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Remembering Things May 25, 2017

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I’m not interested in the past. I’m not there anymore.

I don’t want to go back.

Sure, I have some good memories, but even the good ones hurt.

Old polaroids. Even the good ones are faded and yellowed with time.

The love I had for some and what some others didn’t have for me.

I’m more interested in the ones I haven’t made yet.

The pictures that haven’t developed.

We can make art.

I’ve got my camera.

Let’s take some pictures.

 

 

 

 

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False Petals, True Thorns October 15, 2016

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I have a tendency to see and believe the best in people. I’ve also seen the worst in people and this is where my confusion sets in… I guess even roses have thorns.

It doesn’t matter if you’re a fake friend. I will still be a real friend to you, because that’s who I am. You can tell lies, you can tell secrets, you can make fun of me and call me names, you can pretend that I don’t know. But I am not stupid and I am not blind. Although, I may still be a little bit naive after all these years and experiences… I just choose to forgive.

I choose to forgive and I will choose to forgive every time because you do not have the power to ruin me. You did not make me. You cannot break me.

Stream of Consciousness #406 September 4, 2016

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I’m decorating my day planner. I’m feeling artsy and kind of inspired (or motivated?), but unable to grasp the inspiration. . . subsequently, though I am creating (sort of) I feel restless. I am searching my mind for a song, image, word, story, person… something tangible that inspired me today. I am recalling nothing.

My Brainsparker app on my phone says “focus.” I’m trying. Focus on what?

Flipping through the undecorated pages of my planner.. I realize that those dull, grayish papers are my life. Undecorated. Just like these pages, I feel my life is lacking colour, sparkle, fun (spontaneity).

I feel like a robot at work “Hi, how are you?” *boop* *boop* *boop*Three days feels more like one long day.

The only one who can change things is me. I know this. I’ve tried to make changes, but as much as I crave and desire the change, I cannot seem to commit to my new habits. I can implement new habits, maintain them for about two months, and but then drop them as if I had never started in the first place. Things will never change like that. I implement the change/habit: encourage myself –> I continue the new habit: I praise myself –>  I drop the new habit: I chastise myself. Rinse. Repeat. Without consistency,  my dreams will never become reality and I will remain a sleeper forever.

A dreamer discouraged longs only to sleep.

I am tired.

 

 

Dizzy Up the Girl November 8, 2015

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I don’t remember when I started spinning..

but I don’t think I’ve ever stopped.

It’s dizzying, it’s maddening, it’s wonderful, and it’s not.

Sometimes, when I think that the ground is standing still, I remember you –

and the familiar wind-created by-motion begins again.

Stormchaser November 8, 2015

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I’m in no particular rush, but I seem to have tripped over the sky.

The trouble with being in the clouds is that you never know when you’re going to get rained on.

I like the sound of the thunder, and the risk of being shocked.

Untitled Poem #630 November 8, 2015

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Arms outstretched toward the sky, I should feel expansive

breathing,

standing,

sunlight on my face –

but the wind is cold

and I am confused by this weight that holds me down.

I am not a tree.

I do not feel rooted.. only stuck.

I am compressed 

down, down

by this invisible barrier

and if I want to move, I must crawl along the ground

But how is a bird to crawl when it is meant to fly?

 

Maybe I Don’t Care November 8, 2015

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(Originally from September 16, 2013)

If the world were burning, I might dance in the flames.

There’s this thing that I used to think a lot about. . . but I don’t think about it so much anymore. I’m not sure if this is a good thing, or a bad thing.

I’ve noticed that if I think about a thing long enough, I can think myself out of caring about it, which, I suppose is a good thing…

Beneath a Tattered Sky November 8, 2015

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(Originally from April 4, 2011)

Once I looked up. All I could see was Clouds. Then it rained and the Sky fell down.

Untitled #450 November 8, 2015

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(Originally from  July 7, 2010)

3:34 pm.

I’m at the corner of Forever and Never. Two words which, by the way, I have eliminated from my vocabulary. I don’t think I believe in them.

I’m listening to Boyce Avenue. I’m somewhat inspired, but now is not the time to put my muse to work.

8-10 Ounces August 19, 2015

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My heart is heavy.

My heart is heavy and everyday it weighs a little more. Everyday it weighs more because it swells with so much love for people  for the world. The weight of it pulls the tears from my eyes and everyday they find more reasons to spill. . . for that girl who lost her dog; for the trees that are being cut down; for the hungry bellies in a country I’ve never been to. . .

Some might say that I’m too sensitive, and maybe I am. But I’d rather feel too much than feel nothing. There was a time when just the opposite was true. I was tired of feeling so intensely. I wished that I couldn’t feel at all. But it’s become abundantly clear to me that there are enough people who don’t care, with their hearts that are two sizes too small. So don’t tell me that I’m too sensitive. You, with your Grinch-hearts.

Yes, my heart is heavy, but it’s no burden and I’ll tell you secret: the more you fill it, the more it pours out and the lighter it becomes.

Yes, my heart is heavy. But my heart is heavy because it’s full. It’s filled with compassion.

It’s heavy because it helps to carry the weight of yours.