I wonder if we're ignoring a part of existence because of our scientific understandings and our cultural reliance on the "logical" and "observable". All religions have ghosts. Some even demons. Those cultures that retain their superstitions as they become Christian... are they the purer? By combining the Truth with their lives?
What if demons can't stand the sign of the cross, even when made by fingers? What if witches do have power over us if they attain our DNA? What if the veil between the living and the dead is thinner than we thought? Why does voodoo work? Is it wrong to acknowledge the power of evil? Is it wrong to ignore the power of good? What if there is more truth in some superstitions than we realize? What if prayer is sometimes not enough?
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
1.30.08 Poetry
I hold my heart cupped and covered in my hands.
I offer it to you secretly, wholy,
I am holding your heart,
Take it from me.
Set it free from my ten barred cage.
But you don't see it.
You see only my hands
And my closed, secure visage.
What mischief do you imagine between my palms?
Something ugly or poisonous?
You give me a knowing smile
And walk away.
And my heart dies imprisoned.
My love is like a Valentine's card.
You enjoy it for a moment,
And in the morning,
I find it in the trash.
I offer it to you secretly, wholy,
I am holding your heart,
Take it from me.
Set it free from my ten barred cage.
But you don't see it.
You see only my hands
And my closed, secure visage.
What mischief do you imagine between my palms?
Something ugly or poisonous?
You give me a knowing smile
And walk away.
And my heart dies imprisoned.
My love is like a Valentine's card.
You enjoy it for a moment,
And in the morning,
I find it in the trash.
First Rant of '08! 1.30.08
I had a thought today. They sometimes happen. I was unprepared for a presentation today, and I stayed up all night throwing it together. I've learned how to give excellent presentations, and I've had roommates who were meticulous and wouldn't be satisfied with me practicing a few times with many flaws and calling it a night. So last night, and this morning, I knew I wasn't giving my all into this presentation. I also knew that from the professor's point of view, the presentation would be average, and I would get a decent grade for my performance.
I didn't have my introduction or my conclusion memorized, my information was listed mostly by dates so most sentences began with, "In 1457...", my handout was a full page single spaced (which is just too much to ask people to sort through), my inflection swung between being too high and being too low and soft, and I practically read all my information, with occasional, unnerving glances into the bored populace.
I knew what needed to happen to make this presentation amazing, and for one reason or another, I didn't do it. It doesn't matter that I got it over with, take my B grade back to my seat and let the teacher try to wake the class back up, I knew what I should have done. Because that's the way I've been trained.
There's a verse in the Bible that tells parents to train their children in the way they are supposed to go, so that the children will do it automatically when they grow up. But we're adults now. And it doesn't matter whether our parents trained us well or poorly, we are responsible for ourselves. Train yourself in the way you need to go, and when the time comes, regardless of other's standards, you will know what you're supposed to do. Whether you do it or not when the time comes, is up to you.
I didn't have my introduction or my conclusion memorized, my information was listed mostly by dates so most sentences began with, "In 1457...", my handout was a full page single spaced (which is just too much to ask people to sort through), my inflection swung between being too high and being too low and soft, and I practically read all my information, with occasional, unnerving glances into the bored populace.
I knew what needed to happen to make this presentation amazing, and for one reason or another, I didn't do it. It doesn't matter that I got it over with, take my B grade back to my seat and let the teacher try to wake the class back up, I knew what I should have done. Because that's the way I've been trained.
There's a verse in the Bible that tells parents to train their children in the way they are supposed to go, so that the children will do it automatically when they grow up. But we're adults now. And it doesn't matter whether our parents trained us well or poorly, we are responsible for ourselves. Train yourself in the way you need to go, and when the time comes, regardless of other's standards, you will know what you're supposed to do. Whether you do it or not when the time comes, is up to you.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Rant 9.13.07
LOL. Check out my April Rant before you read this. I was just scanning old posts and saw it.
I mention two poems that I submitted to the poetry contest, "My lover's eyes" that I hoped would place, and "psychologists are the janitor's of our minds" that I didn't think would do anything. Well, "My lover's eyes" did NOT place, and my other poem won the contest! How crazy is that?
