale light green of passing fearlessness. 
Occasionally, but actively I ponder the 'what if' stamped across my heart, the mark I leave in art is also the mark I leave in connected froth. 

Skin so tight, I squint intensely; my breath scares me into flat line! 
I pause.

I hear these words  played on repeat as a mother scolding her children!

------------

The daggers feel stronger after the second day. After the storm has passed by a little. 
In a cold sweat I woke up quivering internal vibes . . . 
You wake up early even though you haven't slept yet.
 Eyes pop open glance down at the floor, head heavy lagging on the pillow. You second guess every fiber of your being hoping you don't exist anymore
. . . It was all a dream, only not. 
The truth of the matter is that it REALLY matters . . . to me. I am who I am and that's why I am who  I am NOT. 
You don't think
 I think about all that was and used to be? Me, you, me, we which is now who, what, when and why? 
I noticed that cast down shades slowly closing the small amount of light, peeking out an outstretched blind. 
Yeah, that blind-sided me . . . by my side you once were. 
I wrote this chapter close unconsciously not calculating reprocustions. I mis-calculated in this maze I'm in. 
I am sick. Not diagnosed . . . .

You can't cove up puffy eyes with make up- the disease you have is prevalent: The red turned pink, turned pale, the colors erased and unnoticed even by those who KNEW you. You don't know you - why you are Y U R N I C U? 
Comatose by my being . . . honest. My figure of speech, my tongue IS the gun that kills everyone. . . I love. 
In death you hope for their re pass. That this season will, this moment will pass - it will but it will never be the same. 
All the games you played with each other - there's has to be a winner and loser right? 
You are the loser. 

Lost in life, love and lessons . . . Planned by your teachers =  A contradiction. 

Darts and daggers have turned to dust and days of dance have become a different disgust.
- - - - - - - -
March '13
(friendships in seasons)