I was short with Gavin this morning.
I was thinking of what I needed to
accomplish throughout the day
instead of his best interest.
When I realized this, I turned
toward Gavin and said, “Gavin,
are you upset with me?”
Gavin nodded his head, yes.
I then asked, “Are you mad at me?”
He shook his head, yes.
I told him I understood why.
Then I said I was going to
calm down, talk more sweetly,
and that I was sorry.
I asked if he’d like to sit on
the couch with me for a few minutes.
He likes to sit next to me and put
his head on my shoulder while I drink
coffee. It’s the first thing we do every morning.
I realized I needed to reset the morning,
sideline what I needed, and focus on Gavin.
I believe the best way to help improve
our lives is to recognize when it’s time to
look in the mirror and adjust.
What can be written about
the river’s muddy water
when it’s all been done?
A few nights ago I attempted to write a song for a local band. I failed. Even while writing it, I knew it was no good. The moments leading up to the attempt were good. The passion, the piercing thoughts, but the writing of the thoughts didn’t produce quality. There was nothing in the song that felt alive.
I text my friend, the vocalist in his band, and told him I had tried and failed. I laughed and even enjoyed the feeling of the failure. I’ve never been afraid to fail. To not try at all would be the true failure. I’ll try again. I have confidence I can write a song. Even while writing poorly I had confidence that I could do better. That’s the thing about life. To know something that nobody else knows and to understand it completely and to finally make it be what you knew it could be. I’ve never written a song before. I still haven’t. But, I will.
I hope your day treats you well,
View my published work here:
She’s just a kid. A little girl. How can anyone hurt a little girl?
Our bones feel dirty after talking with them.
As if parasites are their words; each landing
and burying themselves within our skin, burrowing
until finally entering bone. Where they live
the rest of their feeble days knowing we’re unable
to wash the innards of Self. – Each day,
we grow stronger as they grow weaker.
We know this. They know this. Which is why
they struggle desperately to toss their toxins.
I watch them more closely
than they do me.
They pick people apart with smiles.
Telling stories, twisted slightly,
always winning. Shake their hand once,
you’re not a friend. They’ve allowed
your presence. Watching their world.
They’ll demand it. Sit down. And be.
-Because these men
hide behind their shame.
I see them clearly, and listen when-
Sitting on their deck, drinking whiskey,
they obliged, of course, wishing you to think
of their wisdom, with their fake caring,
rocking and rocking while their daughters
fail at happiness and their wives are afraid
to tip the scale; heaven knows what happened,
and heaven is waiting. Because I know men
are men. I shave my beard in the morning,
How I like. I look at these men with empty grace.
They will not know me.
There’s a golden hue rising
with the sun this morning.
Each leaf, penetrated, pushing
along the life it’s been given;
much like the newly known heart
beat of the embryo, as the beauty
of unseen life uplifts our spirits.
If you’ve ever sat on a forested mountainside during a windstorm you know just how small you are. -M. Taggart
Have fun with your life, or someone else will.
I live my life a very particular way. As a child I learned how blocks of time could be stolen by others. Others with negative agendas. It was up to me to learn to remove these toxic peoples from my life. I prefer a pinch of sunshine in my water in the morning, no matter how many toxic individuals cross my path. If you are dealing with toxicity, remove it. Simply walk away, cut them off, and move on. Find a support system for yourself, such as others who have experienced similar scenarios, and speak out-loud the abuses you experienced. Look in the mirror and tell yourself that you are worth it. Because you are. And please, go have some fun!
Can we think of two lines as two lines;
as the moon drops its umbilical cord
toward our ever moving position of
humanity; searching, eroding, etching
itself while the music plays on, as we
all dance with strings pulling at our
shoulders. We shrug a little, then rip
and tear at the mental notion of being
clipped; our wings long ago vanquished
for another version of life.