Everything

I don`t know why I hold back in my writing. I love writing because I can be anything, say anything, I can feel the world at my fingertips. I can graze the sky with my breath. No, further than that, I can dance in parallel worlds, jump rope with string theory.
I can be everything.
Maybe if I can explore that aspect of my writing, I can translate it into my life.
Maybe I can spill over and make a mess.

I`ve had this brewing in my mind for a while.

Identity
Finger prints on frosted glass
Half empty, half full
10 fingers
7 digits and an area code
Slips of paper, withered flags
Refugee, immigrant
Internally displaced
Black skin, white hair
Colours of the visible spectrum
His-story, womb-men
Shiny leather
Tattered sandals
Manicures and
Calloused feat
Conspicuous consumption
Subtle starvation
In your mind
Out of this world
Where would I find you?

Guilty

It began with a serenade of thoughts

and lingers with a question mark,

hanging over my head.

The sickle shaped guillotine, falling,

never quite hitting that last breath of a doubt.

So I keep blowing out candles waiting for the wood to splinter.

But the juries out,

guilty as charged,

you’re my life sentence.

- Yasietha

Harmony

This really doesn't make sense cause today I decided I wanted a bit of disorder. I start alot of things, thinking it's gonna be something, usually it just ends up being a few lines of nothing. But I figure you throw a few things that are seemingly nothing, and you might just end up with something.

The reflections of my words form a shadow.
Loving something or someone isn’t hard.
I don’t make promises.
I like to pretend that I’m someone bigger, a part of something bigger than the words I spin or the mistakes I make.
Fuzzy around the edges, tinged in memories that are fading behind my eyes.
But there is more in this world than what you love, important things.
A crinkly smile made me stop today and a laugh made the world a little smaller.
A recognition, falling with the second hand.
What does f10 do anyways?
And when I close my eyes, you’re all that’s left of the world.
The remnants of a crimson pillar fill the air, seen only through the filtered lights of day and I breathe, just a little easier.
Loving is easy, it’s gravity at work.
Sometimes I just nod my head, mostly I just lie.
Her presence floated around you like rings of smoke, seeping inside of your body, taking from you what you could never really give.Your life.
To write is to live forever.
And so it becomes not a question of what you deserve in this world, but what the world deserves of you.
It coats my insides, making up the parts of me ill never see.
No, she was a diosa, and a breathtaking one at that.
Life becomes a question, and you in turn become the answer.
I like to think I’m touching more than just this dirty keyboard.

- Yasietha

Sidewalks

It’s all been created for you. All you have to do is be a part of it,walk on the sidewalks and consume the world.

Have you ever felt like you were watching a movie instead of playing a part?That you were reading a book and that everything you are and everything you see is something that isn’t yours. There are moments, when I can feel so detached that the world seems to play out like shadow puppets, things that lose meaning in the dark.

The only meanings we have are the ones we create.

In the objectivity of detachment there are certain things that you can see, temporarily blinded by passion or reason.

We are rarely ever rational, rarely if ever assured of anything. We can accept things, believe them even, but when you chose to fall, you’ll fall on the familiar

.Change is hard because it is rational. You breathe and nothings the same. It’s all around you moulding new circumstances, renewing the old. And yet it will still ripple though you when the clock keeps ticking. I used to think it was change I was waiting for and I was wrong. It passes by and pulls me along with it, undulating with every heart beat, monitored by every neural impulse.

No, I’m waiting for it. What it is I’m not too sure. I just know it’s coming. I don’t know if it will change me, break me, make me; I just know I’ve gone too long without it. I’ve long held a belief that things eventually stumble into place. We guide them the way we guide the inebriated, eventually forcing them into convenient places. This time I think I’ll just let it fall.

- Yasietha

No one's aware

The title is just the name of a song.It doesn't go away. I just wish I could carry it for her and I really wish I could entirely mean that...

I keep waiting for the clouds to part

For the day to break through

And her silhouette to be painted in dreams

But I find her,

Lying in the dirt

In a broken dance

Of everyday temptations

Some shadows never go away

Hide and Seek

Sometimes all I want to do is hide, because then it can't find me. Sometimes all I want to do is seek and find that there is more.

I want to paint you over

To blend the creases of your lips into the subtle planes of content

Soften the texture of your calloused hands

I want to fill in the colours

The ones you never let me see,

To let them dance for you in the shades of your summer dress

I want to find names

Carved in a tree

Scenes of your first tryst with love

Long braids and ironed skirts

Ruffled by scarlet cheeks

And weighted silence

I want to take away the noise

Smash all the bottles

Until there is nothing left to fall

And let you sing

The way I imagine you would

If you knew the words

I want to find a hole in your mosaic of skipping stones

To break you apart

With numbing clarity

And put you back together

Piece by piece

With all my words

-Yasietha

Holes

There is a hole
a space that isnt filled
an emptiness
a gap in a line of portraits
When you step back, and look at the bigger picture
its all you see
your eyes are invariably brought back back to that one spot
where you didnt take a chance
made a mistake
fell a little harder
than you'd like
and took that part with you
on the way down
its all you can see, even when you close your eyes
you can feel it's presense,
the lack thereof

When I painted my room this summer I had to strip the wallpaper, sand down all the imperfections, and then fill all the holes.
There was this moment when everything was bare, when I could finally see everything that was underneath, that I wondered if I should just leave it as it was. It wasn't pretty, but it was bareable. There were patches of different colours, irregularities in the walls.
There were holes.

I really did contemplate leaving it that way.
My room has as much a right to being flawed as I do.
It's in our nature to screw up, to be indecisice, and make mistakes. But it is also in our nature to mask these inherent flaws.
The moment passed quickly and I was hard at work, spackle in hand, filling in the holes. Once the paste dried I sanded down the dents in the wall. It was time for the finale, I grabbed the roller, poured out some paint, and let the brush strokes fill the silence.
I think you'll find that we are always painting walls.
If we can't just fill in the gaps, or make it disappear, we gloss it over, try and make it into something new.
But what you really end up with is another reminder of what's underneath, a mirror that reflects below the surface.
When something has fallen, you pick it up. If something is broken you try to fix it. We have a predisposition for order.
High stability=Low energy, and we're biologically in favour of stability.
If there is a hole, you try to fill it.

Maybe you need to have a few pieces missing.
It's way too early to have the whole picture.
I'm not going to try to fill the space.
Maybe someday I'll find what it is I'm looking for, or maybe if I'm really lucky, it will find me.