Monday, September 19, 2016

Somedays - The 5 minute Moon Dance

I can see the moon this morning, greeting me with her seductive aura... Willing me back into bed... Tempting me to ignore my alarm clock.

I can feel her caresses... Her soft gentle touch, making me twist and turn... I think she wants me to blush.

I inhale her scent with reverence as I stare into her light and I am captivated, mezmerized, intoxicated.

She touches my skin with her sultry armor and I am made to believe that we are invincible together.

My eyes are now closed and she wills me to dance to the rhythmic beating of my restful heart.

Sleep comes easy cacooned in her blanketed wonder... I am in bliss...

My alarm clock sounds and I know that it is over... My dance with the moon and my 5 minute snooze feature.

Y. Salmon

Wednesday, August 31, 2016

Somedays. Part 1

Learning as I go my friend. Learning as I go.
Somedays are meant for you.
Somedays are meant for her.
Somedays are meant for the others...The 'forget-me-nots', the kindered spirits, the rebels with a cause... That one friend who constantly fidgets.

Somedays are meant for solitude filled with rejected phone calls and 'thought of you today text messages.' Music filling your inner lobes, recklessly pulling at your heart strings.

Somedays are meant for self pity and conflict of emotions. Everyone and everything has miraculously managed to get on you gat-damned nerves.

End of Part 1...for now.

-Y. Salmon

Saturday, March 5, 2016

#MyLifeAsAHuman #MyThoughtsMyWords Entry #668 Artist Unknown.


You see eyes flicker across your canvas... Describing wordlessly their bold intentions. Watching you touch and caress with each brush stroke. 
Carefully constructing your dream into reality... Breathing life into what once stood perfectly still. 
You inhale deeply with frustrated anticipation weaving in and out of your mind and your emotions...

Your hands seem to bleed and blend into your canvas, forming the exquisite realm of your pain and joy. 
You are anger and magical laughter. Pain and retribution. 
You are swift accusations and compassionate love. 


You are an artist restless and freedom bond. A creature of rebellion. A fighter against suppression. 

You are an artist down to your very core. 

Languid yet contorted all at the same time. 

You are reality in a world that is all but a dreamlike haze. 

Relax your tightly wound hands and rest your ever-speeding mind. 
Let your arms transform into wings as magnificent as your soul. And fly my wonderful friend. 
Fly into the unknown. 

-Y. Salmon






Wednesday, November 4, 2015

#MyLifeAsAHuman #MyThoughtsMyWords Entry#888 The Realness of a Dream

She's always been a bit of a dreamer...
   half way here...
        half way there...
Making her way along the paths only traveled by the ones that they call different or special...

The way she speaks speckled with nuances and meanings that are all her own
     ...it confuses the masses but is understood by a few that she considers her own..

I've seen her smile and nod and engage in humorous banter so convincingly that she feels genuinely present...
You would never guess she's dreaming.
      Her eyes are changeable and hide as much as they convey...
             always travelling...
                  always far away.

I've seen her cry.
Wretched silent tears that demonstrate her pain only by the heaving of her chest.
       She'll curl herself in a ball of internal agony while she rocks away the hurt of her reality.

She's resilient though...
    despite the dreamer path she walks...
           she feels compassion for all things that are art...
Whether it is the sadness in your eyes,
      the sway of majestic hips,
             the mastermind of  propaganda...
                    the sensitive tug of a pair of lips...

-Y . Salmon

#MyLifeAsAHuman Entry#667 Disappearing visibility.

I've often wondered what it would be like to simply disappear...
Not to die or leave this earth willingly...
           but to just disappear.
Slowly, layer by layer, begin to evaporate into nothingness.
Becoming one with the air, the trees and the sky...
Floating and being everywhere and nowhere all at once.
 
Would it be freeing? Or escaping?
 
I've often wondered about that.
 
-Y . Salmon

Monday, June 29, 2015

#MyLifeAsAHuman - Entry #229 - Beautiful Mystery

They call her a beautiful mess because they do not understand her...
Constantly trying to trap her in box made of metal bars and no breathing space.
Making her presence seem diminished and irrelevant....
They call her a beautiful mess because she is beyond their comprehension...
So free and honest and constantly in search of more...
More than they will ever be able to wrap their feeble minds around, made of narrow alleyways and lacking of individual thought.
She is a representation of all that they fear and envy, wishing to be able to grasp that childlike awareness complimented by astute and dynamic intellect....
She is what they fear most because she is fearless and real... Loving herself and knowing her worth sends alarm bells off in their minds and they wish to silence her.
She is defiant and strong... They call her reckless and fool hardy.
But none of this defines her, simply because she stretches herself far beyond what any of them will ever be able to understand.
She is dynamite on a war zone, sunshine in a storm and the rainbow during an earthquake ...
So they will learn eventually that she is not at all what they labeled her.
She never was and never will be a beautiful mess...
How could she be, when her soul screams out loud for all to hear,' 'She is freedom and divinity and there is no mess here!'
She is beauty and havoc and order and love.
She is life. Beautiful and mysterious.

- Y. Salmon

Photocredit @zahra_siddiqui