Meanwhile, I've almost finished two more Jedi cloaks, I finished one Jedi cross stitch, gave it away as a birthday present, and am making one for myself. And I'm wondering what I'd do if a boy asked me out.
I mention two poems that I submitted to the poetry contest, "My lover's eyes" that I hoped would place, and "psychologists are the janitor's of our minds" that I didn't think would do anything. Well, "My lover's eyes" did NOT place, and my other poem won the contest! How crazy is that?
Meanwhile, I've almost finished two more Jedi cloaks, I finished one Jedi cross stitch, gave it away as a birthday present, and am making one for myself. And I'm wondering what I'd do if a boy asked me out.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Medicine
The Word is like medicine
Sometimes sweet and syrupy- you feel like you could eat it forever.
Other times it is bitter and hard to swallow- and it sits in your stomach like a rock.
Either way it keeps you healthy and safe, insuring long life.
The only wrong thing you can do is to avoid it for its bitterness,
For that way leads to sickness and death.
Sometimes sweet and syrupy- you feel like you could eat it forever.
Other times it is bitter and hard to swallow- and it sits in your stomach like a rock.
Either way it keeps you healthy and safe, insuring long life.
The only wrong thing you can do is to avoid it for its bitterness,
For that way leads to sickness and death.
A Choice
Up a jagged hillside to an uncertain future,
Or down the even, paved road toward comfort and security.
The map's key shows a thin line zigzagging up the mountains, barely a trail,
And a wide highway, well worn with travel.
At the end of one, rumor tells of a vast treasure.
The other, a kingdom of full stomachs and soft beds.
A lifetime of scars, calluses, and happiness,
Or of salty pillows and unfulfilled dreams?
Or down the even, paved road toward comfort and security.
The map's key shows a thin line zigzagging up the mountains, barely a trail,
And a wide highway, well worn with travel.
At the end of one, rumor tells of a vast treasure.
The other, a kingdom of full stomachs and soft beds.
A lifetime of scars, calluses, and happiness,
Or of salty pillows and unfulfilled dreams?
Dancing Trees
The trees love the wind.
It is their one true dance partner.
They shiver in delight as it rustles their leaves and twirls their branches.
Sometimes the dance is too much
And the trees, in an effort to dance as hard as the wind
Break
And Fall
Never to Dance Again.
But still the trees love the wind,
And raise their branches to it as it passes.
For it is better to dance and die than to never dance at all.
It is their one true dance partner.
They shiver in delight as it rustles their leaves and twirls their branches.
Sometimes the dance is too much
And the trees, in an effort to dance as hard as the wind
Break
And Fall
Never to Dance Again.
But still the trees love the wind,
And raise their branches to it as it passes.
For it is better to dance and die than to never dance at all.
The Courtyard
It is a rainy day in a courtyard.
Every surface is covered with jugs to catch the water.
A woman walks among them, pouring colorful acid into certain jugs, ignoring others.
The acid is very toxic, and if there isn't enough water,
The acid will eat away at any imperfections until the jug cracks and dies.
To protect some jugs, lids cover them, but then water doesn't enter either.
Be warned, once a lid is put on, it is difficult to remove it completely and the woman is more likely to pass it by.
However, the more water in the jug, the less colorful the acid.
The jugs of water tsk and sigh each time one breaks and spills its brightly colored contents onto the courtyard.
But those of us with the acid inside cheer and applaud, regretful only that the jug will no longer experience the acid.
It burns, it cleans, it brightens and polishes.
The water soothes and heals, but we pay the price with diluted acid.
Every surface is covered with jugs to catch the water.
A woman walks among them, pouring colorful acid into certain jugs, ignoring others.
The acid is very toxic, and if there isn't enough water,
The acid will eat away at any imperfections until the jug cracks and dies.
To protect some jugs, lids cover them, but then water doesn't enter either.
Be warned, once a lid is put on, it is difficult to remove it completely and the woman is more likely to pass it by.
However, the more water in the jug, the less colorful the acid.
The jugs of water tsk and sigh each time one breaks and spills its brightly colored contents onto the courtyard.
