“May angels lead you in…”

I never thought I would be faced with the intensity of today. My imagination was never so dark. It’s funny how the world I always envisioned does not exist, and yet, there are those things, like the need of those great, big, warm hugs that went along to heaven, which no longer exist. The endearments are threaded through sunshiny-bright memories…they provide me with imagined strength. I never thought those hugs would go away. I never thought your voices would fade. I never imagined the deep pain I would feel upon digging through these deep, buried, treasures of tightly-bundled memories… it pains me that I am unable to recall the exact lines in your face or the exact color in your eyes when the bright rays gleamed from them. I never allowed myself to think of this pain; I shut it out, I guess. It could be possible that my meager, dreamer-of-a-brain decided upon the night of your death that it would never happen this way. Your scent would linger. Your guidance would grow with age, reasoning, realization, and the like. Your eyes would always see right through me, scrambling through the muck and breaking down the walls built around the secret chambers of my dear heart. I like to think that you are here with me, watching me write this, and smiling with that contagious happiness that always flowed out of you, into those surrounding, and the very earth which had the great pleasure of being tended and walked by you. I like to think about just what it is you are thinking, or if you think at all? I hope you do. I hope heaven is everything you expected. I know we sure do miss you down here, down in the realm of the evil-pathetic human race. I always considered you my angels, my guardians on earth, while you were here. I used to smile upon wishes for the future… when love, marriage, babies, and all the other “adult” things would come. I wanted you to be here to see me succeed. I wanted to call you about my classes and professors I love and hate and hate and love and love and love… How silly of me. How selfish of me! How childish of me…
Some of my most favorite memories of you are like those songs that, after so many years of not hearing them, surface. This song entices your ear drums, thoughts, and then your subconscious, nerves, cells, and memories stir… your mouth, tongue move to the words… the beat, to the great surprise of your soul, moves throughout the nerves in your body… oh, the warmth in familiarity from a different time period of your journey in life; it takes you back, huh? Sometimes, I don’t even realize I know the words to one of these songs, and as the lyrics pour out of the abyssal pockets of my brain, the realization and also confusion as to why this song ever left my “everyday” memories makes me wonder what blocked it; what caused the interruption? Why did the chords and words which meant so much, dwindle? And, why is it that upon the second-round of “new” listening of these songs, the meaning suddenly presents itself with a pretty bow, wrapped with care, all so you can take it–piece by piece–inch by inch–to devour the greatness of this personal gift all over again, only this time with a completely different meaning? The very title of this rambling is a line from one of those special songs which grabs onto unknown, broken parts within me, yearning to heal as the notes progress, taking special care to ease the mind and relax the nerves into this metaphysical high of remembrance and also sadness. It’s also quite the phenomenon that these songs present themselves when you actually need them, not even realizing it may be possible that it has surfaced to teach something new, something important, something worth learning because the next steps depend on it. Did you feel those chills? It is not cold; No, you feel the healing, you feel the deepness in which the song has come flying from, like a map or guide of darkness, which has suddenly been lit with bright and warm, almost conspicuous lights…. words you did not understand, or even pay attention to, are now obvious. Wait—a flash, guilt, excitement, and memory have come together to form this new experience for the positivity of your soul…
…Much like those memories of you do, my sweet angels looking down on me right now. Can one of you take the time to say hello in my dreams this evening? Perhaps you may give me one of those hugs? Even the tone of your voice would do… I’m not picky…
Thinking about all of this sadness leads me to the next topic of life and the cruel, unexpected “death” of someone still living. Catch up… I know you understand my reference. See Appendix A: Broken Relationships—I’m sure you’ll find a few of those there.
Take your best magnifying glass to the files…the faces, the damages, the hopes, the failures, and then finally the losses; think about this one person in particular and figuratively place them in your life as it is right now. Do they fit in? Be honest with yourself. If they do not, take that damn file and move it to the recycle bin; they probably never “fit” in the first place. Now, upon second glance of these people, pick out the one which holds the deepest sadness for you. Try to explain to yourself, always remaining true, (no rationalizations here, folks) and say out loud why this relationship drowned. Are you willing to throw in a flotation device? Do you honestly think this other person would? No? You know the routine: recycle bin she goes. Now, you may ask why it is the recycle bin, and not the trash which permanently removes. I have a great explanation for you: We are not computers. We do not literally decide which memories we keep and which ones escape. The point is to remove the person, so that with time, as the recycle bin does on your hard-drive, individually and completely deletes after the “file” has not been tampered with for a specified amount of time.
Time is both a reducer and expander of emotions and relations, so be careful when seducing father time to erase too many chunks at one time. It won’t happen. You’ll just fail again and look like an idiot. Just let the memories go naturally, organically…

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“Heart Beat”

Revised Nov. 21, 2011

Shae Crawford

“Heart Beat”


I’d like to pluck the glowing orange sun from the sky and

Place it in your chest, because maybe then it’d warm

Your heart up enough to change your mind…

……………………………claim back lost time.

