The beds we make When our hearts are guarded, And our eyes are closed, Are cold. Advertisements
Okay, so you get married and everything is great, life sorta flat lines. It’s the confusion that’s powerful. The singleness. It’s the difficulties that make the most fertile soil.
The courageous mustn’t solicit advice From the terrified. Path makers and pathfinders rarely speak the same language. Running away and knowing when you’ve had enough are two very different things.
Perfectly timed Interruptions Ruin Perfectly planned Days of delight. Though, Flexible folk Focus on The folly and fun Of disarray.
The love I had is fading, My vision is no longer rosey, and The butterflies inside Are silent. Today–finally, The cons outweigh the pros.
Let go of those who Never held on to you. How light they must be– And ungrateful– Having had you carry them for So long.
I remind myself to breathe When panic holds my breath; I tell myself to settle Like the sea on a Sunday. I fall to the floor Finished, but never done.
New energy Buzzing behind my eyes. How time heals all things, How silence sings to those Who tend to her. How magic befriends the introverted. My stomach no longer turns, Anxiety unfriended, Worry wiped away; New energy.
Mineral rich, Blood is thicker than water But sometimes too merky for lieless love. Water is transperant and truthful. Sometimes family isn’t kin And brothers and sisters, Mothers and fathers, Can be found in foreign places.
But aren’t I more than A fountain to be drained; A path to be travelled; A heart to be broken; And a place for rest?