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.

Easy Effort

“Can you wind message me?”
he asked, with pre-drip eyes.
I was leaving, he knew
at the next sunrise.

I smiled so softly
even teddy bears would be proud,
as I blundered on a “yes “,
a “for sure “; to him this I vowed.

And so I would kiss the air
every evening and day,
wipe my miss tears on feathers
“I love you “ I‘d say.

What consolation,
to have the leaves wiggle back,
a grin on my cheekbones,
two feet on one track.

It wasn’t long after,
when the journey was done,
he smiled a thank you
“for the whispers “ dear Mom.

Delight

Well if I was the rainbow dressed in feathers and glue, I’d probably stick up for the gold, and undo a shoe.
It always happens like this, getting the quotes in up for sale. People making money off starting a trail.

I delight in a lot of my own being, but what happens when I realize it’s too little of you-ing and too much of me-ing.

There’s a balance to be kept, to keep the raft afloat, but do I dip too far forward and forget that I have hope?

Don’t mind me, but do. I am the type of person that’ll find your niche and your canoe. I know waves and I know water, teach me your swim and I’ll call you father.

Race Track

The deep pitted ‘if I was avocado sugar feeling, racing around my blood track. Apprehensive little race car cells, being all cute and energetic. Is it better not to brace for impact? And better to embrace the nature of it? There’s beauty in the after affects but holy nugget there’s an oil tank of fear too. Why? Well. Car can’t go vroom without oil, right?