Performed by Val Cole
****
Producer/Director: Matthew Toffolo http://www.matthewtoffolo.com
Editor: Kimberly Villarruel
Festival Directors: Mary Cox, Rachel Elder, Natasha Levy
Camera Operators: Hugh Ritchie, Isabal Cupryn, Aser Santos Jr., Zack Arch
Performed by Val Cole
****
Producer/Director: Matthew Toffolo http://www.matthewtoffolo.com
Editor: Kimberly Villarruel
Festival Directors: Mary Cox, Rachel Elder, Natasha Levy
Camera Operators: Hugh Ritchie, Isabal Cupryn, Aser Santos Jr., Zack Arch
Performed by Val Cole
****
Producer/Director: Matthew Toffolo http://www.matthewtoffolo.com
Editor: Kimberly Villarruel
Festival Directors: Mary Cox, Rachel Elder, Natasha Levy
Camera Operators: Hugh Ritchie, Isabal Cupryn, Aser Santos Jr., Zack Arch
Performed by Val Cole
****
Producer/Director: Matthew Toffolo http://www.matthewtoffolo.com
Editor: Kimberly Villarruel
Festival Directors: Mary Cox, Rachel Elder, Natasha Levy
Camera Operators: Hugh Ritchie, Isabal Cupryn, Aser Santos Jr., Zack Arch
Performed by Val Cole
****
Producer/Director: Matthew Toffolo http://www.matthewtoffolo.com
Editor: Kimberly Villarruel
Festival Directors: Mary Cox, Rachel Elder, Natasha Levy
Camera Operators: Hugh Ritchie, Isabal Cupryn, Aser Santos Jr., Zack Arch
Performed by Val Cole
****
Producer/Director: Matthew Toffolo http://www.matthewtoffolo.com
Editor: Kimberly Villarruel
Festival Directors: Mary Cox, Rachel Elder, Natasha Levy
Camera Operators: Hugh Ritchie, Isabal Cupryn, Aser Santos Jr., Zack Arch
I slid down the darkened path; heart screeching
Left crying yelling to God an ultimatum of me; fix me
Tired of failing and quoting sad songs by heart; God why happiness doesn’t rain down on me?
Roving through fucked up imagery of past times; trying to get past this time one more time.
Tried cursing and fucking with the chemicals in my mind to alleviate the burden of self burden; stopping myself each time except for this time no protection given unto self, this time.
No happy fills me, no love feels me; why can’t I feel me? I’m tired of not feeling me – the storm of softness to end this storm of me. Nothing relieves the pressure of me…..I bet it feels blissful being loved? Being together with love and holding love and breathing it. I bet it feels fucking great – and great feeling it. Tell me someone how much you fucking love me.
I slid down a pathway of darkness, lit by fire it was still darkness because for me this was the way to a mirrored image of me and a fight I was ill prepared for and didn’t have the tools to wage the greatest war on earth but it ain’t a fault of mine that I blame. Nope. Not a fault of me. Not this time: I forgave myself to only punish myself for trying to live myself.
Drunk me wrote this one, drunk me told this one, drunk me made me drink this one. Drunk me let me become the drunk one. Drunk me gave it up and turned to drunk me for the guidebook that didn’t exist because drunk me gave up. Drunk me gave up. Drunk me gave up. This one, drunk me gave up. And I ain’t done with this one!
Drunk me became drunk me because somewhere between commitment for self and commitment for them I chose them and failed me. I tied shoes that didn’t belong to me as a youngster. I took what didn’t belong to me for them and they chose them after. I made myself feel like everyone else’s and no one stranger reminded me of me. Who I was. Who I was. Fuck life and the horse that asshole bitch rode in on. Fuck that hoe who let me cave in to my own weaknesses; the weaknesses that I misguidedly sown.
Yeah I did it, I committed, I witnessed me. Tore down, ran down, ran down, yeah me. I understand the fight I lost and the aftermath of the aftermath I have left to pursue. I have nothing. But an almost empty bottle of nothing. Yeah I know, I hurt, I cry tears of self pity and self issues of noneworth but none is worth-y. Yeah drunk me wrote this one down the darkly lit path of darkness lit by fire that I lit and got burned by but I blame not I. Nope not this time.
Mirrors illustrate impartial reflections
Unacquainted with pain, a true misconception
A beautiful smile decorates an injured soul
More than what meets the eye, a story left untold
Mirrors cannot capture chapters of depression
Bleeding hearts are discovered by the art of expression
A masterpiece lies behind these solid walls of glass
Direct pathways to the heart, disheveled by the past
Silent emotions, shaded by fear
Images in the mirror are not always what they appear
Blind perceptions dictate what is revealed
Concealing stages of brokenness, pleading to be healed
The mystery of mirrors will never reflect
The agonizing pain, we choose to accept
Copyright © Natanya Anty
mr natural sunshine blotter
to be specific
given by a house painter friend
i got the 12 gauge and shell vest
called up Smokestack the bird dog
and drove to a vast Oklahoma hunting preserve
after Smokestack had pissed on enough bushes
and i was geared up, locked and loaded
we walked off into the trees and meadows
all brown and gray and olive drab
dead grass snapped and whispered as we passed
going nowhere in particular
just me following my dog
in the crisp fall woods
Smokestack moved in quick short arcs
his nose in the grass
then stopped dead, leaning taut, pointing at a thick hummock
quail burst from the grass
small camouflaged explosions
accelerating straight up then out
Smokestack jumped forward
enthralled, the gun cradled unused in my arm
i watched them go, glide and land
invisible in the tree line
we walked on into a large clearing
grass waist high
i sat down, the grass tops above my head
shotgun resting across my lap
Smokestack was ranging about far away
i could hear his every move
small creatures scurried about and dug into the earth
birds chittered and spoke to me from the trees
the grass moved gently with the wind
playing the quiet symphony of the fields
after some while, for time had little meaning
i whistled up my dog
and we went home
11/27/18
COPYRIGHT MICHAEL DOUGLAS SCOTT
Rose,
your beauty,
millions upon millions of petals,
how deep do you go?
Coloring of blood,
feel of velvet,
symbol of love,
though pretty,
like a prey,
you’ve got your defenses.
The way you fade,
into the color of poison,
it warns all the others,
need not inhale,
need only touch,
for with just such,
the little blades will sink,
through their pale thieving hands,
and real blood will flow.
Beauty you can’t touch,
you’re all tricky sirens,
you attract bees,
with your color,
your scent,
your intricate patterns,
enticing,
how you dance with the wind.
Genre: Ode, Love, Flowers
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