But those of us with the acid inside cheer and applaud, regretful only that the jug will no longer experience the acid.
It burns, it cleans, it brightens and polishes.
The water soothes and heals, but we pay the price with diluted acid.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
My muse has left me
My muse has left me.
What else do I have to say?
He gave me my words, my reason for speaking.
The world is a little less bright without him.
The little things in life have stopped whispering their secrets and truths to me.
I feel deaf without him.
I thought he would always be there.
I don’t think I took him for granted.
I was always so grateful for the gifts he gave me, without asking.
I loved his sense of humor, I didn’t even mind his ADD.
How he loved to start projects and yet never finished them.
How could he leave me?
Was I a one- night stand on his business trip to inspire someone else?
Is he with her, right now, making her words sing while mine clink like muted cymbals?
Are her stories running away from her, in different and wonderful directions?
Does she appreciate every moment she has with him?
I should be grateful for the time he spent with me, all the art that flowed from between us.
I should be happy for her, and hope that she makes the most of her time with him.
I should move on, and do the best I can with what he left behind.
Life doesn’t stop just because my muse has left me.
What else do I have to say?
He gave me my words, my reason for speaking.
The world is a little less bright without him.
The little things in life have stopped whispering their secrets and truths to me.
I feel deaf without him.
I thought he would always be there.
I don’t think I took him for granted.
I was always so grateful for the gifts he gave me, without asking.
I loved his sense of humor, I didn’t even mind his ADD.
How he loved to start projects and yet never finished them.
How could he leave me?
Was I a one- night stand on his business trip to inspire someone else?
Is he with her, right now, making her words sing while mine clink like muted cymbals?
Are her stories running away from her, in different and wonderful directions?
Does she appreciate every moment she has with him?
I should be grateful for the time he spent with me, all the art that flowed from between us.
I should be happy for her, and hope that she makes the most of her time with him.
I should move on, and do the best I can with what he left behind.
Life doesn’t stop just because my muse has left me.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
La Belle Dame Sans Merci by John Keats
O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.
O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel's granary is full,
And the harvest's done.
I see a lily on thy brow,
With anguish moist and fever dew,
And on thy cheeks a fading rose
Fast withereth too.
I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful--a faery's child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.
I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She looked at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.
I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long,
For sidelong would she bend, and sing
A faery's song.
She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew,
And sure in language strange she said,
"I love thee true."
She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she wept, and sighed fill sore,
And there I shut her wild wild eyes
With kisses four.
And there she lullèd me asleep,
And there I dreamed--Ah! woe betide!
The latest dream I ever dreamed
On the cold hill’s side.
I saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried--"La Belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!"
I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
With horrid warning gapèd wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
On the cold hill's side.
And this is why I sojourn here,
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.
O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel's granary is full,
And the harvest's done.
I see a lily on thy brow,
With anguish moist and fever dew,
And on thy cheeks a fading rose
Fast withereth too.
I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful--a faery's child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.
I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She looked at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.
I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long,
For sidelong would she bend, and sing
A faery's song.
She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew,
And sure in language strange she said,
"I love thee true."
She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she wept, and sighed fill sore,
And there I shut her wild wild eyes
With kisses four.
And there she lullèd me asleep,
And there I dreamed--Ah! woe betide!
The latest dream I ever dreamed
On the cold hill’s side.
I saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried--"La Belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!"
I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
With horrid warning gapèd wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
On the cold hill's side.
And this is why I sojourn here,
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.
I really wanted to post something...
So you get a rant. I finished my replacement Jedi cloak, I began my Jedi cross stitch, and I need to practice my lines for a Jedi skit. Sense a theme? I may post a pic of my costume, if I get the nerve... I'll scan the opening layout for the skit sometime soon. That should be fun for some to look at. Unless you've already seen it. Then it would be boring.
I have submitted "My lover's eyes" and "psychologists are the janitors of our minds" to the poetry contest. It would be cool if I place or get an honorable mention for the former, I don't expect the latter to go anywhere.
