I'm supposed to go, but I can't seem to pull myself from my safe sheets. Adventure is one thing that gravitates from my sad full-sized mattress laying on the floor; discarded from a frame of thinking, of wood, or of any iron structure. The warmth of rest, nor the compression of the weighted blanket can lure me from the point on the map awaiting me arrival in the next couple hours. I bounce from front door to car door. Damaged goods travel better than one whole to begin with. They have nothing to lose. What's the difference between 5 broken pieces and 6? More to hold and hope for. So I'll lay my eyes on the skyline of capitals And feel the breeze of history past them. I'll plunge off the rigid cliff of stability
Complacency is no safer than emptiness. I'd rather empty myself on purpose than to allow immobility pronounce the nothingness. My pieces float Lining my mind with the shore Not aligned with the stale mentality surrounding me Waving the waves towards me, I submerge, not wanting to surface If I surface, so will the hurt; It's buoyancy is more than my pieces It will define me if I allow it... So I focus on the history of that waters presently consuming me. Maybe let the waves direct me to the shore or to another landmark. My pieces will keep traveling, continuing to be the moving parts of me.
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AuthorChef Steph cooking up trouble. If she can't find anything real, she bakes real good sweets. Chocolate really may mend a broken heart... Archives
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