The dream ( by Jana livingston)

[creativesoul]

I just think
About the things I was not supposed to know
As a child
Where did I learn it?
Is it nurture or nature
Is it torture?
No
One escapes childhood uninjured

I want more than anything

To have my heart heal

If God says “ no”
I’ll file an appeal
My next meal
My children do not know
How much I miss them
I just cannot describe
The fear : that I will say the wrong thing and be disposed of forever
Banished from the kingdom
Yet again

I tried to love someone
That ripped my heart out
Made of broken glass
Plates falling in the kitchen
Maybe
Breaking in half
You see
If I bet on a horse
At the racetrack
It would not be named “ abstence “
But I no longer am able to do the deal
I spend much of my time alone

I made paper for my class with brown bags and gesso
At the treatment center

I cannot breathe
And I don’t ever seem to have any money
My dream is to not have to worry
I fucking do not know what that is
Taking liberty with credit cards
That I’ll regret later
Tears thanksgiving
Nothing makes sense
It’s a ghost town outside
Somewhere really out there is my lover
My dog will like him
So far ; no one had passed that test
In the dream; I’m on a ladder painting on a very large canvas-
He comes in and wraps his arms around me
Hey ya want some food ? Kisses me
Then - I dunno
I never could see into the future
More than a quick slide show
On a white sheet on the wall
Vivid sepia sandy brown and white exposure

[creativesoul]

Pie crust with coconut flour and sugar

[saw]

the problem with living a long time
in america...and elsewhere i suppose
is ending up penniless without
a support system or someone to share
the intimate stories of life with, and oh my
we all seem to have some regrets and
what ifs...and we all want to all to be nice
to be loved and to have those to love
and we do our best, roll them dice
across the casino table of life and pray
we come up with some good numbers

beautiful piece jana....heartfelt....like all good poetry

[creativesoul]

Thank you silver soul
Glistening under the trees
By the brook
Under the trees
That was a nice compliment-
I sometimes roll and hear what I want to write
Then I sit down to do that
Other things come out
Trained to write in little white boxes