Some folks in my life don’t like the time I spend writing; Simply because I’m not spending it with them. But if I abandon this part of me how can I live with who I am if I don’t know Her? 060120
Some folks in my life don’t like the time I spend writing; Simply because I’m not spending it with them. But if I abandon this part of me how can I live with who I am if I don’t know Her? 060120
I’m anemic, Though my bones and marrow are full of Irony. And ironically, I’m tired… of apologizing For being unapologetic. For who I am. Happiness as a state of mind and being is a supplement, though as a drug, it is more an idiosyncrasy. …I’ve yet to master the navigation of its highs and heights.
#hashtag my life, shorten it to simple sentences, and character limits and finite blocks of shorthanded text. Strip my linguistics from my creatively complex lexicon, equate my inability to comprehend conformity to the mass desire to relate. To someone, to anyone, [to] find their flawed differences mirrored in another being’s abbreviated expression(s) of self. I …
I do match, but moreso in an abstract way than in a coordinated one… 24 March 2019
I want things I can’t have; Things that are more than physical, more than emotional, more than possible. I want things I know I deserve things so easily attainable I’ve convinced myself they’re only future dreams. Dreams that I’ll try to step up to but instead place aside [with] other things I’ll get to dull …
I still feel like an impostor but… not in that I’m hiding or faking my presence, but in that I have trouble finding a sense of belong wherever I am. Really, moreso in that the need to belong hurts intensely more than the truth of the knowledge that I don’t. 23 March 2019
Even subconsciously I know when hurt is out to hurt me and always I feel as though my peaceful passiveness toward it all pilots the gas that lights the flames of self-pity that brand me with every acquiescence. 23 March 2019
My body resists this tired, Rebukes this tired, Evades this tired, denies and expels this tired, tries to escape this tired… My body fights this tired; Because it don’t have time to be this tired.
Took a few days off,
Now I’m back with another one off
the top of this dome,
where whimsy and logic freely foam.
Pen keys open
[the] doors to my haven.
Writing a sweet freedom;
stories of belong,
Wistful strains of home
My soul’s siren song.
You don’t understand my love. You don’t understand the depths of its deep, the flows of its flux. Like rivers, like oceans, terrifying bottomlessness – Weightless heaviness like stepping unexpectedly from the shallows. You don’t understand my heart, How its every beat creates rhythms that know dance, Yet there’s no dancing When we touch, Only …
True wealth is the wealth of the soul
Poetry, story and real life. Once soldier, busnessman, grandfather and Poet.
A collective of thoughts, poetry, writing works, blurbs, and other randomosity
BUZZWEED QUIZZES
Art Studio Dumfriesshire
Kayfucius 
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