The ants have discovered my room. But they've shown themselves in all corners, so I don't know where their entrance is. I found one crawling on my bra today. I don't need this.
I wish I had time to write. I wish my muse would come back, ADD and all. That's it! My muse has left me! I was wondering why I was depressed lately. All semester I've been in a funk. It's because my muse is gone. Wow. I need to find that poem about the lady by the lake that sucks the life out of men. That was a metapoem if there ever was one. I'll find it and post it for you guys so that you'll know how I feel.
I have submitted "My lover's eyes" and "psychologists are the janitors of our minds" to the poetry contest. It would be cool if I place or get an honorable mention for the former, I don't expect the latter to go anywhere.
The ants have discovered my room. But they've shown themselves in all corners, so I don't know where their entrance is. I found one crawling on my bra today. I don't need this.
I wish I had time to write. I wish my muse would come back, ADD and all. That's it! My muse has left me! I was wondering why I was depressed lately. All semester I've been in a funk. It's because my muse is gone. Wow. I need to find that poem about the lady by the lake that sucks the life out of men. That was a metapoem if there ever was one. I'll find it and post it for you guys so that you'll know how I feel.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
My Lover's Eyes
My lover’s eyes are nothing like the sea,
His lips, poutier than mine, appear brass
He isn’t stacked, my man is more like a tree.
His hair sticks up like a field full of grass.
Some men have skin like dark wood, but not he.
Truly, paler than snow is his cheek’s hue.
His mouth has the taste of sour coffee,
Thinly disguised by an Altoid or two.
Not rich and deep is his voice, but if loud,
He goes high, like a mosquito whining.
He doesn’t walk regally, tall and proud,
Rather, his gait is hunched, from hours typing.
I may laugh at him when he struts his stuff,
But his love for me is sexy enough.
His lips, poutier than mine, appear brass
He isn’t stacked, my man is more like a tree.
His hair sticks up like a field full of grass.
Some men have skin like dark wood, but not he.
Truly, paler than snow is his cheek’s hue.
His mouth has the taste of sour coffee,
Thinly disguised by an Altoid or two.
Not rich and deep is his voice, but if loud,
He goes high, like a mosquito whining.
He doesn’t walk regally, tall and proud,
Rather, his gait is hunched, from hours typing.
I may laugh at him when he struts his stuff,
But his love for me is sexy enough.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Conversation with my Main Character
I'm sorry, my darling. It's been four chapters and I've yet to name you. To be frank, your name wouldn't change your behavior thus far, but it will determine your choices in the future. But this is why you don't have a name. I know how important it is. If I didn't care about it, I'd just call you "Sarah" like all the other authors who wanted a special character with a bland name. You are special, but you have been overlooked throughout your life. People overlook bland names. But I do want you to be unique, so I can't choose a worn-out, bland name. I've tried several, but none fit you. You are just as picky as I am. You have horrible spelling, by the way.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Wind in the Trees
So, quick exercise. Wave your hand at your face, like you're fanning yourself on a hot day. Question: is your hand moving the air, or is the air flowing past your hand and making it wave? You've answered the question, whether aloud or to yourself, and you've given the text a weird look because you think the answer's obvious. Question 2: When you see the wind moving through the trees, is the wind flowing past the trees and making them wave, or are the trees pushing the air? And you stubbornly give the opposite answer because you KNOW that the wind is made by hot air moving up and cold air moving down. Let me ask you another question: When was the last time you felt wind moving either up or down? I mean, down near the ground, not miles up in the air, wind seems to go in a side to side motion, right? Just, allow for the fact that air can circulate up and down in the atmosphere, AND there may be another reason why wind moves side to side down on the ground. Forget what you KNOW and answer this question: is your hand moving the air, or is the air moving your hand?
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Oim A Faerie!
 | You scored as Faerie. Faerie: Aren't you a cute little flying person? Faeries are earth spirits. They live among each element completely hidden. They have cousins called Pixies. Pixies however, are very mischevious. They enjoy tormenting other creatures for fun. Little pranksters.. I hope you never meet one. Pixies have a bad reputation for finding a creature and clinging to them until death. Faeries can be somewhat close to a Pixie, but mostly they are loving, playful, and carry with them a child-like enthusiasm for life. Hide among the pedals of a Daisy, you are a Faerie.
