Poetry is nearer to vital truth than history ~ Plato

Saturday, June 27, 2015


The unspoken responsibility that terrifies the majority.
We've been bred to let others do our thinking
Educated to standards designed to limit our own.
We've been taught how to judge and condemn based on the laws of supply and demand.
There is no scarcity of shame.
We've been told we can buy our way to acceptance.
Wash away our ancestry, sweep our history under rugs held in place by the same boots that hold us down.
Original thought, the original sin
First they divide
Casting insidious doubts based on popular votes
Knowing the sheep are much easier to conquer 
Once their faith in the fences
Has been secured. 

Natasha Head

Wednesday, June 24, 2015

I Wanted To...

I would have been there, had my life been my own. But I'm not just living for me, you see. There are other lives, intertwined. Other hearts and other hopes. These things matter. As much as you would have me believe I matter more, I know better. So do you.

I would have been there, had your actions equaled your words. But your character betrayed you. The thin film you call integrity was no match for broken promises and selfishness. I've lived through all that once, and since we've already established how much I matter, you'll understand the importance character and integrity play in this life I'm attempting to live fully.

I wanted to want to go, but reason would not allow it. All signs pointed to staying as survival and leaving as demise.

As I watch you cry "victim" from a distance, crafting a tale to win pity, I realize I am capable of saving myself after all...and for that...

I wanted to say, "Thank you."

Wednesday, June 17, 2015

Finish Line

We raced the dark
To shadowed shoreline
Leaving the sun
In our wake

Natasha Head

Sunday, June 14, 2015

Flip Flops

It's the way my cheap Walmart flip flops sound against the puddles of standing water that still sit on the planks. 
The smell of the grass, cut just before the showers took us by surprise.
It's the tires on wet pavement, stealing their occupants away from the rain that lasted only long enough to alter our reality.
The sun, stealing the moisture from the sand as feet brave enough to wager the risk, rush back to the beach to capture the last of the evening...
While we, weary and waterlogged, flip flop our way home.

Natasha Head