smiling a little too much it is the thought that counts grounding the ideal we will say things too many of them behind closed doors (and the sun continues) *posted in 2019, edited in 2022
she was weaving a story it felt good but the weft threads were shaking memories were interrupting the most beautiful dreams and awakening a sense of dizziness
they imagined the sky they chiseled the clouds imitating the waves they lived each and everry day
I close my eyes to listen to my roots, the roof over my head an illusion that did not hold up, I would take somebody else’s voice to fill the guest card and then lay down, exhausted, in my dark stories.
looking for (something) finding (it) crossing (it) out reformulating (it) doing (it) again finding (it sometimes)