My walk is blind,
A rider's high that leads my stride without form,
Without template,
The mindless reek of silent desperation,
That muddies the grounds for creation,
And of that mud that hugs my soles,
The worst of it is conformity,
The means to meaninglessness,
A mental asskicking,
Only let up to breathe by the wake of thought,
The flower of individualism,
Stemming from that marrowless bone,
Deeply sucked and deeply lived by those who dare to walk.
J.U.
About the Creator
Ames Upward
My thoughts and feelings flow out of my mouth and splatter across the walls like a paint. Let my tongue be the brush of your heart and mind. May my words shape a masterpiece of your soul..
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How the Harvest Mouse Came to Suisun Bay
A long, long time ago there was a family of harvest mice. Mice are common, but these were unique – born to those who had lived in the salty, marshy bay for many generations, these mice ate and drank from the sea as well as the land and rivers. For generations, there were only the southern families, scattered along the marshes of Corte Madera and in the San Francisco Bay (U.S. Fish & Wildlife, 2013). One family, however, would undergo strife and conflict before reaching a whole new world. What became of them after is another tale entirely – but this is how their story begins.
By Taylor Inman6 days ago in Fiction
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