The letters were scribbled on rubbish.
They left their farewell on the back of the receipt.
Oil absorbed through it creating the mark of
Unavoidable interruptions in our long conversations.
The night we decided to talk was at the pub down the street.
Water droplets and old crumbs were on our table.
We wiped them away with a napkin we found nearby.
It was still greasy, but we settled anyway.
How many hours, I wonder, did we waste?
When we tried to balance the check of this relationship.
It’s not easy to split the portion evenly, as we both remembered.
It’s moot to add, subtract, multiply and divide.
What did I provide to you, my beloved?
A deep comfort kind of feeling only I can deliver
Or just a craving you needed to satiate?
Passion isn’t solely represented in the final product of someone’s creation. Being passionate towards something or someone is one in which takes a lot of time, energy and patience. I don’t think it needs any other qualities than that. It can be seen in the devoted late nights of doing research on this one particular area of interest. Passion can be felt in the soreness of your muscles from the energy exerted to learn more about the chosen subject, project or idea. It requires a kind of loyalty that comes from endless times of making mistakes or re-examination or further analysis. Passion is consuming.
My body Blinded by inner sensations Cause and location are unknown. Feeling gutted in the heart. Feeling heavy from the start. Feeling force in the mind. Passion is not light. It does not breed weakness. Passion is a fight For feeling what’s right. Time is timeless Will is all that matters.
Unpack the heaviness,
Tied around your soul.
Combine the ease and calm,
To create a waterfall of healing.
Nourish yourself with sweetness,
Strength, power and energy.
A life is to be lived,
Happiness to be gained,
Wounds to be healed.
you hitchhiked into my heart
like an arrow flung from the bow
from an angel in the air waiting for love.
one minute i think of nothing
and the next, it’s this. just this.
it started with the window.
the air, the floral, the clouds
i fell deep into the powers of calm.
i haven’t looked back. not once.
because once life is seen this way,
it’s hard to see it any other way.
but sometimes being lost happens &
navigation is hard without an address.
can’t gps my way back to the open road.
so i’ll keep an eye out
for the next angel i see in the sky.
a love so strong
tides and floods,
battles and loss
can never defeat.
love that renews
over and over
not even close
if ever lost,
a thousand moments
will be dedicated
to rebuild a love
Silver thimbles hung on twiddle thumbs
On guitar strings strumming goodbye songs.
Uncover the lost messages in this puzzle game
As I spew out metaphors of this heartfelt strain.
Wrap me over your shoulders as I hang on tight,
Like a baby girl sleeping in soft blankets delight.
Nourish my wounded ego with salted teardrops
Avoid crossing the lines and running red light stops.
We have to make it. We gotta get there.
But how does that saying go, “life’s not fair?”
inspired by singer-songwriter mitski’s song first love/late spring.
They searched for clarity,
From square windows in the sky.
Tipping a glass jar of pennies
Scoring enough to pay the fare.
Seeing rain drops fall upon elephant leaves
Collecting puddles on the floor
As newborn kittens happily drink.
Flowers bloom and birds chirp songs,
Explorers seek their hearts in the tree house
With a bamboo bed and door of beads
As it swings and clicks
Whenever anything crosses by.
Last night, I had my camera at the right time. The sun was setting and I couldn’t resist just taking every single photograph. Once I saw what I caught, my heart just wanted to share it. I chased the sun for you. The world is way more beautiful than you ever think. Just pause a bit and see it beyond your everyday eyes and you’ll see something so different, so natural.
The clouds and the way they intermingle with the mixture of colors from the sky get me. I love how artistic nature is without even trying.
Chasing the sun for you, Means you don’t have to Go on alone.
Black sweaty fine hair fall upon your baby face,
As double dutch jump ropes and kickball
Games & laughter & silliness fill up hot summers.
Television hums and antennas tangle reception,
Afternoon naps as Mama beckons us to pink flowers,
Watering each dry soil patch making mud cakes
Picking ripe red cherry tomatoes off the stems
As time goes on without a peep or alarm,
Setting suns signal dinners on the stove,
Showering off the smell of nature’s fragrance
Dreaming dreams without any definition,
Just a feeling and knowing, it’ll be okay.