Life is good right now… hanging out with awesome friends eating brownies and reading Shel Silverstein. Plus my sister is here and she is letting me share some of her thoughts with you… Her words:
Overwhelmed
by the overwhelming
overwhelmingness
of now and we
_____perception
_____direction
_____motionless
_____movement
_____through same-
_____ness.
__________Be!
__________You are!
and it is
anyways,
what you already are.
more thoughts in poetry…
he looks at her and she’s
rhythm and blues
where are the words where are they hiding come out my friends come out and play let me tangle my fingers in your hair where are the words
and then there is…
…peace
my stomach is filled with you
with this smooth fantasy of
it doesn’t matter if these words are yours
or mine
they’re sweet and
exactly what I need.
Sometimes I think about walls. They’re all around us – we depend on them, for warmth, for shelter, for stability. But there’s walls that we build and then walls that build ourselves, carving our consciousness into mansions. There are rooms that I haven’t visited in years. There are doors that I don’t have the key for. There are walls that deserve wrecking balls, not paint. Telling your story is like writing on walls. Words are not fleeting – they linger long past the tenant’s death. Maybe this is why we’re afraid.
we’re all a little bit afraid to write on walls
they’re a bit too cumbersome to slip into pockets
a bit too heavy to tuck under pillows
walls have a bad habit of sticking around way past their welcome
but we haven’t figured out a way to tell them
we’d really prefer the sky