Home of a Heart

I organize unorganized messes in the bottom of my brain.
Where parades of memory drummers
march around in circles
waiting for me to fall.

And sometimes I do
because I let myself.
Falling is sometimes the only way to feel
that something is right in life
that life is not just in the living room of my heart
but that it is the heart
and that I am here
because of it. 

 

 

 

Spin me Home

Stealthy mobility drips down my forearms and onto the tulips I planted two months ago.
Haze catches in my throat and blurs my vision
I am blue, I am orange, I am every colour you thought I wasn’t six months ago.

I bloomed a sense of indecency and wrote a pile of suns to play with and you watched me dig the hole of nusiance
and I did and put in my garden gloves and hat you always loved for me to wear.

I am a trusted spoke of a wheel of one hundred
and I hope for you to spin us all the way reverse;
back the way we came so that we can trample all the ugly and make new
our beauty.
Make us dizzy in love.

Motivational Mistakes

Making mistakes sucks. No one wants to get better at that.
It’s a consistent occurrence in our lives,it just doesn’t have to be a regular one.

It feels like starting all over again.
Another push from the ground. And I think that’s what life kind of is. Constantly doing that. To push push push. Keep on going even though you fail at some things.
Even though you make poor decisions and disappoint. Even though your feelings tell you you’re sad or angry.

You push past your past and make that a way of life.
Living and holding onto choices that were already made, whether made recently or long ago is a bad decision in itself.
Push past the bad that already happened, and make something good.

 
You are more than capable.

 

 

um i sat on satrdaay night

oooooooooooooooooooh geeze

im actually drunk to write this

i tried reading posts but tht didn’t work

the keys are super hard to press and i know i should beporbably snoozing the night away but i just want someone to lay next to me so taht i can wrap my arms around

im a super hugger

touch

i am

wanting

you.

 

We are All Stories

I have a blank head at the moment.
But anytime I’ve been away from the computer the past two days, I have a consistent thought.
‘Post Something.’

I’m going to let force myself to slip into a careless, functioning part of stillness and float.

 

 

It’s all stories.

Everyone is one. Everything we say and do, is at least a part of one. That One is Yours.

Then we have the impacts. We’re all characters with roles we don’t even know we’re playing.
The amount we relay and to whom is a part of our character. People percieve it at all different levels, but the fact that we’re now apart of not just our one story, but theirs too,  is kind of cool. Right?

You fill up your vehicle at a gas station that has really great fuel prices. Your aunt tells her friend that, and her friends son goes to that exact gas station and sees a friend that invites him out to a baseball dance party game slash whatever sounds awesome right here and he has such a great time and meets his future wife.

We are all connected.

 

 

 

 

And hey,
I guess a blank mind is never actuallly blank.