Morning Concision, No. 383 #poetry#poets#poet#writing#quotes
Maybe you can relate.
This holiday season begins here in the Bay Area where it’s been announced we have been having the most polluted air on Earth. On Earth. . . I’d wondered about putting aside the guilt of giving to make myself feel better. It’s kinda complex but it has to do with being a survivor and not processing past the easy and obvious.
But we’re all surviving something.
What’s been hanging out in the air here is a reminder no one has been able to escape: the smell of disintegration. Homes and lives lost indiscriminately.
Being blessed with fatherhood, health and an occupation in line with my purpose and path, it’s easy to see that giving is actually the root of the word: give.
I’m clearing out my entire collection of ‘stuff’ to give to someone, somewhere, who needs it.
I’ve been in a fire.
I’ve had to wake and escape one, ( I was 8 years old.)
I’ve returned to next day remains smelling of smoke, soot stained, and broken.
It’s all come back. So I’ll match this memory full circle this holiday season by focusing on the give.
Hey, if this is where you’re at it’s a privilege to do so. Prayers to all affected and surviving this holiday season. May we all be able to take time to breathe and give—even if it’s to ourselves permission on to let go.
Oh, the second pic is the traditional trait of a PALARIST in the manuscript currently titled Held By Seven.
The vegan endeavor pic is my first shot at a mushroom stroganoff. It might not look like much but the sundried tomatoes set things off rather nicely. The meal was whomping with deliciousness.
“First rule of us living together, you stop over thinking everything and be a god damn deviant like you use to be.”
My throat tightened ever so slightly, the idea of casting aside this anxious armour was terrifying.
Sure, once I had been the eater of hearts, a vicious beast hidden behind a warm smile and ‘the boyfriend treatment’
I had cared about nothing and no one except for my own base desires
Each girl, each woman was simply another plate in the fleshy buffet I had chosen
But now... now I had taken the time to speak and listen, now I had softened from years of disuse
Sure I still hungered and craved the hot knots of bound strangers begging for the main event, I still imagine running the tips of fingers over the softest skin and along the best skeletons
But this hunger no longer rules me,
It is but a gnawing thought in the back of a mind that screams
This is a letter for me
Not for the me in the future
But a letter for the me who once was...
Dear sad sack
Stop mistaking pity for interest
Just because someone seems to care
Doesn’t mean they love you
It doesn’t mean they want you
In fact it usually means they are scared
Of what you might do
Of how you might take it
Of where your head is at
They say that love will find you when you stop looking for it
But that doesn’t mean it will be the first one
The world will test the strength of your resolve
It will bait you
Just to see if you really mean it
Stop sending photos of flowers to females first
Because In the end you will get hurt...
Not because they are evil or vile or even plain mean
But because you are hopeless and fractured
Because you are so starved for intimacy that any kind word sparks
Because you don’t know how to just be
Because you are the reason You are the reason I am the reason
I am the reason they take pity I mean just look at me
for real 🖤✨ .
last day to enter book giveaway is tomorrow loves💗 go check my story for details 🤗🥰
my debut book ‘Palm trees and rain’ is also available on Amazon (link in bio!) ✨ my artistic journey @natashadubalia
25 44016 hours ago
self-love begins the moment you choose yourself.
explore @wingedpen for more words.poetry. dreams. thoughts. stories. art. light. and love. ❤️