Sheep

A wild heart that beats in roller coaster motion to life.
A beast inside rebelling the ebb and flow of society.
Tranquil wars that contradict every corner of a round mind.
Sound words hide the mental cracks.
Cracks showing through to a world of color.
Like portals to something more real than life itself.
And so unrealistic.
Small  peep holes to a beautiful madness of complete understanding.
A better place.
Logic never was logical in the long run.
So different that they're all the same.
-B

Brain Matter

Soft humming.
The hums tell me to breath and so I do.
What if the hums were gone.
Soft humming, showing me how to walk.
And when the hums stop so do I.
What if the hums never even started.
Soft humming opens my mouth but that is not the sound that comes out.
The hums turn to words at the back of my tongue and roll out.
They tell me what is wrong but they don't know how to translate that feeling into something expressible. 
So I'm feeling a feeling I can not name.
Soft hums tell me this is okay, because feelings don't matter much to most people anyways.
The Soft hums and me, we understand.
This is a cruel and mad world with beautiful miracles, but the tragedies out weigh them.
So everyone over looks the wonders.
That me and the soft hums see as we wander.

Here we are. In this white month of December. We are getting ready to bring in the new year, with resolutions to make us the best version of ourselves we could possibly be. Maybe we will learn how to spell possibly, because I just used auto-correct on both of those possibly's.... but not that one!
Last month was a month of thanks. I would like to express my gratitude to all I know. You are a blessing or a lesson to me and for that I thank you. This year has been hard, they all are. But that is the beautiful part, without the lows how would we understand the highs? I've been blessed to travel out of the country twice this year. Once to Honduras, and second to Ecuador. I love traveling more than anything and I am so very grateful for a family that supports my wanderlust. Without them I wouldn't be who I am. Through my travels I have realized that I have taken many thing for granted in my life, and they have given me a greater appreciation for my education, my warm home, home cooked meals, and the amazing electronic advancements our world has made. (without those I wouldn't be typing this to you)
The real question is, are you ready? Ready or not, the world could end. Although this is highly unlikely there is still a small possibility. (here I am practicing optimism)
So basically, I saw something I liked today.
The Preacher and the Pusher are both selling a High.
If that was a facebook page, I'd click the "like" button. It's pretty deep when you think about it.
What kind of high are you looking for? I've never experienced either, but I wonder what it would be like to experience both at the same time. One can only wonder.
This post is all really random, and I'm sorry for that. I've been working on some new stuff lately but I've been busy and stressed and everything I've written hasn't connected to me. So I'm not going to post it. If you have any ideas feel free to let me know, it seems as though I have recently lost my muse. I am in search of a new one, so let me know.
Life is good people. Always remember for every person you wish you were, there are two that wish they were you, someone always has it worse than you do. Chin Up buttercup. And much love from me.

-B.

True.

I want to dissolve. Or I want to disintegrate.
My colors can fade out like the last dramatic scene of a corny movie, while my favorite song rifts softly in the background.
And Morgan Freeman can do a voice over of my last words or something.
My small fame filled flash back before I'm gone, as I turn into the credits that are quickly forgotten.
I want to be the wind. Or I want to be the water.
A blind rage, whispering over the surface of everything. Swallowing it all into my lungs.
All of the earth inside me.
A flowing mass filled with scales and slimes living in something of their own universe.
I can evaporate into the sky and splash back to a completely different continent as the world crys.
To freeze and fall in complex and fascinating grace.  
I want to be a tree.
Always strong, rooted deep into a solid foundation.
Always beautiful, always wise. Carefree but not careless. And I would be old enough and I will have seen enough faces of all the creations to understand the difference between the two.
When it comes down to the honest hour, to admit it all and scream the truths you wouldn't even tell yourself, you realize.
You realize, that you want to be anything but you.
And that is a true sadness.

-B

Suffocating

Chances.
The hysterical worries that we often do not invest in.
The shyness brewing deep in each individual, that keeps us from reaching out and claiming these chances.
Pride.
Something that can be so damning.
Getting in the way of chances to be taken.
Pride and chances have a deteriorating relationship.
Pride, a parasite, sucking the life out of our normalcy.
What is "normal"? Who is to define it, when everyone will always be different from another.
Normal doesn't exist.  
Chances.
Looking back on my life, I'd like to more remember "Oh wells".
And to more forget the "What if's".

-B

Ecuador.

