tulips to the sun.

tulips to the sun.

by K Mills

i put myself on an island (in my mind envisioned)

and everyone i knew

who knew me

including all my family

had to disappear one night so

i could fully concentrate one night so

in unincorporated martinez one night so

so long ago so long long ago so so so so so so

in twenty oh five so

two thousand five the way we pronounced it…

only then

could i see what i needed i thought i wanted….

i thought i just really wanted it real bad i thought

so now so i knew so so much

who i was in a becoming kinda way

any and all fears discarded

anxieties known only by the open hearted

abandonment & shame & hate?

 all shelved…

i could see where the pull

pulled

the force!

 as great as dear god – gravity

and then i knew

dear light in the darkness

getting brighter like new

and i knew!

what i had to do… into the jetstream

breathe into the pull

let the pull pull

pull pulls i breathe breaths

relax into this dream

on my breath this goodness

this peppermint seed

moved back

made roots

back deep in my bones

through softwood of bones

collar down to femur

this seeing! this vision

moved muscle moved marrow

radiated out some source

divine vibration!

i cannot right explain!

sorry…

she

filled the swept hardwood floor

of dust she swept aside

for hope to rest

and gain strength

get roots

to its length its entirety

as tulips to the sun

i became who i was

always meant to be

you see

with patience

love of self

summoning of courage

to stay true

then

just after

follows levity

like that ritalinkid

unable if not unwilling

to stay in single file

lags back away…

awhile

admission of faith

spun as silk

by simple action

simple

self-representation

simple was painful

painful-times-ten

dont get it twisted

suffering out on the ledge

close to character assassination…

by self

 if not

other!

i then yes then!

then did i discover

faith !

faith and at times

exponential!

up through the rafters!

toward the stars

the dying stars so bright

they comfort

the system

the solar system surrounding

damn shooting stars!

not every other but every

meteor shower

i got under to look up at yeah

looked up and could not see

what they all said they saw

these stars burning dying emulsifying

in our skyview mirrors oh the horror!

i guess its experience

no you cannot get a witness

hard work indeed

spiritual physical mental fitness

to you to me for anyone

 to stay true now

confession of a girl

who long ago

lost her way

who still had

who still has

who still will have

today

to you to me for anyone

to stay true now

stay true

Photograph by Karen Garman. Permissions granted for Edit by Katya Mills

this loves for real .no stopping. all green some whole some lights

Photographed and Edited by Katya Mills

fuck I have been cold. I have been frightening cold, I have. until some small smile some sarah somewhere in this place post punk and petrified with perfect well wishing winning new paradigm nod to the North. if north is astral. if north is known by certain colors that stand out like a football I mean soccer jersey that’s brilliant yellow lighter than gold yet darker than lemon and loved even lusted after between air steam rising top of the crucial team consciousness on soft ground with soft ball and hard hand shakes the rising roof of random screaming. a world of color. a world of meaning. for most this was not so. but they backed on the tidal wave like the undertow. the passion of the few was where was sourced there you know. the masses go and they flow. the masses go with the flow with the go with the flow. sometimes this was impressive. other times stupid. because one circled roped in focus can distract from well you know, the life your wife around you. your son who packs a gun. and maybe boy or maybe girl, the foil wrapped careful cut icebergs or powders or icicles or dubsides, come half baked with home fries. for the waiting guys waiting sometimes impatient waiting. sent. sent by that curiosity fills the soul. just before you don’t know now you know part. the grow on you street that your feet touch and meet there. pavement so hard. killed fred astaire. or would have if he had only. like no bread just bologna, with capers and mozzarella, white wet from the homeland. alive and kicking. kicking down the doors to your taste buds. touches memory deeper than sentimental songs you know. by heart. don’t start cause im not finished,