Phone calls you won’t see,

Lines that don’t reach the surface

Connection wandering.

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A Breath Of Patience

Things are more fucked up than I thought, the realization of being alive sets an idea of what living can be and how I can create that with my voice. The tongue gets twisted, the words are maybe to tough to swallow. Speak to create what it is you seek, teach by being able to learn and grow. Once you embrace the clarity, your place is very much your own. The contribution to the fuckery is to each their own.

“The world into which we are born is brutal and cruel, and at the same time of divine beauty. Which element we think outweighs the other, whether meaninglessness or meaning, is a matter of temperament.” – Carl Jung

I’m thinking of my high school years and getting into different writers and being good friends with my English teacher. The problems I was dealing with back then I thought were so intense, maybe the tenseness just grows on you. I have way different issues than I did back then, I’m making up reasons to not attend graduate school and learning a new job in a field very new. I’m still struggling to find out what love is, blogging poetry and chasing the mystery of the universe.

You ever get that assignment to write a letter to your self and it was mailed to you ten years later. It was like the present you talking to future you. Well I didn’t complete the assignment, but it’s a bizarre thought. What kind of advice can a younger version of yourself give yourself? What kind of advice can the future you give to the high school version of you?

Keep headed in that direction and don’t lose sight of the dream.