Heart on my sleeve (pt.1 &2)

I wear my heart on my sleeve

But I wear a lot of layers

I wear my heart on my sleeve

But I walk into a lot of walls and I bruise easily


Why I Seem No Good 

Jan 20 2015

My head is filled up with useless oddities and novel plots and things to do and that I haven’t done (yet) and song lyrics and confused bits of art history and pictures of maps and animals and pictures and ads I’ve seen and smells I can’t put my finger on until they waft by unexpectedly

My head is an old abandoned grain elevator with too many floors and broken windows and a whole lotta missing floor pieces where the memories and ideas seem to get stuck in A place where the elevator only works when no ones around and the stairs have no railing

Bath time 

Dec 19 2014

Anger was born in me

As was joy and love

But death planted its seed at the same moment life did

And they’ve grown in unison

Collaborating and working on their fruit

Whilst I try to harvest the balance that creates harmony

But I wasn’t born a gardener

I wasn’t born anything,

Just dirt


Jan 4 2015

Like a flower on the neglected side of a mountain

Waiting, but not wilting

Withering and shivering in the thin air

Deprived of what it never knew it could want

Like a flower

But not a flower

For a flower has no wants, only needs

No matter where is grows

A flower will always spread its seeds

(and that is hope)

Breathing too little

Air too thin

Lungs too small

Slight tremble as she holds the page of her will

The one she wrote after a long walk

Emotionless as the words that flow

Death is never too far and she is never too careful

Death is never too careful

She is never too far

Faint as she thinks of the great sadness within her

The one that she suppresses until the tea goes sour

When the bath runs cold

Until the stars disappear


Of when the sun bursts and space takes it back

Time and self being 

Dec 17 2014

Do not discuss the past

And do not discuss the future

For who I was is dead

And who I will be is not yet born

The present moment

And the current me

Do not mourn

And do not celebrate the passing or creation of a self who was not true

For the one who writes this, the present me,

Is a fool and a fake

And knows nothing of right now