syncopated-soul.blogspot.com

syncopated soul

Wednesday, June 3, 2015. I never really had a sense of home. So i’ve made my body a home. For me and others. My fingers gave birth to soundscapes. My vocal chords vibrated with songs of joys and distress. My arms have held together what threatened to fall apart. My eyes have invited vulnerability and trust. My lips have loved and reassured. My shoulders carried burdens, but never broke. My legs wrapped around lovers in their moments of ecstasy. I never really had a sense of home. For me and others. I pac...

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syncopated soul | syncopated-soul.blogspot.com Reviews

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Wednesday, June 3, 2015. I never really had a sense of home. So i’ve made my body a home. For me and others. My fingers gave birth to soundscapes. My vocal chords vibrated with songs of joys and distress. My arms have held together what threatened to fall apart. My eyes have invited vulnerability and trust. My lips have loved and reassured. My shoulders carried burdens, but never broke. My legs wrapped around lovers in their moments of ecstasy. I never really had a sense of home. For me and others. I pac...

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syncopated soul | syncopated-soul.blogspot.com Reviews

https://syncopated-soul.blogspot.com

Wednesday, June 3, 2015. I never really had a sense of home. So i’ve made my body a home. For me and others. My fingers gave birth to soundscapes. My vocal chords vibrated with songs of joys and distress. My arms have held together what threatened to fall apart. My eyes have invited vulnerability and trust. My lips have loved and reassured. My shoulders carried burdens, but never broke. My legs wrapped around lovers in their moments of ecstasy. I never really had a sense of home. For me and others. I pac...

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syncopated-soul.blogspot.com

1

syncopated soul: goddess

http://syncopated-soul.blogspot.com/2015/02/goddess.html

Sunday, February 1, 2015. Soft vulnerable. hopeful. Maybe i’m foolish. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). Music was my first love, and it will be my last. Poetry is my occasional part-time lover. View my complete profile. Music in the region. Travel template. Powered by Blogger.

2

syncopated soul: bedouin

http://syncopated-soul.blogspot.com/2015/02/bedouin.html

Sunday, February 1, 2015. My bedouin roots prepare me. For the harshness of matters of the heart. Nomadic, not by choice but by necessity. When the well runs out. When the resource stops regenerating. I pack light and move on. When i find my new oasis. I make a home out of small corner spaces. Like an inconvenient guest. Ready to leave whenever she is asked. Whenever the wells run dry. I pack light and move on. I pack light and move on. I pack light and move on. Over and over and over again.

3

syncopated soul: February 2012

http://syncopated-soul.blogspot.com/2012_02_01_archive.html

Thursday, February 16, 2012. Don't Hate, Participate! Either a) they pick whoever has the right criteria in terms of money-making prospects or b) they don't partner up with any. Artists because their quality of work is not up to par yet. I believe there is a much better way to stimulate the growth and improvement of our community's music and arts scene, much better than just complaining about how horrible the scene is. It involves responsibility from both the artist. As well as the community. All the poi...

4

syncopated soul: January 2015

http://syncopated-soul.blogspot.com/2015_01_01_archive.html

Thursday, January 1, 2015. You look at my limp limbs. In horror and astonishment. When you hear the accusation against you. You wail and wail of protest and defense. As if you did not hear my cries when you pushed me down. As if i did not beg and plead. As if i did not reach out. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). Music was my first love, and it will be my last. Poetry is my occasional part-time lover. View my complete profile. Music in the region. Travel template. Powered by Blogger.

5

syncopated soul: September 2012

http://syncopated-soul.blogspot.com/2012_09_01_archive.html

Sunday, September 2, 2012. The doctors gathered around her. As she lay on the operation table. They cut her open carefully. From the top of her ribcage. To her belly button. The doctors peered inside. And forgot to retrieve his tools. Thrown inside of her. One fell to the floor, sweating. Trying desperately to do what it takes. One’s face snarled. The corners of his mouth sagging. 8220;This is not what we expected”, he said. The doctors gathered themselves. And gathered their tools. And left, one by one.

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syncopated-soul.blogspot.com

syncopated soul

Wednesday, June 3, 2015. I never really had a sense of home. So i’ve made my body a home. For me and others. My fingers gave birth to soundscapes. My vocal chords vibrated with songs of joys and distress. My arms have held together what threatened to fall apart. My eyes have invited vulnerability and trust. My lips have loved and reassured. My shoulders carried burdens, but never broke. My legs wrapped around lovers in their moments of ecstasy. I never really had a sense of home. For me and others. I pac...

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