At the foothills 

cacti and succulents grow fiercely,

wildflowers flourish and 

sanity slowly 

does not matter.

Do not think, climb.

Keep going until 

it is conquered.

one must look back and realize

it does not matter.

Surrounded by life 

free

wild 

silent beauty 

This is what matters.

----Tessa

photo of Pikes Peak, taken by me as well!

I tried to warn you,

I tried to tell you

Now do you understand?

I smoke too much, I drink too much, I take far too many drugs.

I say too much, I regret too much, I'm impatient far too often.

I learn too much, I yearn for too much, I work far too many hours.

I cry too much, I fuck too much, I want far too much for the future.

I wake in the middle of night, silently cry.

Forever down to run out or 

always be by your side.

There are days I can’t leave a room,

others I'm too far gone to care,

some the entire world’s mine to adventure.

I argue;

I desire for more than most

can give.

I curse too much, I guarantee too much, I think far too little of myself.

I pry too much, I party too much, I give far too much to others

I think too much, I dream too much, I have far too complicated of a past.

I hide too much, I hope too much, I have become far too astray.

I never open my soul completely and I am almost never okay.

I can mold our souls in my heart but 

I will still remember every lie.

You did not believe 

Or listen

Or care.

I tried to warn you,

I am Murphy's Law 

Entropy confined.

I write too much, I consume too much, I give far too little fucks.

I sleep too much, I disappear too much, I ask far too many questions.

I understand too much, I have seen too much, I miss far too many details.

I decide too much, I let my eyes wander too much, I am far too fucking much for you.

Nothing will ever be

perfect

my dear,

Certainly Not Me.

----Tessa,

It is not

love, or

fate, or 

anything between.

Names revealed

while life

crashed.

Your touch:

breath under water.

what could it be?

Suppose it just

is.

Can this be our way?

To just be?

Complications

left behind.

Minds opening,

lips parting, 

make me

wet.

Drive too fast,

too far, 

no destination.

I'll be right by you.

Can this be our way?

Pleasure and stimulation;

Body and soul. 

Take everything.

I am

a wild one, 

too tired to hide.

You just cannot

keep 

me.

Can this be our way?

Colorado mornings 

Rocky Mountain Red 

catching new sun

Earth transfigured

laws abandoned.

Peace and 

instinctual percipience. 

Layers exposed: 

twisting around themselves.

Untroubled 

despite an entire city

watching. 

The raw beauty,

piercing.

The message clear,

go.

Humanity, though constantly changing, remains unnerved by obscurities. That was one of the most difficult lessons the young man had to learn. He had never been too keen to custom. He was a secular boy who spent his days observing what was in front of him and how interactions relied upon each other. He took mental notes of all activity in his surroundings, not for a definition, for mere study. He did not believe in any God, though he did believe in a set of unspoken guidelines of this universe and the study of such guidelines in all regards. Education was his religion and education alone had gotten him thus far in his small Christian town. Not a soul he had encountered could perceive him entirely. His mama always swore he was conceived on another planet and then implanted in her uterus. No way a human so strange could come from her DNA, she used to say. And if his own mother says it, well you know it must be true.

He spent his days in solace study and his nights with his face buried in a book. At daybreak every Sunday the boy would set out empty handed and on foot into nearby woods. No one knew where he went, nor what he did when he got there. Nobody from the town troubled to ask. I suppose speculations were far more intriguing than any actual truth. He would reappear, again by foot, a half hour before sunset. His face shining a meaningful smile. The town watched these events with distrust, ignorant to a small, innocent stone stashed safely in the boy’s palm. Taken from a river within the overgrown forage, the stone held no significance in itself; however, it gave the boys life direction and his journey purpose.

He never felt more present than he did walking through that forest, by himself, with that stone in his hand. In certain instances, the town was very detailed in making him feel unwelcomed. Homestead had become a complicatedly questionable concept. Nature was what made things tolerable. There he had learned where he was and that is how it was. It just was.

Before resting his eyes on Sunday nights, the young man would kneel in front of a medium sized chest resting on his closet floor. There was a heavy lock on the chest and quilts for winter laying atop, acting as inconspicuous camouflage.

Carefully he would remove the quilts and the lock. Then with a ritualistic train of thought, he would place the stone inside, secure it, and go to sleep. As he laid in bed he closed his eyes and pictured the amount of stones filling up that chest. He knew that when it was full, he would be gone.

 Inspiration is hearing a whisper of yourself through the cluttered noise of life, and finding some way to develop that whisper for all or no one to understand. 

We create when we accept our journey and inner beings. 

 Expose yourself. Get deep inside that beautiful, chaotic psyche and pull everything from fucked up to dandy into real time. 

The inspiration is your story; each man's actuality his own.

I know the look in your eyes

The utterly unique and 

overpowering urge

Running down your spine

Through your teeth

Tickling your nose and

dripping down shaky fingertips with

taunting malice.

Need is swarming the room

Oozing from your essence.

I recall similar experiences 

impossible yearning,

frequent frustrations

Unjustified ill behavior

a biting tongue

coated with bitter powder

Consequences are obsolete

when the mind is under

 a blanket of narcotic dust.

Seeing you get a fix

I wish to hold your face in my hands

and remind you of your

beauty

Tell you my love for you is

endless

That I see your misery and my own soul weeps

but suffering is also worthy of

attention.

Though i know, 

i know from younger years 

nodding out on my bedroom floor

These words would surely be lost;

One must often learn alone.

I know

I know where you are going

I cannot go with you.

My love

By what means did your path become so awry?

When it

comes down

To it

It.

Is

The crackle of a good record

A scent giving reference to home

wherever and

whatever

That is.

Wet forage,

adventures in new places.

Just enough

drinks

on a memorable night.

chin in air

chest open

Nothing feels more like

freedom

than Laughter.

at the end of an honest day’s work

you smell of

soap and

motor oil

perhaps love.

Adoration of an old fashion

with a

time stamp

and an

understanding.

when it

comes down to it

it

is

you

The flow of existence is inevitable.

If nothing changes,

Nothing changes.

To bask in alteration is to be free.

For nothing changes,

If nothing changes.