I feel something rotten, yet it's registered as a fragrance. Flying colors & dull lives, which is the stream I seek? May it move me. May I listen. Inside the garden & outside the cave. Hold on to the thing that only life can bring. Be aware, be aware of the moments between and then flee.
Wilderness.
I flee whenever I sense difficulty, afraid to face my inadequacies. The walls are getting higher until I can't get any air. Maybe I should rejoice- encountering the weak points, pitch a tent & start a fire, relaxing into the wilderness. And enjoy the adventure.
Functional.
The hateful voice of my mom. The self-loathing of my dad. A narcissist of a grandpa. The insanity of grandma. Where is the love? My love was not enough. A child of family dysfunctions. I left to find myself again. You're you & me, I, full of wonders & now understand. I will love myself again.
Shattered shore.
A loving gaze is like a warm blanket, one that you can take on long trips. The ones unloved are lost in the cold who must learn to keep the fire within.
Love again.
There's a beast yanking at its chains. I didn't understand what it's saying. "Love again. You must love again." This morning, I suddenly understand. The dead air in my head & the desperation in my so-called life, "Live again, you must begin again. Without love, you were deprived."
Apologies.
If you're a destroyer, destroy. Don't apologize. If you're a lover, fuck shit up. Don't apologize. If you're a mother, live your life, don't apologize. You're doing a thing now, you're doing the thing. The worst thing to do is to apologize for yourself.
Waiting for my mind.
It's worn & haggard, 20 leagues out. Often it cries out, "Wait for me, world, I have an important message." Then it stops. It pauses. It stills. It puzzles. It hums. It chuckles. It get lost.
The fault.
Dreamer.
You are a dreamer who run away from the selves. Can't stay still, the beast is at your heels. Mazes & traps you built to justify your woes. The past comes due & the truth is always simple.
Music.
Last night searching for death, this morning drinking in life, what changes? The music, the music of trees in the wind.
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