Like branches reaching out. You watch my leaves change over the year. While birds, squirrels, and caterpillers live in me, by me, with me. You see my exterior, my defenses, my protection, my ageing, my shading and my colors. You don’t see the rings that make me up inside. How many did you grow…? Where did my seed come from? How did it get planted here? The storms occasionally break my branches and a few of my rings are exposed for anything or anyone to see. Caterpillers turn into butterflies. Baby birds take flight. I don’t know what squirrels do. I’m here waiting. Don’t worry I still need you. I still need the sun so you can breathe.
Billions of orange dots
The fuzzy vibrations when my eyes are closed. Like an empty screen. Like the pitch black sky when a dim amber light is near by. Maybe all the colors are there. I press my hand on the wall. I imagine you being on the other side.
I’m surrounded by a fog. It’s powder blue. I’m wondering where the sun is today. It must be busy touching down for others. I look for my feet. I see a little white sparkle. Is that some light? I reach out for it. I feel it. It’s wet. I swirl my hand in it. I pull it back towards my face. My hand is all muddy. The wet mud immediately begins to dry. It makes all these cracks. It feels stiff. I turn my hand in the air and make a fist.
Like cold air
The sound like cold air surrounding you down from head, shoulders, to your toes. The numbing makes you unsure if you feel the ground. Maybe you’re suspended in air?
I want to believe in mystical things but I don’t.
I wanna believe you’re the person I think you are but I don’t.
I think I have this strong desire to be logical that’s always colliding into fantastical ideas. The fantasy has a tendency to take my heart away. Then I guess I’ve become untrue. I’m too tired to go anyways. I want to believe in real things but I don’t and I do. I want to believe in making magic but I don’t. I don’t. What am I doing?
Contradicting myself into a pile of garbage.
Maybe I’ll be able to recycle myself with some staples and paint.
I do have those things laying around somewhere.
I’m awake. I dreamt a horse was biting me. It didn’t hurt me but I was worried it would.
At some point years ago I stopped trusting how I feel about things. I was escaping the present all the time. I felt destructive emotionally and lost. I decided to be more logical. I was making safer choices. I later realized they were impulsive choices. Impulsive decisions can’t be safe. I jumped into really big things with a lot of commitment tied into it. I got trapped and forced into being a type of person. A typical normal type of person I guess.
I’m not that. I’m not regular.
I can’t do the normal things people do. A mundane life style makes me cry.
I don’t want to talk about my personality. I don’t want to talk about being abused or rejected or abandoned.
I want to talk about what makes me happy. I want to be there in that feeling freely.
It’s a feeling I want to trust not a reality.
Maybe it’s a lie but it’s a good story.
I don’t know what the horse was about.
Then there are lists made.
What does it all mean? For tonight…
One, eat two cupcakes.
Two, have stomach pains.
Three, think about the saying “burning bridges.” Remember bridges are one of your good things. Hmm, yes.
A feeling creeps in a lot like a byproduct.
There wasn’t a lot that happened today. A simple kind of boring day. I woke up to a baby chick placed by my head chirping on a pillow. Not my pillow, a borrowed one. That may not seem ordinary and it’s not for me but the rest of the day was common. I tend to relate to the boring and negative parts of my life a lot more than the respectable and enjoyable parts. Happiness is slippery to me. Got yah, got yah, got yah, oh dammit. It reminds me of this once, eleven years ago, when I went slip and sliding in someone’s backyard on a tarp covered in soap. I ran so hard forward hoping to really enjoy myself to end up sitting in a kitchen with blood soaked paper towels. There was a large root from an oak tree hidden by the blue tarp and I smashed my big toe into it with a passion. Busted skin filled with soap isn’t the greatest time. I also noticed blood makes me sick to my stomach. My stomach likes to speak to me. I’ve recently read something about how stomach bacteria has a mind of it’s own and I felt so aware of my life. Thanks oddity for making me feel at home. The oddity being the little acid green bacteria guys hanging out in my guts at a table with visors and dark reading material. Ugh get outta here. Maybe if I don’t eat they will go away? They’ll probably be like crusty green boogers until food plumps them back up. Oh right, I had two cupcakes.
Finding something
A little piece of forgotten forest.
Kads 