Every few months, I hit a wall.
It’s solid.
Very solid.
I know I’m at it when I stop talking.
And the tears start rolling
But even more than that
My feet become molten leaden
And I have no desire for nothing
And I start moving slower and slower in space
Until I start backpedaling
Faster and faster
And faster
Until going backwards becomes fun
And I thumb my nose in the face
Of every other face I worshipped as inconsolable
I become irresolute.
And I am happiest that way.

quiet

quiet
there are people who can stir up the muck in your head
and there are others who can calm it down

i am glad
for both

one is not better than the other
although most people would try to make you think so
including myself

i can hear the birds' wings flapping in the air
even from behind my closed window
that... was a gift of a surprise.