EVERYONE! alright so i went to Cuenca Ecuador to serve in several orphanages. It was such a huge blessing. I am home now, but I wish I could go back. Here's some words about my experience:

            While I was away I was in Cuenca, Ecuador. I went with a woman I’ve known for a very long time that founded an orphanage there. I went as an O.S.S.O (Orphanage Support System Organization) volunteer. When I left I knew I was going to help children, however, I didn’t know that they were going to help me more than I could ever help them. While in Cuenca, I worked mainly in two orphanages in the city, and did several shifts in; a daycare for children who’s parents work 12-14 hour days in the fields just to earn ten dollars a month, another orphanage in the mountains, and a shelter for sexually abused girls and teens. Some of my jobs were to bath, feed, and watch the children. In all, I helped about one hundred children.

            In the O.S.S.O orphanage there is a section for severely, mentally and physically handicapped people/children. This was my favorite area. Most of the individuals in this unit can’t move their lower half, and some only have motion in their facial expressions. On my first day I was very nervous. I had no idea how to take care of these people. Some of them were older than I was. I didn’t know how to accept them. After my first shift I was positive that they were the most amazing people I had ever had the privilege to meet. It was them who accepted me. They have no families and constantly have to depend on strangers, yet they were so happy. No complaints, no fussing, just honestly stoked on life. It made me feel so horrible. I could not believe some of the complaints and demands I make in every-day life. These people have next to nothing and terrible health. Some are solely relying on feeding tubes in their abdomen to keep them alive. The orphanage has inadequate medical supplies and still does what it can with what it has. They are the true definition of happiness to me. The people of this country understand the difference between, “I want” and “I need”.

            One of the Handicapped boy’s stories truly astonished me. After hearing it I broke down in tears. Everything about the kids is so heart breaking yet so hope-instilling.vThis boy, Brayan, is about nine years old now. He has absolutely no movement in anything but his head and face. His body is deformed and he is bent and curled in unimaginable ways. As a volunteer I am not allowed to know his specific diagnosis, but I was allowed to hear his story. When Brayan was a small child, still one or two, his parents lit him on fire and left him in a dumpster to die because his condition was too much for them to handle. The police found Brayan barely alive and got him immediate medical attention, then took him to the orphanage. When I heard this I could not believe any human being in the right mind could do such a thing to a small child- to anyone. Brayan is surviving on a feeding tube now, and doesn’t have much time left- a year, maybe two. This story sounds terrible to you I’m sure, but to me it was ten times worse. Because I personally know this boy. I have put blended food into is feeding port. I have bathed him and dressed him in his P.j’s, his Sunday-best, put him in diapers. I’ve woken that beautiful boy up in the morning, I’ve held him. I tickled him and watched his big brilliant smile. I kissed his cheeks, I put him to bed, and I gave him love that I didn’t even know I could experience. This is only one of the people in this unit. One of 8, one of one hundred that I’ve helped. All the stories are equally heart  breaking. We call them “handicapped”, but I honestly think all of us “normal” people, are the ones with disabilities.

            I worked with children with better health too. But not by much. Most of the children have rotting teeth, snarly hair, and no sense of hygiene. It’s not their fault, they never learned and don’t have the supplies they need in order to keep clean. This doesn’t make them any less loveable. During my work I have contracted fleas. Yes I know that is pretty gross but it was completely worth it, and doesn’t even bother me. I am clean now though and have taken care of my clothing. My point is, I have so much that I’ve taken for granted. We all do. This was the best thing I have ever done with my life. I’ve fallen in love with these strong, beautiful warriors. These small examples, my adorable little blessings. I hope to continue to do work like this.

life saving

Pure sounds ricochet off the walls in my head.
Humming air.
Vibrating in through my ear canals and deep into my lungs Passing through the oxygen in my blood.
Sound carried to every corner of my body.
My soul is full. Momentarily content.
When the music of the sweet whining strings and bellowing woodwinds fills my atmosphere, I feel at home.
Relaxed.
Real.
My bones ache. Worn out from the sorrow my shoulders carry.
Always hunting for a way to pour it from me. To capture it in a glass bottle and set it to sea.
Or something of the sort.
An old soul ready to leave, to pass up the worldly distractions and hurt. But cemented in place by a young- capable body.
Withering away from the inside-out.
The only remedy to the pain is the songful chorus the sweet instruments project.
Not the fake, but the real. the original sound.
So true. So pure. So life saving. 

-B