Oh, but my heart’s begging me to let you go,

Or rather, I think it’s a mixture of broken pieces of

Shredded thoughts that remind me of the bitter cold,

The truth I cannot let go; the truth I painfully regret……..

The truth that overthrows my nervous system, taking

Care to spread the wintry spell, creating apologetic,

 Icy chills over my arms, landing in my soul like

An invisible assassin, ready…………………..…..

To murder the memory of you, ready……

To introduce me to a life anew—

A________life without


I have made my choice, and now it’s time—

Time to seal the pain…………………………………..and

Time to erase your face…………………………………….and

Time for bright, new days…………………………………….….and

Time to overlook your ways; it’s time to ignore you, and

Time to face the truth; and ‘tis now my time to forget


And, as painful as it is to admit, the thought of you forever

Leaving and relieving the pain in my heart is…………..….appealing,

And I never thought I would say this, but you can’t make my heart

Stop buh-buh-buh………..…………beating, and I can’t make yours

stuh-stuh………….……..start again; so, get out of my hands.

Farewell to you now—it’s been a long time coming.

So please tell your heart to stop pretending—

I’m standing strong……………..……………and

It’s what I have to do, so that I……….

I can…………………………………………….

Let go of………………………………..


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Time not only mends…

Time not only mends, but also ends. Keep that in mind next time you place false hope is something so full, so powerful, so natural, and so much bigger than you are. Time does not mend what must come to an end.

Mend your own heart.


Sorry I bothered you with meaninglessness; I just felt I should ask. I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you want. I’ll stop pretending you are there like I want you to be. I’ll stop “begging” you to speak to me like I’m some criminal on my knees begging your forgiveness for a crime I didn’t do. I don’t appreciate being ignored, nor put on a pedestal like a nuisance. I am neither of these. I have been good to you…Always trying to create a close bond…sharing my thoughts, dreams, goals, sadness, weakness, happiness, and confusion; I won’t do it any longer. I’ll go on and find a new journey. I’ll place my passion into a new medium. I’ll pretend like this never happened. I’ll act like I’m better off without you, even though I will think, dream, scream, cry, and wonder about you for the rest of my life, through-and-through. I’m sorry for weighing you down with all my anger and all my never-ending problems and my never-ending tears. I’m sorry for wasting my time on this. I’m sorry for letting my heart get so attached to you and your life and your face and your voice and your soul. I’ll do my best to free myself of you. I’ll do my best to speak kindly of you. I’ll “pretend” I am fond of you. I’ll tell myself that I don’t “deserve” you. Yet, I think the honest truth is that you don’t deserve me. In my darkest hours, I won’t search for you. In my brightest sunshine, I won’t look to find you. I will remember the day, the hour, and the moment, whenever I noticed your faults, your freedoms, your selfishness, and your fakeness. I can see that I’m too much for you. My life and my heart and my head are “too messed up” for you. I’ll pretend like these chills are because it’s cold; it can’t be any kind of pain surfacing. No, no, it isn’t deep regret or sadness controlling the bumpy sensations on my arms, or the weakness in my voice to speak, or the pain in my fingers to type, or even the fighting back of tears trying to push themselves through the holes that pressure has broken through. I will not admit these things. I will not cherish the memories. I will not look back. I will look forward and will not see you standing there. I will not fabricate the future, nor will I give a second’s waste to any dreams of having you ‘til the end.

Because you won’t either.

I’m a gypsy. I’m a loner. I’m a wanderer with a nomadic heart and nomadic dreams and a nomadic soul with a nomadic face. I’ll pretend that apathy is my new best friend. I’ll make its bed and cuddle to the sweet breath.
I’m in too deep.
My pain no longer fits within the ventricles of my heart’s fire.
My stomach nauseates the cold, hard, _____ of the truth.
What a sad calamity.

