The Poetry Marathon

Waking up to everything cleaned
Organized
No distractions
Windows open
Life opened with no guilt
No shame
Just happy to be

Space big enough for love
for containment
for me

The perfect day would be full of focus
Full of creating
Full of life
Letting the light in
leaving the artificial lights off
loving each day til the next

My dead cousin climbed down from one in a dream.
He told me it was easier. The second time he appeared after his death, he climbed down from one with my assistance. He had leaves in his hair. I have dreamed of him again since then, this time he climbed from the one in my backyard. Peering through the deck porch window. I miss him and I imagine he goes there to meet me in the middle.

He told me where he is, is just somewhere else. Its easier here, than where you are he said.

To me, trees are portals in every dimension of life. Trees carry our secrets and see everything. Its no wonder he went there to meet me.

Dear Torri,

No one ever forced you in a cage.
You did so willingly. You did so, thinking you were different. You did so, thinking your love was special. You did so thinking you were. You created these stories, and started to believe them. You were always creative, so creative you could run on words, no pavement was needed to ground you. Words with no foundation, words with no actions. You must have been insane, girl. Now when you look back you laugh at that loss. It makes you uncomfortable, that death. That death of that loving girl that trusted love. That death of that loving girl that wanted to look good for someone else.

Now you have no space left. You clutter it up with art. You create in that space you put someone else in. You have always been a smart girl in what you were smart in.

Now instead of entertaining, you share. You deny anyone else from coming in, not because you are undeserving but because they are. They will all desire you for this, but stay strong you smart girl. Recognize they are only interested because they romanticize the idea of you. So create away in all the beauty that you are for the world to see but never allow anyone to take up space in your soul.

Dear Torri, you dear sweet girl….were never designed to have a roommate.

Cloudy with a chance of brain fog.

The CT confirmed my head is not normal;
I mean, like duh. People tried to prepare me for the Washington rain, instead my head has created its own storm.
Sleepless nights, brain zaps, data errors, forgetfulness, head pressure, seeing static when I close my eyes.
The electricity is off I said, it has always been but now I’m being told others can see it on pictures.
Strangers, Doctors, Onlookers will possibly see signs of pages torn out.

Cloudy with a chance of brain fog

I know it is, the static.
It trickles up my body and I shake uncontrollably.
It’s not ugly, I imagine it’s a painting I never gave myself permission to create.
I imagine the acidity of life is decaying my brain.
The trauma my brain wants me to forget, but I’m afraid of forgetting everything.
It trickles from my feet up instead of just staying in my head.

Cloudy with a chance of brain fog

I decided to build a playhouse.
Depending on what the doctors say, I may or may not be okay.
I’m not wasting a day without loving my kids even if I fail in moments.
When I am gone, if I ever leave while my body is still here I want them to remember the person I was and the love that I gave.
I am still here, we are all still here for now.

2 cups of persistence

1 cup of cinnamon

1 package of self rising flour

3 cups of positivity

1/2 cup of confidence

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

In your mixing bowl cream together persistence (trying repeatedly) and cinnamon (speak up for yourself) until smooth. Add 3 cups of positivity (you didn’t fail, you just needed to know this step) into the batter along with confidence (I can do anything I want to do), and mix paying attention to the sides of the bowl.

now add in the self rising flour (watch your mindset grow) and mix until batter thickens.

Drop 24 spoonfuls onto ungreased cookie sheet and bake 15-20 minutes to a golden brown.

Allow to cool, then enjoy.

Personally, I know of no one personally. Still uncovering my own self. Still poking around corners, searching for the parts of me that went into hiding. Parts lingering in secret passageways, looking through windows at herself. The lost parts, that were spooked out of myself. The parts I am praying to return with each painful breath.

I imagine its hard to know of anyone personally. In a world where people lose parts of themselves. In a world where encounters with other humans leave you dismembered and discarded. When your own brain starts to rot, from all the toxins of life. You start learning the wrong stories. You start poisoning your own self. You begin detaching from the pain in your body. You do this, not recognizing all you truly know in life, is that you don’t know. All you truly have in life is yourself.

People only show you what they want you to know about them. All of us are just here, living around other infected people, being influenced by other lifers in this dimension, searching for lost soul parts until we die.

Life is full of influential women, but you are the most important one. You are the only one you have and the only person given to you to learn personally.

This song was the 80’s version of a holla

nowaday, you just ask for a phone number

he was asking for a dance

First appearing on screen with

medium length

Messy hair

Wearing a half zipped leather jacket

his bare chest out

This video was a simple journey

Of cool

all standing band members in the back

rocking with keyboards,

electric guitars strapped

While he sang

with

Folded arms

and body movements

About his kind of woman

Instructing her to slide next to him

Not once seeing her dance

but back then I guess she didn’t have to

this song wasn’t tough

just flirtatious

the kind you would play at a pizza

and beer party with friends

while you dance with the one

you want to get next to

This kind of fun

Is my idea of the 80’s

carefree and wild

Simon says

red light green light

hand games

bike riding and

rollerskating

honey flowers

vacant houses

double dutch

jacks and marbles

bolo bats

and dance routines

were how we spent our summers

no road trips cause Mama was scared of doing things involving travel by herself

we played until night

we ate tv dinners

tony pizzas

chicken pot pies

shared tv’s

watched tales from the crypt

in living color

married with children

and 90210

summers were long

life seemed longer

time seemed to spread like wings

there was so much to do

so much to see

we were comfortable in being kids

full of wonder

we kept ourselves busy

in fun

Birds chirp in conversations loudly,

they sound as if mornings are their most favorite time of the day

the grassy fields and flowers move as if they are dancing in the sunlight

The sun graciously swaddles the earth while the clouds puff like cotton candy

the city is beginning to wake

Mya was part of the family

She was easy to figure out

Always ready

idle threats didn’t go under her radar

She was about as kind as I was

Our keeper until her death

reminding us just how unpredictable tomorrow can be

We have changed

unable to replace what she was to us

so we refuse

cause broken hearts don’t repair easily