I want my life a certain way. I can’t just WAIT for that to happen to me. That was my childhood. That is what is not going to happen now. I have to make the changes myself. Why is it so difficult???
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.
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
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.
Expect and equip.
You have it in you.
Like cat or baby
sitting on our lap,
and how often we have to pee
or grab the kettle
but we share that moment with our heart and our head
and we sit still.
We don’t get up
because to disturb the beauty
would be oh so unsatisfying.
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.
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.
And I’m sitting in a couch chair and my feet don’t touch the floor cause I’m all the way back in it, and I feel like I’m all of 13 and a half age years oldyoung.
Candy coated sugar kings,
we tell ourselves our own jokes
by looking in the mirror.
Would I rather be tin man
instead of feeling these highs and lows?
Maybe I just sit on my gold chair
alittle longer each time,
waiting out the anticipation
of falling into mud again.
Is happiness more for the good people?
Gridlocked richable;plateau paired with pineapple. Flavour sprung to the strung out planets. All popped up along the circle horizon. I’ll taste the confetti from the sun, piece together the cheese that falls from the moon. I’ll even drink the wine from a glass.
I sit on a chair
and I really think I don’t care
About being alive
Cause I suck at living a life,
but I’m great at living a lie.