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Who Is She

 

I do remember walking the long long hallway from the pool to the gym to the office to my locker right there across from the attendance office. Wondering how can I get my mind off this train wreak I was focused to the ride of nightmares and visions. I think sometimes my head were high and I mean this in the most of things that have the same meaning of its word.

With infancy came a new world. I only saw angels. With roses, abound with laughter, and warning with prayer. Lesson that has taken a lifetime to learn, forgive me, of suppressing it all in a song.

Until now, wait I am lost for the moment I lost my way of writing….hmmm I went to the store and took Tom home. Retackling my thoughts is blank. I was only above the sense I was not in the sense or that moment to moments in time….lost. Who is she that wishes to write? Who is she that wishes the night to go away when all is yelling who she is? Who is the one?

Who comes to heart?

With all her feelings falling apart

Unaware that she exists

Who is she to resist

Known to her not yet

Only floats nothing she gets

As angels guild her waking hours

Faith will give her powers

Need it be said

This poem will not end…

Therefore, I continue to write about me. I am therefore I am I think… a spider having dreamt I was a bipolar human only to find oneself a wrath of the black widow. In her spun out juices having the web of my life she weaves towards my death. She wraps my body to feast on a gluten moment of famished angered and greed. I fall back to sleep.

Therefore, I am I think. Have loads of difference dancing in head. Where to go, what to do I write on. So then held tightly, on each shoulder, the ugly hands grasp the control over my body. Over my soul. It will eat at me for weeks. Weeks into months. Months into years. I took control over what it/I did not have the control. In forced i to be,  I can see my shoulders held tight. My face looking at the hands that empowered my mind over head I cannot move nor speak or shout. I can feel the power of the pain set forth. However, I cannot know who I am,therefore I run. I cannot see the rest of me as I hang over the memory. Its nightmares only to repeat the same each night. Did I dream this, was it happening to me. Who was doing it to me and who was I when they did it. How do I go from it to them? In addition, how did I go from this dream out of another?

I cannot forget to mention the fractal. It is of everything a pattern. A pattern of light, sound, smell and touch each it has own receiver of prayer and life. Vision of spectrums ringing through sound vibrating off the empty air. Beams of light with love and life. Rainbows of faith with hope showering down a leash of new love. Only for, one to grab yet miss… Thus forth, this is only the beginning. One oneness one. Oneness of one Oneness of all things and that starts with a pattern. I know it is hard to understand my entire incantation sort to speak. However never would I, intentionally confuse you. It is how, it is said, through the lines between the lines and in the lines. It is a pattern yet to be form to its full spectrum or realm of being. I can vision pieces while the others hold the rest.01.15.11TMS

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