I am more than what meets the eye. Soul deep and waters instilled form a ripple of a wave,  thrashing into the abyss like brain stems enter cerebellum exit clever calculable characteristics and into Chuck Taylor's jeans and a tee more than denim and sneakers more than poetic meanderings. I am more than what meets the eye Spiritual newness and cultural edifice pounding life after death and life into death like not holier than though loveliness I am more than meets the eye. Dare to see? Dare to capture and captive me? Dare to look beyond skin color and ethnicity? Dare to become less stereotypes and more of my type where lines shift into invisibility? I am more than meets the eye. -b.r.rivera #30in30 Poem 24 of 30

All hail the Easter Bunny. There are promises of eggs. Little small gifts enclosed in plastic oval shapes, smelling of new chemicals freshly pressed from large manufacturing companies. My gift to the weather. A small token of spring. Perhaps the swiftness and cool eyed crispness deserves better awakenings than Folgers in your cup and effervescence scalding hot in aging fingers. It's all daisies, ribbons, and freshly starched outfits pressed for the deadline on velvety pews, gotta make it on time in the rush of traffic where runways are composed of yellow dashed lines and patent leather shoes pressed to the metal of gas ignitions. Who needs a Bible? We all have our outfits and hopefully unstained chocolate pressed against our lips honoring the risen from a sealed tomb after three days after the cry of vinegar quenched lips and warm blood dusty from a crown of thorns. Let me celebrate once. Once in my life, go to an edifice filled with familiar tunes and paper ...

My plants are dying. Some wither by the wayside. Others, destined in their own chlorophyll psychedelic mindfuck reach out to the Heavens and are Hell bent on finding the sustenance of the sun. I wonder if its the soil. Mixed parts with fertilizer and the such but we all know the grass is greener on the other side. Probably sunnier there too. Warm. The kind of weather where women flaunt their parasols and gloved white hands, pearls dancing off the sunglasses of the husbands that mow just near the picket fence. Maybe its too much water. leaves are perkier with just enough bounce, sturdy to the prickly fuzzy knees of bees. At least the lady bugs enjoy them. They seem to surround themselves near waxy goodness polka dots and dance trots to and fro the emptiness of withered hope. Couldn't be the roots. Oh, God...not the roots. Mind as well rip up the entire earth that surrounds them, throw them in the air and let the silken strands fall where they may. invisi...

swirling prolific hues of green envy and passionate reds imprints of individualized thumbprints echo the softness of her chest. her stained clothes, a memorial of shed blood and crusted tears. methodically, each stroke larger than the last. shaded memories dusted with charcoal. empty delights cross-etched in blended fingertips. the room, empty. a hollowed portrait fits in the solace in which the artist lives. systematic soul surrender. does she long to be the hidden message in impressionism, the genius of Rodin the talk of the Louvre, the troubled artist in which tragedy ends fulfilling afterlife in the thief of the night's kiss? brush stroke. pain supersedes heliotropes vision a circumcised catalytic imprison, raw theft of stolen pieces and framed genius lay hung, genius on a white wall. tip. tap. coarse fibers dance in shallow water mixing royal purples and optimistic yellows. her favorite color: black. it begs to be painted upon. desires to be another color, in another life- jea...

The only gift is a portion of thyself. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson To give. We all claim to do it, yet selfishly hold on to our last dollar at the bottom of our purse or wallet-hoping that it would grow. What is not being said with those actions is the faith required to understand that the karmic laws of pure humanness and the love of God himself will always allow us to recover. To not only live, but to thrive. Following this notion, I decided to give some of myself. The power starts with me, begins with me and does not have to end with me. I want to give. I want to give so purely and without thought, that giving will be a second thought, of human nature of my spirit. I never seen myself as a stingy person. Well...except with red velvet cake and a good fountain pen. Now those, I have to kinda get over. However, I found such a wonderful notion with giving. It can help myself, it can help others. With giving, I can share myself with others-hopefully offering inspiration, thought, physical ...

Since my "vacation" (notice the quotation marks) is officially over, it's back to the books with my schoolwork. I have noticed that even my 3.83 GPA is being challenged, as newer classes force me to study longer and harder. It's just that I do not want to be "good enough" I want to be the best. How people just get by is beyond me. I was never one of those people-especially academically-to just get by. Call me a suck up, call me a nerd, but I find it personally offensive to lessen myself and standards to just get by. Hell, even if I was a maid I would have the shiniest floors you could possibly imagine. You would practically eat off of my floors and then gleam with a smile as the reflection stared back at you. I have noticed that too many people just get by-forcing themselves to stay in a position of work or employment that does not fit their personality and talents. Such a shame. Regardless if I am just now going to college and not straight out of high schoo...