In order to live life good, goes it have to be difficult? When you are coming from years of a bad habit, to work against it on a constant basis, that’s not easy. And ongoing after ongoing, it just feels like life is just this. Striving to rid yourself of something you accepted. Oh but all the things to know beyond this place. All the things to learn about myself beyond where I am now. Is that the dig dug down fuel? Is that what I believe in?
You are the soulstice to my ever glowing nature. The soulutions I find in my everyday. Your soulfullness resonates in my bones, that warm laundrified fuzzy blanket against bone skin. How soulganic we are in our soulitude. You soulidify so much purpose in my being, that soulving kind of souldier, dedicated not to beat the problems, but to make them understood. The absoulute of my breath, the consoulable feature of all teddy bear grub. My resoulationial feats when I get stuck in mind mud. I’d stay in isoulation with you, fuel ourselves with our gasouline and live in the factual heat. That all of this means you are my soul mate.
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.
Waking up before son, but not before sun- she can’t wake if she’s never slept.
It’s nice for the land and animals to catch what she touches before I do.
I go to welcome her a few times a year. I think I want it to be more; she always tells me she appreciates it when I appreciate her.
Just to hear the train whistle and the morning birds caw their way through a gossiping cluster, I sit awake in the middle of the week.
I need to get still so I can be better.
I need to breath deeper so I can locate patience.
I need to enter my conscious before I access my vocals.
People like fire for roasting hot dogs and marshmallows, they even like it for passion and direction. For motivation and drive.
Not for the flare in the eyes or the tone of the sound. Not when flames mean the lash and the scold. You end up burning your own feet.
So sun, I know you’re hot but can you help me cool my insides.
So son, I know you’re seven, but can you help me be five.
There were no fires there. There were no fires then.
Kids will gravitate towards the parent that doesn’t overreact.
If I broke a dish, I would most always go to my Mom to tell her instead of my Dad.
If I crashed the four wheeler into a tree, I would hope my Dad wouldn’t see it and pretend it didn’t happen. The sneaking around and lying became a way just because I was too afraid to admit the truth to someone that would yell at me and make me feel awful for whatever happened. Things that were just accidents. As a child the answer was easy. I didn’t need to put myself through something bad when I could just avoid it by not revealing.
I make mistakes okay. My son knows if he spills a box of nuts on the ground, he doesn’t need to hide it from me. He tells me when he’s ripped his pants or broke his remote control car. When he gets older, I’ll want him to feel he can come to me with problems or issues that maybe I won’t be too happy about, but I won’t flare up and put up walls where embrace and compassion are all he needs.