Dumb Metaphors about Lighthouses and The Sea

I have to believe these tremors are not real.
I have to believe that deep in your oasis, there are blue wavy things
And serene, lounge chairs for basking in the sun with wet feet.
I have to believe that my perception is unrealistic
And that you have not shed a tear at my departure
And that you know yourself better and bigger than even I.
I have to believe you decided we were not tangible,
That the potential was snuffed out, that you couldn’t love me and
That you knew deep in the pulse of your heart that
You knew what was best.
I have to let the maze of my mind demolish the exit towards you
And recognize that you letting go is what’s best
Because you have always known what’s best.
I have to hope that in the thick of these problematic realizations that
You are happy, carefree, and dancing on the shoreline
Amazed by the tiny sailboats disappearing from the horizon.
I might have accepted this but oh how I miss you.
These feelings weren’t fleeting but there is no point in rearview mirrors
Especially when the other party feels it is moot point
So don’t look back.

Murals Drawn When Letting Go

Dear Pine cone,

How do people easily let go?

How am I a discarded bag floating in the wind

To every boy I have ever loved?

Do you feel the rawness in the truths

That are difficult to swallow like I do?

Going insane trying to find anyone who cares

While self absorption is rampant.

Sometimes I walk where the curb ends

And I think I am happier gripping on

To my aloneness.

I fell so far from the stars. I tried to claw my way back

Not realizing I am composed of star dust.

What’s the point of letting go,

When nothingness is all there ever was

Between you and all the boys you ever loved?

Your friend,

Pine needle.

Radio communication

Dear Pine cone,

Do you miss being counted in?

We spend our lives fizzling away

Dissolving somewhere beneath a cloudy sky.

Everything happens to someone else.

Don’t you miss days where we bloomed and

Where there were no thorns to clip

And love felt centimeters close?

Don’t you miss those jaw-dropping days

Instead of this pathetic crawl from the shade to the light?

Dear lovely, mouth watering spectacle,

Don’t you hate being counted out?

Most days I don’t, although I admit

Those days are getting shorter.

Can you help me plaster up the sky again?

It fell down.

Two nobodies are better than nobody.

Your friend,

Pine needle

Mothers Day

I thank my husband for the flowers as I light up the Divine Kush Breath I picked up from down the street.
They had a spin the wheel game going on this time and the gentleman at the little booth gave the wheel a little extra nudge to prize me out with two free joints instead of whatever the wheel initially landed on.

My husband was working the holiday and my kid happened to be violently ill with some gastro intestinal curse for her weekend, so we already had plans to celebrate next weekend at the museum by checking out their new bug exhibit. For now though, the flowers are nice for helping me power through sanitation duties in the wake of my kids recovery. I haven’t lit up a strain that makes me this giggly in some time, and I’ve really been able to plot out the organization and completion of a few paintings I’ve been stuck on for some time with some fauna and foliage details I hadn’t considered before.