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My “Poem” for the World

I look around me at all the pain and suffering, hatred and anger, and lack of true love in the world around us, and I am so overwhelmed with grief. Our world is so depressing and dreadful–the murderers of children, thieves and political “warriors” who tell us more and more lies, and the natural disasters that claim innocent and precious lives–these calamities are only a few contributing to our international dread. What has happened to the world I once knew? Is it just me, or is it you, too? Can someone tell me where my rose-colored glasses are? I guess I shouldn’t let this tear me apart, but it’s real hard not to when the tears, years, fears add up. I’m tired of collecting sadness in my heart, and call me a hypocrite, but I don’t know where to start; I’m so caught up in the drama of the day, and the hatred pointed my way, that I cannot help but stow away the tears for my rainy day fund. It may not make sense to you, or your cold heart, but hear me out now:
Matters of the heart are messy, and too many folks trample on the strings you lay out.

So, what must be done? Who do we call? Do we continue to overlook it all? Do you pray at night in the darkness for us all, or do you ask that you do not fall? It’s easy to see why you feel this way, after all this selfish hate, but I beg of you please to store in your heart, faith and love and hope for a new start. I pray for peace and love and art–don’t judge me, these are matters of my heart.

I may not be a cookie-cutter Christian, but I’m faithful enough to know the difference. So, run along now and pretend you’re okay; pretend you don’t care about the troubles we face. Go on happily, and try to tame the shrew, but know this now, my concerning voice will call out to you. Flee now, hurry, you must make haste, before you are caught tarrying in this place. Before you go though, I have to ask– is it love or hatred in your flask? Try to think clearly about this, and don’t go running away or amiss. Face the facts and prepare your mind, for there will be tougher times, and I will not be here to guide you through, so hold on tight and treasure your youth. Remember the lessons you were told, about the blind man, and honoring the old. Never forget the precious moments when you said that “things can’t get much better than this.” Try your hardest if you can, and go back to your childhood friend. See yourself through her eyes, and try to remember what made you so bright. Take this view now and shine it on the world; try to be a beacon of shining light and treasured gold. I know you have it in you to remember the days, the days before we went our separate ways. I’m hoping this helps you cope with today, and shows you the progress you have made.

Say your prayers now; close your eyes, and try to put the anger aside. Believe that change for the world starts with you. Run along now and always remember– the pleasure it was to see the world anew, the friends who helped you see it, too, and also the love you were given along the way, the free advice, and the holidays; the people who helped you gain knowledge and gave you their praise, and cherish those who we have no more. See yourself the way you did whenever you were a “movie star.” It helped me open my mind and find peace, if only for the moment, but that’s enough to put pain on lease. Think of life as a gift, and don’t take advantage of what you’ve been given. Live to the fullest each day, even when you can’t look yourself in the face. Believe in yourself and have faith; and you better keep on going ’til you finish the race.

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Rain’s Rejoicing

It hasn’t rained in what seems to be months in this dusty, dried up Texas town.

So, the loud claps of thunder and rain drops beating on the roof are quite the backdrop for a spectacular phenomenon this evening. When the lightning strikes, it turns the night into a day-lit sky, shining bright and terrifying light over the surrounding areas I can see through my window blinds. The thunder claps so hard that the vibrations strike the cores of our souls. Certainly, within my dwelling everything shakes, including those with heartbeats and also pets who hide beneath bed-sheets.

It is a night for celebrating— amongst the dreary drought—and my community upholds this as a defining act of God because it is after hours and hours of pleading prayers… prayers for droplets of moisture to dampen the never-ending plains east-north-west-south of our city; prayers that the rain comes, and prayers that it comes strong and willing to soak our grounds. It is not light-hearted, and it means serious business with its dark clouds that deepen the night sky into pits that do not hold the light of the moon.

And, I’ve gotta say that there is nothing more rejoicing right now than the rain drops falling outside, and nothing better than the rolling bouts of thunder that surround me; I am so thankful for the rain, even though the echoes reverberate throughout my body, and even though they threaten my car outside with their hardened, ice-cold balls of angst… I rejoice in this evening, and in this moment; this moment that allows me to breathe in deeply the moisture-laden air, and hold out my hands to collect the precious drip-drops of rain that empower me.

There is an amazing power in the rainfall that I will not attempt to master, but it must be mentioned, for it is the life-source of everything precious and worth mentioning. And, I must add that if it weren’t a battle of how many lightning bolts can strike in a minute, then I would take myself out onto my lawn to just revel in it; to throw up my hands, then bow to my knees  to thank our dear Lord for this great, great moment.

I can only pray that the weather patterns have shifted. I can only pray that our worries will be lifted. And, I can only pray that our prayers have been counted and that He has decided to “bring on the rain” that will supremely bless our “Yellow Rose of Texas.”

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Open/Close Apparatus

To know my heart is to know I do not close as easily as I open;

I am much more profound than this.

I dislike how fragile this sounds, yet

I disregard the matter and seek the next critical moment;

Blaming the past, afraid of the future, and ignoring the present–

My weakness is not that I feel too much, or maybe it is?

