Climbing through the window into WordPress House is like coming home. I don’t come through the door because that’s too easy. Over half the houses have video ring doorbells and get visual and it’s not like I don’t want to be seen.. it’s just if i can have the strength and power and wherewithall, to fit through a window now before i can’t, i really wise well should. Living afterall, while I can, is like living once. And then you were never here. Anyways. cool to pop my head in every once and while. It feels like the feng shway of this place never gets old. And that’s one of the things that keep me young.
You cant keep blocking or ignoring the feelings. They can swim. You cant drown them with alcoholic ice or drugs. Numbing them doesn’t make them flee forever. You will always come back to them in some way or another if you don’t properly work through them, with them. Your freedom-to live happier, is worth it.
You don’t owe me anything
and I’m mad because you don’t.
Your being is closer, the sapphire fragrance of your inner child stands tall among the adult reeds. And my hands dribble through the adequate possibility, catching the stickiness of the long stems between my fingers.
Making sense of today, the future.
How many wrong roads have I taken ?
How many have been right?
Why do I feel they are mostly wrong,
when I know i am where i am supposed to be?
Am i not convinced
or am i just uncomfortable sitting so fragile?
I think about you everyday. I miss you. I think about the what have I dones and the whys and why didn’t I and how could I and what was I thinking and in all of this, making some rational sense because sense without rational is like the national anthem without pride.
oh Life, I don’t want to disappoint you anymore.
Awgust blooms it’s way onto the platform.
a different approach is taken.
i don’t dance yet,
my mind is stabilizing still.
trickles of frustration and anger
i let them.
I am not afraid of what I feel
i am shifting control to me.
and Awgust will be my platform
on which to do so.
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.