In my ten minutes.

I fear the attitude of descent.
I was a coward today.
Past braveries cannot avert this truth. Bummer, huh?

My heart is EVERYWHERE.
My words haven't reached me yet.
Until then, I hear a song...
"Come on... put your hands into the fire"
And I know there is something in that statement
that speaks to my circumstance.

I hate endings.
I'm not even movin away this year and still I feel sad that not everything will stay the same. Nothing will ever be the same. (How true is that?) I feel that every day. I write about it all the time-- revel in the change and soak up the potential-- and still, I hate them all.
Why do we diminish past human connection?
With all my talk of NO unspoken words, and searching for truth and bla bla BLA. I still do this. Why do we cut ourselves off from eachother?
(INSERT 3290-4539204-3201-34890214-3 ANSWERS HERE.)
Then, know that you still remain in the dark.
So do I.
Why?

My feelings are hurt.
I hate that that sentence isn't okay to admit, once you have past the age of six. They are hurt. I am a sad little girl in my barefeet, fakin bravery. Confess that. Do that. Say that.

I miss the ferry boats.

I am convinced that everyone has art
(music, words, colors, string)
in them.
Because everyone has a soul in them.
Create.

I am pukin out paragraphs and never getting to what I have to say. WHAT IS IT I AM TRYIN TO SAY? I am a hurricane on a day that most wouldn't feel the wind. You know what a hurricane is? A natural disaster. A chaotic combination of elements. I am ripping up the coast with no means to slow down. Can you feel me out there? Does it matter? Where is my masterpiece of clarity?

Whew.

If I weren't so set on bein true to my mind, I might could ignore the mess. Instead, I search through its remains. The broken barometers. The new tenants. Instead, I am very aware of my complexities.

I am grateful still.
Slow.
Stability?