My weakness is much more profound than this.

I do not claim a weak soul, only sadness and regret;

Regretting my past, and living in disguises,

Yet, hope and faith and love are not its compromises,

They are only the root of my deep regret and sadness.

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Creative Subconscious

There are days whenever my mind won’t let me rest because I cannot stop thinking about a story, or a combination of stories that beg me to write them down. It’s quite the phenomenon because this yearning to sit down and write awhile spreads to the tips of my fingers, creating a tense, spring-like sensation, telling me they are ready for the keyboard. It’s funny, too, how my body creates an aura unlike any other whenever one of my inspirations takes flight, almost like the story has already been written in my subconscious; it’s like my body knows that once I give in, the story will not stop because it is flowing from a plentiful source that is unending in both story sense, and creative intervention. The anxiety I experience during one of these spells is quite unrelenting; it does not cease until I give into the matter jumping around anxiously between the ventricles in my heart, then making their way to my brain, fingers, toes… It’s quite sensational, so that is why I am sharing the moment. I read recently that few writers are able to “tap into” their subconscious on a level that is truly instinctive and harshly true, without any sort of pause to make up for the words flowing out of this ghost—if you will. It’s funny because my best poems come from this state of mind, and I am shocked after writing them down that it took nearly only a few minutes to write down a full-page of well-thought-out poetry. I’m intrigued by the idea that I can tap into this subconscious whenever I please, however, I know it doesn’t “work” this way; I guess I just have to pray for more of these moments so that creative juices can replenish my soul and need to release the words trapped inside of me.

Do you have what I like to call “creative subconscious” moments like mine? Please share if you do. I find these moments to be particularly fascinating.

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Unwanted Guest

Uncertainty settles in again–

An unwanted guest.

Dizziness crowds into the corners of my eyes,

My heart beats irregularly–




With the bolts of Anxiety.

A cold chill spreads dangerously throughout

the very cells of My Body.

Tears fall, then crash again, Stall, then start again.

My eyelids droop with heaviness, begging–

Begging me to sleep this off;

Bargaining with me the fate of it all–

Wishing they could only

Sleep     this         off.

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At night,
You can see the lights
Over the rolling hills,
Still sitting in the same place,
But making their red and blue rounds;
Striking the night with their fear,
Their brilliance;
Bouncing off the clouds,
But yielding to the moon.
Here on this hill
Where I sit,
Watching the lights flicker and flame,
I hear the sirens of more coming;
The uncertainty of the danger
Lurking in the near distance.
I know there is pain behind those lights,
And screams between the sirens,
Harbingers of death–

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An Ice Box for a Heart

I’d like to pluck the glowing orange sun

From the sky and place it in your chest,

‘Cause maybe then it’d

Warm your heart up enough

To change your mind,

And claim back lost time.

The sun’s rays beat down on me,
Kinda like the words you threw harshly,
And I can hardly stand here knowing
That somewhere across town, you exist
Without me.

Who are you these days, where are you going,
What do you see?
Are you blinded by the memories?

I wake up thinking of you, and my fiery
Confusion exudes…
Tracing over all the dreams of you…

I wonder if the sky reminds you of the days
We spent scorched by the lake
Playing by the light of the sun,
Talking about where we’d be when we’re 31.

When did you lease your soul to the North Pole?
Was there a promise that you’d get through it all?
Did you look up to the sun and know your heart
Would no longer feel the warmth?
Or were you content with the idea that you’d
Be able to go on and easily forget?

My heart’s begging me to let you go,

Or, rather I think it’s a mixture of broken pieces,

And shredded thoughts that remind me of the bitter cold…

The truth that I cannot let go;

The truth I painfully regret;

The truth that overthrows my nervous system,

Taking care to spread the wintry spell throughout,

Creating massive, icy chills over the surface of my arms,

Then landing in my soul like an invisible assassin,

Ready to murder the memory of you,

Ready to introduce me to a life anew;

Life without you.

You’ve made your choice, and now it is time;

Time to seal the pain,

Time to erase your face,

Time for bright, new days,

And, time to overlook your ways…

It’s time to ignore you,

And time to face the truth,

Time to forget everything concerning you—

And, as painful as it is to admit,

The thought of you fleeing my soul is appealing,

And I never thought that I would say this, but,

You can’t make a heart stop beating,

And you can’t make one start again…

This is no longer in my hands—


Farewell to you now,

(It’s been a long time coming)

Tell your heart to let her guard down,

Cause this time I’m not running,

I’m standing strong

And, I know it’s what I had to do,

So that I,

I can,

Let go of,


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