BEAUTY I want to create beauty. My soul wants to create beauty. I am beauty. I was just sleeping at work. I can tell Because my mouth feels like it has been drooling. I’m not in control of most of my body, but my brain And my soul have combined to produce a kind of fluid functioning. Watching me function is like watching a waterfall, which is like me drooling which is what I can’t control when I sleep. I also have trouble controlling my heavy desire to Create beauty. I always think— What is Beauty?, what is Beautiful? I think humanity is a beautiful thing— I say thing because what is humanity? Humanity is a clumsy patriot fighting for naiveté and goodness. All actions And thoughts, secular and spiritual, are humanity because they come from our Quiet and blundering experience. Humanity is beautiful magnificent Even if sometimes we lose our way (we kiss thorns) There’s beauty in that, too. There’s beauty in our effective struggle. Beauty is not created,
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It's a blurry memory Because of wasted time. I was young enough to remember the day God was wrong and blameless. it's in the pit of my stomach I can feel it's languid desperation. ...smell it's hazy smell Just outside my five fingered reach. It wasn't a battle. It was end an of an angry war of which my siblings and I were casualties. Who would be proud of the way I forgot to breathe and how quickly I stuffed my forgotten feelings into an overnight bag What are feelings? That's a question I still ask myself. I still think about that afternoon or morning or whatever time of day it was If peace is a happy family, then my feelings are a puzzle of which I'm trying to peace together Again forever. Written for Weekly Scribblings #80: Sudden Moments at Poets and Storytellers United.