I keep dropping things, but not the important things. Funny thing is that I only keep the important things around. Seems some of those things are just vessels, unlike me.
I feel more rooted than ever before, which really means I feel steadfast in waving my limbs around in the breeze, unafraid of anything. Guilt is fleeting and thankfully melting off of me. I have substance and my growth is forthcoming. I put lovely sap all over your face, your fucking car, your sexism, your mold. I put my sap like a leech farm, co-existing with your filth, knowing full well the beauty in your ideas will prevail over the environment that shaped your concepts of love and feminism. It won’t be big effort; like all things, it just is…energy.
It’s like they said in that one movie, “Americans know entertainment, but they know nothing of pleasure….the sweetness of doing nothing.”
Some thing is always spinning circles, with the world, turning. I see you swirling around, feeling out of control. Some times, I wish you’d just sit with me, calmly depicting the scents in the air. It would glorify your sense of relief. Nothing falls down while we remember to breathe.
My heart digs deeper into myself…It is sort of an inverted prism by now, existing in some tesseract dimension. Once in a while, it reverts flying straight down your throat. My love is intense.