Can they see through my eyes? Do they look at my abundance with scorn? Or are they also with me as I roll down my own face?
Their hands stoke the fires that feed me. I eat begrudgingly. I owe them a debt I never asked for
I need something to grow toward, my own star. Without that thing I am contorted and shriveled, but I still live. I feel my ancestors pushing me forward but every cell whimpers in its progress
At my best I put fun first
I don't let little things like poor judgment or Winter Winds stop me from showing my pound of Flesh
Feelings I wish could be bottled: sitting, perhaps slightly miffed in traffic and a vehicle passes in front of your eyes. In a split second you see that the driver is laughing, surprised, fighting to keep their eyes open to see the road. The passenger has made them laugh, their face is aglow with giving-laughter. You couldn't say who of the two is happier.
Sad sad sad sad sad sad sad
Do you ever imagine a future for yourself that's so alien, you can't begin to predict what it might feel like to wake up in that life? What will the sun feel like? Is it cold there, or warm? Who will say your name - what names will you have there? What wonders are waiting for you, inconceivable, unnameable, and necessary?
I hope I never fall in love again. Makes me feel off balance and uncomfortably drunk. I don't want to be a penlight beam tracing a beloved collarbone. I'll be the soft light of a distant star. My love goes in every direction. It's pale and easy. It's always there if you know where to look in the night sky.
I may not know my words, but I do know my heart
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