Ten thousand shingles A spending spree Dirt rubble and anger A concrete mix Infusing the structure Betwixt humans Sledgehammering against assumptions and attacks Until a dome of glass is built, to protect and magnify The things underneath the skin So porous. Domicile. The shack of protection weathered Trudge. Embattled.
Like a scratch in the back of my throat the nostalgia of heartbreak comes rushing back and I’m not sure if it’s a specific name-able, diagnosable sadness, or just the fragility of all existence weighing into the atmosphere that settles around my soul. And I want to purge and run from it and destroy it….
I threw up the fists I’m ready for blows I’ll cover my face And hide in pillows I don’t want to hurt I don’t want to be hurt I don’t want to fight I need to ignite
The earth awakens A blue speckled robins egg cues the dawn of spring
It’s time for gardening. It’s time to bend in the sun. To tear out the things that don’t belong. To make space for things new. To work your hands in to the dirt and wrap your fingers around the weeds And use the strength from your living arms to take away distractions, impediments of…