Confused Bubbs

If I broke the bubbles in the bath with a sledgehammer , I thought myself a murderer.
When I break my own heart, I feel like a loser in the gutters of East Toronto.
What is the difference between smashing up other peoples lives
instead of your own?
What makes guilt fight conscience?

What makes you live so poorly
so intentionally unpotentially?
You know there is more out there for you
then sucking bubbles down your throat trying to drown your sorrows,

as if air could do that anyways.



Learn How to Escape Stuck

Being stuck for years doesn’t have to mean death.

I think it is the feeling of being mentally stuck
that keeps us the stuck for the longest
and perhaps,
the most deadly of all stucks.

We get these bursts of living every now and then
and surge forward with them
and then are surprised when we trip over a log in the middle of a cement parking lot.

Babes,
it’s life.

Expect and equip.

You have it in you.

It’s Inside

Sometimes dramatic thoughts and not thinking about the realistically or literally or common sensically, way, is fun. It’d endearing to my own self. I believe in it . For the fun. For the youthfulness.
And standing on that once upon a time wizard feel, is a fantastic. I feel the confidence that comes with being proud. that’s easy to feel when you have the audience praise popping around the stage of life you’re making. And when you don’t , when you find that the spark’s been sucked up, or you cant light wet ash, you create the fire,you become the rest of the part you stumbled with.
In growing older, you question whether you are being the so young so too much and you wonder about the crowd u want to attract
.
And once you realize the place you want to exist in for yourself, you can love that you can know the power in the relationship you make with who you are.

Living In a Universe

Shall I fall apart, away or inwards?
Shall I grow bigger in my demise, or take seven steps out and start, yet again?

Oh the people that have death, would they envy us? Watch us live so shallow? If only we could die for awhile, just so that we could live again, like we should.
How come some people live like that, without having needed to be dead?

Maybe they come from stellar parts of the universe.

Living Spinny

Sometimes
do you ever feel crazy?
Like you’re a living condition
of clear and of dizzy?

You’re that walking Motherboard
of all your own thoughts and service
and that you aren’t always living
with what you’d call purpose.

Drifting in the luxuries of ignorance and time
a royal game of powder glam
and you’re just in the corner
making strawberry jam.