A Deconstruction of Time
Time is not a race, it's not even a thing.
In fact it's a completely made up, fabricated entity brought into materialization for the soul purpose of differentiating a moment.
It's mans way of making sense of our existence. Our need for structure, for walls, for different compartments, for boxes. Because without structure what are . . .
Posted in: poetic riffs
Laying my mind to rest
I just want to let go.
Free my mind.
Take life by the horns again... I am a Taurus after all!
Let myself play and experiment.
Write because it makes me feel good. Allow my thoughts an escape, my words to be seen. Even if they make no sense to someone else. Even if they benefit only me.
I want to release myself from the shackles of . . .
Posted in: poetic riffs
Releasing my inner voice
From a very young age I learned the difference between being seen, verses being heard. I discovered that unless I open my mouth to say something people will assume what I am thinking just by looking at me.
This realization hit me one day when I was perhaps 6 or 7 years of age. I was at a family function desperately wanting to play with this . . .
I may not be impressive.
I may not have done anything noteworthy with my life, thus far.
I may never have been that girl who raised her hand in school, or volunteered to be a project leader, or team captain.
I may never have been that girl who got A's in every class, who listened and contributed to each and every topic of conversation, . . .
I lie on this twin bed.
Now my marital bed, once my sister-in-law's... who is now 32.
Hundreds of fluffy white clouds parade the blue wallpapered walls.
Teenage posters and album covers, faces of the famous, hang before me. Some sag and buckle with the weariness of time. Smears of blue tack streak from their corners.
A dejected pine . . .
Our time in New Orleans has come to an end.
In fact, we have literally hit a dead end! Our apartment complex backs up to the levee... a monstrous grey wall that has stared at us in mocking silence every day since last September. Imploring us to open our eyes and see that we have actually hit a wall.
Until a few weeks ago we have remained . . .
I spent four hours yesterday rewriting a post I'd written and published on my blog six months ago. Then today I read it, hated it, and switched it back to its original version. Meanwhile I'm still not 100% happy with it...
I am totally perplexed why I would waste so much precious time agonizing over an old post, especially since there . . .