stubborn bud in dark matter

So many blooming flowers around her but her focus lies on the bud tightly wrapped in its leaves, refusing to budge.

Theres a man who sends her flowers, a man who sends her poetry, one who sends kisses, and another- warm hugs, one feeds her and the other smokes her out. She has a man who shares her art, and another who loves her writing, she has one to feel grumpy with, while another is best when good company is needed.. yet her focus lies on the bud that wont budge. plain colored on the outside and beaming with passion where the eyes don't reach.

Thrown against a wave of hands pushing her in the right direction, yet her focus lies on the stubborn flower, who still refuses to open. Not a bullet or a mind blowing connection could budge it open.

As time grows and the blooming process does not, curiosity spills over the glass into the ocean of the most confusing kinds of love. the kind that feels like an obsession but could easily be ignored. until it isn't- then the part of one's back that fingers don't reach starts to tickle. and she wonder what he's doing.

or if he think of her. or if he ever wish she was around. or if he knows how happy she would make him. or if he knew how much time he had left until the fairy inside her flutters away to another bud not so stubborn. this is a blog that shouldn't have been written or thought about, or read for that matter. so we'll call it dark matter. so dark only subconscious minds can gain the information while the conscious sips on tea and waits for human words and sunny days.

budge little bud, budge. oh the fun we could have.

Paging Fairy GodMother

I am fucking miserable.
I feel like I'm breathing solely for the purpose of pleasing the customers of Whole Foods Market.
Is this really why my mom spent over 9 months of her life pregnant and a whole day in labor?
What the fuck is the purpose of it all?
God I wish this mundane life could just be over.


One of my supervisors just came up to me and expected me to be happy about the fact that they scheduled me at 2:30pm instead of 9am on new years day. ummmmmm
After my obvious disappointment in the whole affair, she says "Can we please you?"
Um, yes Emma, Yes you can. Shoot me in the fucking head. Right here at the holiday table.
Has it really gotten to a point where I'm supposed to be happy about working at a fucking grocery store?
I can't fucking live like this
I have too much passion. Too much love, too much desire.
Here I am, with a boyfriend a sister and an extended family. All of which have a passion and commitment of their own. I am the sprinkles on every body's ice scream sunday- the decoration they can definitely do without.
And yet I choose to live.
to work at a fucking grocery store
To work with people to don't give a fuck about health, or expanding consciousness, or ...well.. me.
Why am I here?
I must have a higher purpose than to show confused elders where the cranberry sauce is.


All this shitty shit happened growing up. Financial struggles, aggressive dad, raping neighbors, raping boyfriends, cheating boyfriends, bullies, cancer, death, death, death, death, death..
and after all that, I kept hearing "Girl, with all the built up, you have beautiful things to come"
When exactly? Is it when I'm at my death bed? or when I hit 40 everything will all the sudden make sense?
Anyone that knows me , knows that I'm not exactly the kind to live for the future. The future doesn't even exist dammit. All that exists is right fucking now. and right now my situation is hmmm, better than most. But it most definetly is not even close to what I desire. So what the fuck am I doing.
























Fairy Godmother, are you there?

there she blows

she is swimming against a crowd of people going in the wrong direction

3v.l.vE is LIBERTY

The clouds released the rain,
The moon gave way to the sun's rays
Tingles replaced pain

Polarity
Duality
Merging
Transforming
Becoming
Rarity

Dark, scary words, dressed in black leather to
Attract one's ATTTENTION!
Ugly duckling to a Swan.
Her scars of Faerie.
Goodbye is a nice word for those who meet a warm attention,
            every cell glows white with amber & green kisses meet the orange of        
         
             affection.

      Ugly Filters Light
                    .
                   &     She
       Knows &
           Understands
                   &   Just like that,
             Goodbye
                     .

Transform   \./   Stay still
         \                      /
      Let go    |.|  Just be
        /                        \
   Be             \:/          Here
                     o
          3 <      :     > E
                     l

Goodbye to the meeting of love; the post of the flag, the trunk of the branches.
A secret
dear brothers,
from the secret of Garden
dear sisters,
is that Goodbye's are just as Blissful as Hello's in all their glory.
Because they are one of the same.  A Mirror to Blame.

The waiting game

she watched her curls grow down to her breasts
she knows you'll be there when they reach the ground and the rest

never mind song

 my heart craves the company of a bit of the soul,
the soul, now divided, and once was whole.
But then I remember,
although I ofter forget,
the devil sings with craving, in a morbid duet.

Here is a piece of the web

There is the spider

diligently, she works on the web. 

When done, she lays on her work,

and watches it manifest into a tool of survival.  

Then, there are the insects her web traps 

They are the same size as the spider, 

the same matter,

the same mother, 

same direct creator and perceiver.

Their tools,
their perception,
 set them apart from the spider

because of this, they are blind and vulnerable to the web

How amusing that one creature's life is another's death.

yet they both ultimately exist to depend on each other.

The insects and the spider share eyes, for within the eyes hold the infinity of Existence

yet they carry perceptions which keep them apart -leading death to one and life to another.

Difference in perception is the gravity which allows 

the cycle to exist without end

o

death

life

death

life

o

Before the perception, is the awareness. 

before, after,
within and around
 the awareness are the black holes of creation
8
here lies infinite possibilities

for, as we have learned, all can be divided without end

Awareness,

needs not life, nor death for it just is

Content, without desire for movement

it is the pause between the inhale and exhale.

Then, there is the human, 

the perceiver of the spider, the spider's web and the trapped insects

I sit by the spider, watch it work, watch it's work come to life, 

finally, watch the trapping, struggle and death of the other insects.

I can study the web, it's patterns, and by it, understand the workings of 

Nature

Here I learn that the nature of all things work in pattern

the pattern is the skirt of Nature's creator

as I perceive Nature, I am also being perceived

the pattern 

the division

never ends

for around every circle, another can be drawn

The Great Transcendentalist Ralph Waldo Emerson writes,

THE EYE is the first circle; the horizon which it forms is the second; and throughout nature this primary picture is repeated without end. It is the highest emblem in the cipher of the world. [...] Our life is an apprenticeship to the truth that around every circle another can be drawn; that there is no end in nature, but every end is a beginning; that there is always another dawn risen on mid-noon, and under every deep a lower deep opens.