fresh pulled apple

Ideas stolen from a muse. Her reality in the imagination of someone's escape.
The heat of the noon sun, the toilet that needs flushing. Transported, transposed, taken away, packaged, priced. Left to die without a headstone, or a memory. Just your words, your name, your accomplishment to reach out and touch a world, like a tablecloth pulled leaving the place settings ready for a feast. Stories untold for fear of losing your place at the table. Under the table surviving on crumbs, you act as if you were. Some prefer to eat with their hands, you can't do both, it isn't fair.
If I were you I wouldn't pity the mice that can run and hide. You would because you don't know better.


It's not what you think it's what you believe.  Patricia '96

fairness

Yesterday my routine was broken. I broke it. I'm good at breaking things. On accident, on purpose, who knows, who cares. I was driving along. I noticed there were no cars trying to pass me, no cars driving too slow that I needed to pass. Clear road. So I pulled over to the shoulder. Parked the car. I got out and walked to the passenger side of the car and I screamed "Life isn't fair!". Why why has it always been this challenge after that challenge to come to a moment in time when everything seems to be balanced. I find myself so far away from everything I'm interested in pursuing. Everything seems impossible, then out of the blue everything is possible. In the dirt by the side of the road. I looked to see if a bush was going to catch fire. Maybe God would appear to wrestle with me, or change my name, or strike me mute. Then I remembered God only does that sort of business with guys. God likes women that are humble, virginal, servantile. I picked up a fistful of dirt and tossed it in the air. Gritty dust remained on my palm. It's easy to forget the intensity, when the particles that remain wash off completely.


It's not what you think it's what you believe.  Patricia '96

nuanced

I can't allow the foggy morning to effect me. When I pass the fields covered in mist it changes my morning drive. I want to stop and be carried off by the artistry on display, but I can't. When the sun is setting behind the clouds and the view outside my window doesn't look like usual. I want to stop the sun until I've had my fill, but I can't. When the night sky looks dark blue I want it to last forever, but I can't make it happen. I realize I don't know best, when my senses react to subtleties.

It's not what you think it's what you believe.  Patricia '96

That is the point

How can you expect to be spoken to directly, when you speak indirectly.

It's not what you think it's what you believe.  Patricia '96

When only one person cares about something does it matter?

It's not what you think it's what you believe.  Patricia '96

The deepest sorrow exists in forgotten sacrifice.

If you asked me what is wrong I would tell you nothing. No one is that diligent. Not one person can care too much. It consumes, it defines. No one asks for this, they are chosen. If the snake in the grass, swims through the water, to reside within the walls. There is no way to make it leave; that is the reason of time. When time is far away feelings are more intense, once upon a time. When time is at hand feelings lose importance. When the time comes there is no reckoning. Everything is left in it's place. No easy answers, no complete understanding. Time carries. It is a matter of time.

It's not what you think it's what you believe.  Patricia '96