The White Rabbit

I don’t believe she knows

The place she’s reached

And how high she’s ascended.

By simply being who she is

Full of woes and words

Crippling confidence

She’s

Mesmerizing.

Draws you in.

I don’t know

What happened before.

What fallout

Led everyone out the door.

I can only imagine

A game of hunter and hunted

Her lucky rabbit’s foot

Is only of use

If attached to her body

While everyone thinks that tearing her apart

Is the best way

To get to her heart

Like to drain out her blood

Is the sacrifice your gods are looking for

But you underestimate

The White Rabbit.

She is slow to trust

Because of you.

She hides behind

Mascara and disguise

Cut hair and glasses

Lacking lenses

So she doesn’t need to look you in the eyes.

But her luck

Has not run dry

And she’s found greater reasons to survive

Than the likes of you.

Yo yo yo, half way through April and here's another poem that should've come out like twelve years ago.

WATCH PAUL APOSTLE OF CHRIST if you want to cry and wow just, hold on give me a second -

OK right.

To be honest...ok, well, how do you really define a terrible week? How do you know what the worst day of your life will be until you've lived all of them? But by then, how can you judge when things were so far in the past you can scarcely even remember the events of what happened but the impact of what occurred on those fateful periods of time where darkness reigned seem to seep into everything that happens afterwards so that ones life is soley divided into the before and the after...

Today could be a tough day. Today could be worse than yesterday, but yesterday could also be worse than three weeks from now, and the things is, you'll never truly know, so what is the purpose of being afraid? You are driven by your desires and consequently, the afterwards of what happens when you do not have those met. And every morning when you wake up and wish you hadn't, when every time you hear the birds chirping out the window proclaiming the dawn and you don't know whether its a sign of you making it through another night or a foreboding omen of the next 24 hours to have to live through, every time you open your eyes and shut them again for fear of what the day might bring. Every time you're not yourself but pretend to be anyways, when everything you thought life was about is suddenly torn out of your hands and trampled over by herds of voices shouting "THIS WAY!", then...what will you do?

Wow, what was that about, sorry I'm gonna try to reorient myself again.

Phew OK.

I don't usually so analyzes of my poems, but I feel like this one warrants a bit of explanation considering I still don't completely understand the story behind it. People have pasts that we just can't know. They themselves may have maybe pushed them into the back corners of their minds, if we can barely remember what we had for dinner last night, we're not constantly thinking of long-gone pets and gloomy nights from several years ago. Because while such events have shaped us into the people we are today, they do not hold ground inside of us unless we let them. Every fragment of your past holds influence today, but the strength of those strings are not predetermined. The White Rabbit is not a runner, nor a coward, she's becoming herself, not any other name placed upon her. In every possibility of the universe as it stands today, she's part of it, and despite everything that may have happened, that is happening, that will happen, she is living in it. Not as who she was or who she'll be, but who she is.

I think that's enough talk for now, hope that's ok!

Have a good one!

#thepeopleyoumeet