don't count on second chances
for you were born with all of them.
Some days they melt in the shadow on your back.
Or breeding in the grass, each one another grain of sand
your fingers can never hope to catch.

matchbox

sometimes... gotta say something, anything.
after all, they've been telling us all this time that love is blind.

 "Margot, I don't want to alarm you, but a black car has been following us for about three miles and Cadence needs water."  I wouldn't say this was standard practice, but it had happened a handful of times before. Margot kept her head low and crawled into the back. I watched in my rear view mirror, alternating my gaze from her shuffling our tent and sleeping bags, to the the car behind us. I steadied my breath and maintained speed until the Margot in the carriage was replaced by a fold-up tent and cooler.
     I sang to Cadence; a slow, descending melody that indicates to her the need to slow down. I reached over the bar in front of me and pounded the front of the vehicle - two of these knocks means 'stop.'  There used to be two stairs that folded out by the door - mom made dad install them when they overhauled the old carriage.  I removed them last year though; not worth the hassle when I knew to simply bend my knees on the landing. I grabbed a bucket of water and stood in front of my horse, watching the car out of the corner of my eyes, unable to locate the direct source of the anger swimming under my skin. It might have been the pre-dusk sun bouncing off the approaching waxed metal, straight into my retinas. It might have been the screaming hope that the car would just explode. Or implode. I was not in a position to be picky.
    It did not do that, of course; the car stopped in one piece about twenty yards behind my carriage.   No one drives a shiny car like that and means well.
      I scanned a man from the ground up as he stepped onto the dirt.  I maintained my occupation with my horse, holding the bucket while she drank and brushing her mane with my fingers as he walked purposefully toward me.  Once he was next to the carriage I deemed the situation too close for comfort and set the bucket in front of Cadence.
     "What is your name, young lady?"
     I stood up and turned toward him. His shoes were shined once, I imagine, but he'd been wearing them over and over for a few weeks, unmaintained. There were wrinkles around the toes, filled with dirt and probably wiped off with a damp towel this afternoon. His suit was olive green with gold pinstripes. This was the kind of man who hangs around people with money and has enough of it himself to pretend, but he was not born in the great cities; probably moved there by accident or by force. Maybe an orphan. Or maybe I'm full of shit - I just like to speculate.
     "If you have to ask my name, I have to ask what you're doing in this town."   Valid question. I know he has no answer.
     He nodded, took a few steps toward me. "Alright then. That's quite a vehicle you have there."
     "Yes, she has been in my family for generations. She is beautiful and trustworthy.... the horse is friendly, too." He pretended to laugh and I could feel my throat begin to swell. This carriage is the most perfect bit of machinery I have ever seen, and he can't even see the engine. It's best to keep her true magnificence a secret sometimes: licenses are hard to come by around here, and people on the outskirts do not generally have the resources to gas an engine. My carriage is one hundred per cent not legal.
     "I will get straight to the point." he said.
     I did not make any gesture to invite his oncoming questions. Head slightly tilted, mouth firmly shut, trying to mask my anxiety but chewing the inside of my lower lip anyway.
     "Have you ever heard of an Em Ray?" he said.
     "Em Ray? Out here we know better than to bunch up with dealers and gangsters."  The slight emphasis on the last word was crucial and I did not squint as I studied his face. "What dirt you got on him that's so important?"
     "We think he's got water. Barrels and silos full of drinking water. Selling it for profit. That's illegal, you know."
    "So I've heard, but we don't see a whole lot of feds out here. Not worth the trouble to try and fine if we don't have anything to pay them to begin with. If you do find these mystic clearwater silos, though, we would sure be interested out here. Barely have enough to keep me and my horse from keeling over.  You might want to head back home, I hear the cities have water for miles if that's what you're really after." Fucking gangster. I hate fucking gangsters. Always trying to screw around with what we have all nice and figured out.
    I tried to keep my out-side voice louder than the one in my head. "The sun is about to set, I suggest you get back to your friends before it gets too dark.The forests are pretty wild out here, you know, if you don't know how to handle them." I said. I turned and bent over to grab the water bucket, looked up in the man's eyes. They matched his suit. "Unless you have any real questions for me, I have to be on my way as well." He blinked and nodded, hesitated before turning and walking back to the car.
     I noticed another man in the passenger seat and tried, for a minute, to process whatever just happened, but quickly banished the immediate conclusions from my brain and pet Cadence's neck. The car started.  I checked my horse's hooves, pretended to fiddle with her restraints as the black car idled, not moving. Cadence cooed, nudging me with her nose, hoofing the ground impatiently. I was only half paying attention, mostly listening for the wheels on the car to drive away.  When at least I heard the dirt crunch behind me as the car sped by, I breathed for the first time in about half an hour.
     I climbed back onto the driver's bench and slammed the door, sang the notes that indicate a forward trot.
    I waited a few minutes, then opened the window behind me. Margot's head leaned out from behind the cooler.
"Em, you're famous. And a man," I said.
"Good news is they don't even seem to know the half of it..."
"Well, maybe not half... but enough."

breathe fire (cont'd)

In order to fall in love:
first, you must make a lot of it.
they say you can drown in just an inch of standing water...
so I say, to be safe, we make an ocean.

In order to fall in love:
first, you must make a lot of it.
Then, pour it over the edge of a mountain, or a cliff
so when you fall you have no choice
but to swim in it.

See that window over there?
She hasn't closed it in years -
sending all her prayers
out into the open air
hoping one day her man would appear.

See this window, right here, in my room?
I shattered the sonuvabitch the moment I met you
flew toward the sun i would run if i had to
i swear your fingers made me bloom

 breathe your fire all the way down my spine
it drips like warm honey when you give me your sugar.
and you're a waterfall, frozen inside my mind.
you can go on running
but i'm keeping you
you're mine

notes to self, part one of many.

All those romantic bones inside of you, honey
-- you gotta let them go.

Women in the Bible part One of Thousands.

Charm is deceitful, and beauty is vein, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised. (Psalm 31:30)

I saw a friend of mine post this on Facebook. There is a mountain of horrid things the bible says about women, and one day I will write on all of them. But let's just start here. And I will make it short.

This is bullshit. 

Women, your bible praises you for being fearful, for cowering under your male counterparts. Your bible says that your charm is a ruse and your beauty is worthless. You are only valuable as a quiet, obedient puppy in the employ of a god that would rather see you as a slave than as a free and happy human.

Allow me to offer you the alternative. 

Women: your strength, your smile, your charm and attitude, your heated quips and your loving whispers; your frowns and tears, your cries of pleasure and screams of disdain, your toes and warts and touching thighs and unmakeuped eyes... are all the most beautiful, pure things you can offer the universe. Every single thought and feeling that swims in your body is to be cherished, is to be desired. You are a work of art. You are praiseworthy. You are your own goddess. Do not let any person or imaginary being EVER let you believe differently.

NaNoWriMo. Not 2,000 words, I suck.

The full moon is making her way back down the sky now. That was probably the most fun I have ever had. I say that every time.

Every single note they played was exactly the note I wanted to hear. The lights on stage turned into snow and drizzled over the crowd. The flakes landed on my arms, my shoulders, absorbed into my skin and transformed into stars inside my rib cage, blooming, multiplying. I swear the man strung his bass with strings running clear up to my toes so I jumped right with his fingers and swerved with his wrists. And when I could no longer ignore the stars in my throat they swam up to my skull. I waved my fingers in front of my face, rays of glory. My eyes glowed.

I felt guilty - for a second - for stealing from the sky; when I looked up the stars knew and flooded out, flew back. The notes stayed in my chest, though. They are never leaving.