Memoirs of The Living

Subjective

From the cradle to the grave, to the wolf I always belong. 

It's nothing poetic, not really, my spirit is still there inside that girl dancing inside this wickedly unresponsive flesh and bone thing dragging through the days. 

See, that's what makes it hard to get up. I want to just lie there in that meadow, hidden by wild flowers, wolves securing the perimeter. 

In my travels you may find, if you open the right file, all the 7 wonders of a singularity that is a spark like all of us endlessly regenerating. 

I think I have learned everything I need to learn now. Been everywhere the unforgiving, and actually emotionless, universe guided me. The lady in the laundry room the other day with MS ready to give up, a boy back in '78 with his cop daddy's gun pointed under his bruised and bloody chin. I stopped him with pretty words and new skin, he took his life twenty years later anyway. 

I am trying to make sense of the in betweens. I am not, per se, important, or tragic, or rapturous, as some have tried to pin on me like butterflies to canvas. I ate those syllables and reworked them into something new. That's what poets do,isn't it? 

Or is that just a word. Poet. Raw. Unkind with truth. 

Life distracted me, pushed me here and there, but the truth is, I am what I am, and it ain't Popeye. 

I'm not kind, or good, or horrible, or treacherous, I just am another IAM. Figure out that acronym and you might get ahead of this wicked game rolling over us, around us. 

Ask yourself this question. What brings you joy? And is it ever really actual pure joy? 

I found it in a meadow a long time ago, Enki the old wolf, patient as ever as I tried to become mercury or air or the daisies in the field, anything but human, a perimeter of wolves on guard, 

en guarde ;)

 *and she bows for the simple fukery of it all*

(c)2017SeleneSkye

Author's Note

Be brutal

Reviews

[Rikkevi Rue]

Oh my, how did I end up here...and fancy running into you, girl of wolves. But sometimes I walk around the edge of your meadow and notice the wildflowers moving against the wind... you covered yourself when you dubbed this "Subjective" so really who cares what anyone thinks (of course you are sentient enough to care but don't really need advice!) but I wander, Me thinks you already know everything you need if you didn't already at journey's start! I agree with your "emotionless universe" sentiment, though I doubt it really guided you anywhere...more likely, you drew out its fables and fit them neatly into your own little story. Which is what poets seem to do best :=)) I know what brings me joy, real joy, and it's looking into the searching eyes of another IAM and recognizing that curious familiar twinkle...reminds me of a girl i met some years ago who really had that and the uncanny knack for being unkind with truth ;=) I believe it's really about the quality of the communication which fortunately for you, yours is and has always been high. Nice bumping into you in case you're ever back this way my lovely...oh, the write? Superbly Selenish! RR

[alan peter kelly]

My first critique was too brutal and unwarranted.
Im not kind ...that line touched the pulse of my core...
Unkind with truth

never a good look
however necessary
and appropriate

truth is ugly
lies
are truth
normalised
through
repetition.

i am too old
to even
bother searching
for the few
behavioural
human
Ianomalies

that keep
this
in the moment

damn all yesterday's
and tomorrow
knows
which way
to go

worthy of continuance

but that's just me.