Music composer, painter, and wanna be poet. I use empathy for daily inspiration. I tend to use Twitter to throw ideas about consciousness into a kaleidoscope.
One of the lowest moments in human interaction is when you genuinely try to be positive and supportive of another person and another says no. No. Don’t do that. They aren’t worth it. I will always keep trying.
A special word for when you know they can’t love you back? Back as in knowing the string attached to your heart is being pulled but not a tug. It rips. Fight it. They yank. You try not to let go but your heart hurts. I need to strengthen this muscle or it will soon be destroyed.
Why can’t we think of the animals more as you launch rockets just for fun?
I get it. I loved fireworks as a kid but I wasn’t educated about how harmful they can be to wildlife. Why do we as humans have to set stuff on fire all the time?
Lies from the wolf with sweet lips. Poetry! It’s wrong but also right as the meaning sinks deeper. Am I? Is it? Does it even matter in an attempt to find balance in an unstable world talking to unstable people? What kind of “people” am I? I just want to help and bring others up.
He felt alone. People tried to say words but they had no real meaning other than to manipulate. He ordered some McNuggets because he really liked the Minecraft sauce but it was gone. He felt sad and a lonely. He chuckled. The buffalo sauce was still pretty good.
What does it mean when I don’t want to be alone but also prefer to be alone. Why am I putting words here, on a dead bird? The light is dim in my reality and I fight to explain and understand it. I am still grateful for the words to even express my emotions in a rudimentary way.
How did I let life beat me into a place where I felt my art wasn’t good enough? Maybe because I’ve never felt “good enough” somehow. Was it life or was it me? Was it the inexorable march of time or was it self loathing soaking in a stew of responsibility and misunderstandings?
Whispers of time in the leaves, passing with the wind. A sky breathing change, clutching gray clouds. They hang as heavy thoughts. Ancient and wise beings, billowing the truth in all things. And though my branches are worn, dreams forlorn, hope lingers in the breeze of tomorrow.
Hearing the rain hitting tree leaves moves me to a state of peace. Thunder in the distance, like the call of a gentle passionate heart. Birds take time to rest despite their desire to sing. Peace. Rest. Renewal. In each drop of rain to form a symphony of regrowth and cleansing.
Was it destiny? Was it seen in the tea, leaves leaving behind, the stain of the past used to predict the future. All in the nick of time, nicked my time for the man I dreamed, to fade leaving a glaze that could be. Fighting apathy on a daily basis, always leaving traces, marks …
I opened a window as the rain began to fall; my spirit felt at ease with its gentle timbre. And I found peace in my shelter with the thrum of life and time.
Tears running as a reflection. The power of a memory. Swift as the lonely owl under the shining moon. Graceful and beautiful in solitude. Sun do not rise. I’ve found my place in this silence. And wish to never speak again.