I’ve been accused of overdosing on confidence.
That girl used to sniff poison to her veins,
Now the chemicals that concoct all her congrats and credentials
Are thanks to her newest confidence confection
I drive to the empty parking lot of my
S * A * N* C * T * U *A*R*Y
To empty out all of my thoughts without pausing to the blaring of blasphemous bullshit on the box outside of my room- that never seems to turn off
A place I skip too
Never to be scolded
For being something
People look at me like I’m crazy when I tell them of the miles I’ll drive. Destination, another chapter written. I am blessed that this is my gift. I believe being a writer is its subcategory of one having a wild soul.
There is no set definition, no fixed compass set for the due north.
Just a girl, with her pen and paper and passion.
I also know what it is like to have a gift take over vulnerable times; engulfing on weakness from one’s own mind or blows brought on by others. The spaces between my lines sang an album of sorrows; what was the POINT?
The point of writing about my poison, past, present, and future; moderately between good and bad.
For I believe the arche of life lies in the ability in one to balance, listen and learn. Do not be “the last word,” for it will never be remembered.
I see no point to hostility. I used too. I thought that by “roaring so loud” to the wrong collaboration of individuals; there is no one to blame EVERY TIME.
There are some cases that call for call backs.
There are others that cannot be mended; I say no blame,
For no human knows exactly the perception or thinking process of another.
You cannot blame; only explain.