Lately you've been dodging bullet holes

Fleeing the scene of tire marks

I praise my bruises for a new place to start

Where they can't see the past that tore out all the kind and fragile parts

There is paper and wood I am storing

Axes, boots, and a steady hand for the harshness of darkness & winter

Be prepared, your maker would carry more kindness if only you were a man

It can wire cut fences, mend blind faith and sickness, but it never keeps up with those delicates, who claimed the arrows and carried the wings

My vulnerability makes it hard to breathe

On this journey did I forget anything 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The past almost decade the wind taken out of me that I cannot live or be the same. Every time I feel I can finally settle and lay my sails open the world keeps changing on a reshuffling loop. It's not being beat down but I recognize a metamorphosis I am going through. Though I don't know if that is necessarily permanent beyond a point of no return way, but in changing there is at least some point of no return. We live such sadder and more disappointing existences than we care to admit with all those dreams we were going to fill quiet, small, hopeful and large. Yet the ebb and flow of many erode. So what now?

The sound of late night pain humming through the humidity staring at the galaxy waves

The mysterious vanishing of your electricity