your things

Once the unattractive, dreadful futon departs,
there will be an empty space on the oak floor.
When walking past the spot where the splintered wood resides,
emotions fill up the room like a toddler on Christmas Day—
joyous for the gifts Santa gave, yet silently took away.

A burden will fall off the shoulders of the homeowner,
who embarks on a glorious future free of harmful tenants.
The laminate might be ruined from the piss of dogs,
but it will be honest, pure, alone, and wiser than the futon—
broken, shattered, and lacking substance and a sense of self.

spring nights

Music echoes from the brown, upright piano, whose melodies leak tones through cement walls. Outside, grasshoppers shout back their tunes of happiness in the heat of the night. No longer are they frozen, but jumping through time with green crabgrass underneath their limbs. Each chord drifts away from the minor, only focusing on the major sounds that ring peace and beauty to those that hear them. The pianist is only out to please those tiny insects who wear less than fancy attire.

california

Cutest niece in the whole world.
I love the look on her face... adorable
Four generations--Grams, Sis, Mom and baby Paiton
I love the little blue track suit.


Going for a walk with Paiton in 70 degree weather with a slight breeze from the East, and laughter from the West--heaven.

Went for a jog around mile square park, and felt liberated, wonderful, and pure. Met up with my sister and Paiton at the large oak tree, and had one of the best days in a long while.

Ate the best vegan food in the whole world!!!

Took a stroll to Clint's work, and was very proud of him and his accomplishments. His office was quiet, but everyone was friendly, and really admired Clint.

Went to church with mom, sis, and Paiton, and ate lots of food and laughed so hard I about fell out of my chair. Permanent smiles and love.

I have great people in my life that I am honored to call family.

mistakes

Even Home Depot does not sell a thick enough spackle to cover the faults in my wall. Smearing the gaps with a putty knife, the spackle slowly dries and cracks, leaving imperfections on the surface of a colorful partition. The spot is weak compared to the other 4x8 pieces of sheetrock who remain sturdy and resist temptations of boldness and anger. Each day, I look at the soft spot on the wall, and try not to irritate it further, but relapse and cave the mud backwards toward the studs. I bought a new patch kit yesterday and smoothed the wrinkles out, added texture, affixed primer, rolled on paint, and crossed my fingers in hopes that no one will notice the blemish I covered for the fifth time this year. I must remember that speaking positive and helping others will detract from the blemish created when a time when wallpaper and flowered curtains were customary.