What Mythological Creature are you? (Cool Pics!) created with QuizFarm.com |
Monday, January 22, 2007
Daddy
Daddy? Are you there? Daddy?
Daddy, remember how I asked to go abroad for a semester,
But I needed you to help me with my homework?
Well, my GPA’s still too low. I can’t go.
It’s okay, Daddy, maybe it’d be too hard for me.
Maybe something would happen overseas and I’d get hurt.
I know you’re looking out for me, but, Daddy, are you?
I cussed at my sister the other day, did you know?
Mom heard me and told me to stop.
She said that what was worse than hearing those words
Was hearing them come out of my mouth.
My angel’s mouth. But I haven’t had an angel’s mouth
Since I learned how to talk. Remember?
Daddy, I’ve seen you spank others when they sin,
And then they give you a hug. They know you care.
I can’t remember the last time you punished me.
I lust after boys, have you noticed?
I’m angry on the inside, do you care?
I speed, I’m impatient with people, I hate, I’m selfish and lazy.
Thank you for this beautiful day, but, Daddy,
You make the sun shine on the good and the wicked.
What will it take for you to pay attention to me?
What do I need to do?
Daddy, remember how I asked to go abroad for a semester,
But I needed you to help me with my homework?
Well, my GPA’s still too low. I can’t go.
It’s okay, Daddy, maybe it’d be too hard for me.
Maybe something would happen overseas and I’d get hurt.
I know you’re looking out for me, but, Daddy, are you?
I cussed at my sister the other day, did you know?
Mom heard me and told me to stop.
She said that what was worse than hearing those words
Was hearing them come out of my mouth.
My angel’s mouth. But I haven’t had an angel’s mouth
Since I learned how to talk. Remember?
Daddy, I’ve seen you spank others when they sin,
And then they give you a hug. They know you care.
I can’t remember the last time you punished me.
I lust after boys, have you noticed?
I’m angry on the inside, do you care?
I speed, I’m impatient with people, I hate, I’m selfish and lazy.
Thank you for this beautiful day, but, Daddy,
You make the sun shine on the good and the wicked.
What will it take for you to pay attention to me?
What do I need to do?
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Journal 11.8
This past year I've been trying to figure out what it means to be an adult. I thought that 18 was the line, but apparently you're still a teenager. Then I thought 20 was the difference, but I didn't feel anything. Next comes 21 and alcohol. Is that what makes us adult? Being able to make bad decisions and get shitfaced? And what about those that "grew up too fast"? Or those that "never grew up"? Is responsibility the deciding factor?
What is responsibility? The ability to be responsible? To follow through with your promises? To be able to look out for yourself? I've been mostly on my own for three years. I've paid rent, I've kept the same job, I've gone grocery shopping, I've done the dishes and cleaned the bathroom. Does that make me responsible? Does that make me an adult? I don't feel like I deserve the title.
I never wanted to grow up. Never. People say that they look back and wish they'd taken advantage of their childhood... I knew what I had when I had it. I'd be playing hide and seek, and I'd think, "in a couple years, I won't fit back here anymore." I enjoyed the fact that my parents made dinner and all I had to do was put five plates on the table. I knew that back then, it didn't really matter if I did my homework right after school or if I stayed up late doing it, I could go outside and play. I knew that my parents weren't happy with their jobs, and that I probably wouldn't be either. But I didn't have to worry about that. The most on my mind was the cute boy two desks down. Whether I could get to the swingset before they were full. Whether I wanted the nacho lunch or the corndogs for lunch. I knew what I had, and I didn't want to leave it.
Based on what actions give me guilt, and which actions give me a bitter satisfaction, I think that adults weigh what they want to do against what they need to do, and set aside their desires. This past semester, I've been regressing. Almost to the point of jeopardizing my grades. I've made orange juice popsicles, I got a hold of sippy cup tops, I've been watching movies when I should be doing homework, I even sucked my thumb to remember what it was like to have a self-comfort system. And I know that these things are not adult. That an adult would let them go and fulfill their responsibilities. I'm not ready. I never wanted to grow up, and I certainly don't want to now. But I have no choice. It's either this path of dissatisfaction and denial, or the street. Because that's where I'll end up if I let go of everything. And don't try to tell me that there's a balance. Children don't want balance. They want black and white. Either what I want, or what I don't.
