Be Still My Heart: CHIEF <3


There is this man, let me tell you of him
His presence will grip you, be it, elated or grim
He will pull you close, like gravity, pure physics
His outlook on the world is truly intrinsic

He is holding a chip, heavy upon his shoulder
The monkey on his back brings him down like a boulder
His angst is typical, his addiction so simple
He wants to change the world, loves deeply his sister

He is blossoming right now, like an unfolding fern
Soaking up life lessons, harnessing like CERN
He will bless us all with the energy he’s been absorbing
A nuclear presence with a shock wave of healing

I hope this day comes before I am gone
If it doesn’t, then, at least, he has this poem
Chief Bushnell, My dear friend Jon
It doesn’t matter your name, or what continent you live on

You hold the key, inside of your soul
To reach humanity, You need to know
Your heart is deep, your brain it floats
You are one in a billion, of inherent souls

So follow your heart & mind your head
Know that you already, granted my wish
You are the feather that flew into my life
An angel who gifted me, with pure love & joy

I miss this beautiful creature so much! I am elated he has begun Vlogging so I can catch up with him daily even though he is across the pond. Thank heavens we live in the future and are granted such privileges! If you need a videographer, video editor, a magical voice, or  pure uninhibited inspiration: look no further! ❤
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Something More…

There is a voice in my head that screams in a whisper, “HOLD BACK!”
A piece of me wants nothing more than to listen to this dialect
The rest of me is belligerently vibrant with coy flagrancy
I am a woman birthed from an era between generations
disobeying symmetry
I am an anomaly, singularity, within a paradox of eternities
I am a cell multiplying
Born from the separation of others who held tight
I am not alone
Black hole, ocean tide, daily life
I am whole
Guided by stars, earth, water, fire, universally
Winded by humanity
Clouds comforting my soul
Welcoming the beginning and end


Hurt worse than withdrawal!


I have loved Phil Collins since before I can remember. My mother told me stories of when I was a child standing up wildly in her car (praying I would sit since there were no car seats then) telling anyone daring to sing along to his music to “keep mum!” That is the polite British way that American brats of two or three years old spout off as, “SHUT UP!” or if an adult today: “Fuck You! This is my Jam!”
No matter my age or origin I still feel ownership over the love I felt and still feel for my idols. I listened to this song mourning David Bowie, and it brought me back to mourning my mother all over again.
I hate my mother for so many reasons and still wish she were here.
I wonder if when she passed on to wherever there might be that she looked back in remorse or if “care” exists in afterlife? It seldom seems to here.

I wonder if she feels guilt on the other side for sticking needles in her arms and all of her children’s hearts? I bet not since there is nothing left here! I am proof of that empty space.

SHE WAS THE ONLY ONE WHO REALLY KNEW ME AT ALL! Still, she left me all alone…

You left US! We begged you so many times while you were alive. Fuck! You left us with addiction and scars that are so deep they are invisible and evade us ever finding a cure for the damage that was done!!!

I fucking hate that I love you so much!

Take a good look at me now- I am left standing here, and you are GONE to let me suffer this world you brought me into alone! It’s what I’ve got to face…

Against all odds, I swear I will make a life for myself with the dust you left my hands grasping after.

I have been trying my best…

LOOK MOM! “NO NEEDLES!” I never once trudged the road you created in your wake.

I love and miss you so fucking much it hurts worse than withdrawals! ❤

Can you see me now? Are you out there?



A poem I wrote 6 years ago.

I want it to come into me
To flow through my skin
as pale and see through as it is
It should be able to absorb
I should be able to engorge
I should be the conduit to
A Muse Meant For It
I feel so much more than just amusement toward it
Won’t you whisper in my ear
the sweet everything’s you want my listeners to hear
For fear rage lust money
“you ain’t got shit, I got plenty!”
seems to be the epitome of commercialistic blasphemy
The POPular mentality
streaming through our universes satellites these days
As night falls so do the morals
alcoholics & DJ’s spinning doubles
Merrily merrily merrily merrily going round & round
This life is not a dream so please tell me
What can I do to help us from falling down
See I feel I am on the other hand of this hourglass mechanism
a sexualized woman within an era of misogynistic arrogance
Who wants not a damn thing to do with it
I want to be naked
I want every human to do the same
with never having to know the meaning of shame
until that day can come to fruition
I’ll just tie my hair back with these paisley rags
flex my biceps & with a smile cracked
whisper with my womanly intuition
To every single woman who is sensitive enough to hear it
we can do it, We CAN DO IT!
Until my genius meets my muse
and the two find the right grain tick tock shade shift or water drop
to become one with me
to become —
the one
I’ll continue on my journey
wishing within every fiber of my being


“NO!”- Is what they tell me…
“Grow up! Dismiss all your creative fantasies.
You will never be rich… But maybe!
If you’re willing to work all day on your feet and every night until your fingers bleed.”
“NO!” – Is what they whisper…
Yet I hear it as a SCREAM!
“You must fit into this little box that we designed for you.
How dare you try to branch out from the deceased wood, concrete,
algorithm we’ve declared truth.
You will never know the real reality.
You are nothing but a cog in our machine.
Believe, hope, have faith in the stories we provide for you.
Day-in-day-out those thoughts and feelings will lift you up and help you through.
Never mind if they don’t add up or make sense.
Just keep working, day-in-day-out, and we will pay you in cents.”
They wrapped this all up in a pretty little bow.
With stories of Saint Nick, Prince Charming & fear of Death Row.
I have never been a victim though I was born from circumstance.
I am no statistic though I am just another number in a scheme so grand.
“No” Is a word spoken… Often the first.
Little children learning their humanity. Realizing their worth.
Imagine if animals could speak, trees and bacteria.
The vegetables you eat, the sea and earth beneath ya.
Wouldn’t they cry out “NO!”?
Wouldn’t the fly you swat or spider you crush?
What about the cells & atoms that make up all of us?
“NO” Is a word that can build or demolish.
Abolish hurt & hate while destroying trust
“No” is part of the balance, we are all living in.
It is hellfire- a pleasure, a sin.
It is fear and freedom married together.
Are you committed or being committed?
Choose your happily ever after.
You can say “NO” to everything I just wrote.
Still you are in the grasp of its paradox
so choose wisely your road…

The Thing About Writing

The thing about writing is that there isn’t just one thing. There are plurals abundant in my reclusive masochistic tendencies. I can write in ways that elude being construed. I can write while being blatantly flagrant. I can write of being perversely submissive, conjuring up pornographic eccentrics while me myself and I remain quite innocent. I am a God over these vowels and consonants. I make them fornicate with one another in a single file line. Noun, adjective, verb- I decree your order, and the meaning of your life! I am a socially acceptable schizophrenic. The “friend’s” and “world’s” I have created, have become my conscience, government, and worst critics. Superfluous though I may be, I’ve found a paradox within my fingertips upon these keys. I realize now there is no truth, where as a reader I find meaning. Humans created words, every one of them, and the defining. Have you ever been taken out of context? That anger within you bubbling! That deep dark vortex only word can create. Malevolence! Benevolence! Equally balanced within their purity. It’s not the words it’s how we use them. Stories created by letters combining. The human story has the most plot holes; leaving us questioning everything. As a writer, I get blocked, by having so much freedom. As a human, I get stuck, by having so many restrictions. To realize words mean everything and nothing made me wise and crazy with understanding-

The thing about writing is that there isn’t just one thing. I could write in circles making sense of it for days until they lock me in a padded room and throw the key away.