they pay to kiss your feet

since there's no one else around, we let our hair grow long and forget all we used to know. then our skin gets thicker from living out in the snow.

Monday, July 30, 2007

the glass house project (or, experimental honesty)

i've decided to conduct an experiment. every day for the next month, i'll write a poem. it will be real and honest and will deal with feelings and highs and lows and laughter and pain and maybe even with problems i don't yet realize i have. it may be short one day and long the next. a sentence here. a paragraph there. but it will be me. and it will be here. in cyberspace. for anyone and everyone to read. i welcome comments and constructive criticism and praise, too, if you have any to give. but please, allow me to be real. don't question my feelings or if i'm being honest with you or not. because this, i promise. every word i write for the next month will be pure me. and in the end, hopefully i'll learn something about myself. about being human. about feeling and living and growing and changing. and if i drop the f'bomb occasionally, forgive me. because sometimes, it's a really good word to use when nothing else seems to fit.

entry no. 1 (honey)

this place -
it pushes and pulls
and leaves me
filled with winter
and death -
hard, frozen ground,
iced-over lakes and ponds
and birds trying to find
but i'm not running
because i know that every winter
promises spring

even dying trees
go to sleep on fertile ground.


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