What is responsibility? The ability to be responsible? To follow through with your promises? To be able to look out for yourself? I've been mostly on my own for three years. I've paid rent, I've kept the same job, I've gone grocery shopping, I've done the dishes and cleaned the bathroom. Does that make me responsible? Does that make me an adult? I don't feel like I deserve the title.
I never wanted to grow up. Never. People say that they look back and wish they'd taken advantage of their childhood... I knew what I had when I had it. I'd be playing hide and seek, and I'd think, "in a couple years, I won't fit back here anymore." I enjoyed the fact that my parents made dinner and all I had to do was put five plates on the table. I knew that back then, it didn't really matter if I did my homework right after school or if I stayed up late doing it, I could go outside and play. I knew that my parents weren't happy with their jobs, and that I probably wouldn't be either. But I didn't have to worry about that. The most on my mind was the cute boy two desks down. Whether I could get to the swingset before they were full. Whether I wanted the nacho lunch or the corndogs for lunch. I knew what I had, and I didn't want to leave it.
Based on what actions give me guilt, and which actions give me a bitter satisfaction, I think that adults weigh what they want to do against what they need to do, and set aside their desires. This past semester, I've been regressing. Almost to the point of jeopardizing my grades. I've made orange juice popsicles, I got a hold of sippy cup tops, I've been watching movies when I should be doing homework, I even sucked my thumb to remember what it was like to have a self-comfort system. And I know that these things are not adult. That an adult would let them go and fulfill their responsibilities. I'm not ready. I never wanted to grow up, and I certainly don't want to now. But I have no choice. It's either this path of dissatisfaction and denial, or the street. Because that's where I'll end up if I let go of everything. And don't try to tell me that there's a balance. Children don't want balance. They want black and white. Either what I want, or what I don't.
Monday, October 30, 2006
Journal 10.30
My word, that was harder than I thought. The three janitor pieces are all attempts to communicate the single, same idea. The thought entered my mind and I tried to describe it and flesh it out a bit. Hense I. Though it went in a different direction than I wanted. In it, the shrink came to the house. I meant to show that we left our junk in their office, so I tried again. But I couldn't shake the cooperative cleaning. So finally, after a third attempt, which is also the shortest, I think I finally came as close as I'm going to on this. Bon apetite.
Psychologists are the janitors of our minds III
I walk in, loaded down with crap. Everything I’ve been collecting
Since my childhood. Slowly, I separate my self from my issues.
They become a pile on the carpet next to my chair. Afterward,
I feel light, clean, and I think I smiled. I left my crap where it fell.
Since my childhood. Slowly, I separate my self from my issues.
They become a pile on the carpet next to my chair. Afterward,
I feel light, clean, and I think I smiled. I left my crap where it fell.
Psychologists are the janitors of our minds II
Psychologists are the janitors of our mind.
We enter their offices covered in angst, despair, depression,
Hatred, pity, loathing, sadness, stress, issues, and family.
They pull out the fire hose and rinse us off.
Then they grab the soap and industrial gloves and get to work.
These problems won’t solve themselves. That’s why they
Have solution. Together we remove all those nasty things
That have been festering for years, just drop them on the carpet.
We leave smiling, squeaky and sparkly. We leave our problems
In their office. They’re the janitors. It’s their job to clean up
After us.
We enter their offices covered in angst, despair, depression,
Hatred, pity, loathing, sadness, stress, issues, and family.
They pull out the fire hose and rinse us off.
Then they grab the soap and industrial gloves and get to work.
These problems won’t solve themselves. That’s why they
Have solution. Together we remove all those nasty things
That have been festering for years, just drop them on the carpet.
We leave smiling, squeaky and sparkly. We leave our problems
In their office. They’re the janitors. It’s their job to clean up
After us.
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