We describe self the way we've been taught.
Don't ask questions.
Don't think. Smile pretty.
Silently. Just nod.
... in acceptance.
Pretending to understand what's obviously misunderstood.
Not me. But I'd be lying if I said that didn't use to be me.
Movements made only to see those around me I craved to be pleased weren't.
Fuck it. Close eyes. In... Ex... Clear mind.
Joce, baby, focus.
Which is hard to do when lies have been the core of the individual you were taught to identify.
Please, my love, just fly.
Saturday, November 28, 2015
Friday, February 20, 2015
Monday, February 2, 2015
In fact, my apple isn't an apple at all....only mistaken as one. Slowly, with each rotation of our Earth, my apple hides more of it's identity as it grows... but constantly sharing its sweetness,
What peaks my curiosity is not the actual hidden identity of this fruit but rather, how it remains so sweet? Never bitter. How its still bearing and not been inhaled fully by the world's hunger. This majestic fruit-- constantly growing. Unidentified, but known,
Happiness petrifies me. Not enough to keep me from being....but enough to where I find difficulty to bask in it. The feeling of euphoria--naturally-- is intimidating beyond belief. The falseness of fear creating a reality for me to believe that things are too good to be true. Oh the fuckery. This river I've formed from the tears of my confessions is only given life--given the energy to flow when I begin to second guess myself. Swimming in it isn't pleasant. In truth, the current sometimes becomes too strong to just sit with my feet in it. My Garden of Eden wasn't grown with it---so as quickly as it appeared, I know it can disappear. No? Falsified fear can die. No? My tree of life grows strong... deeply rooted. & until this river no longer flows--- until it dries up, I'll sit on my life's highest branch. Chest to the sky, Sun giving me life. Basking in my sweet happiness.