November 15, 2011

The words come together and fall apart. They don’t stay attached, strung to each other in the way they were that one time, when i wanted to write it down, before now.

The fleas bite, he leaves.

Going away to a new love that helps us grow.
I can’t say us any more.
He said it’s not “we”, “this is all you”. Everything to be your own artist.
Your own artist.  Your own art. Your own. Your own.
Why does ownership over ride everything?

Collaborating with others, working together, feeling equal.  Weight can be respected.  Confidence builds in the things others can’t see, the things i feared. They are just things i feel. Others feel too. There are things i could not see before, others could not see before. The periphery, what was at one time out of bounds, is coming into focus. The picture is growing.

Apart, i remember there really is no canvas. It, not we, not only me, not only him or her, can grow infinitely bigger. Health abounds, and sadness. They will grow.  There is no stopping what we have started.

I slipped again.
Not We

I am admittedly slow.
I slip at this speed.
Do you keep up?

i am reminded of mortality, growing old before, before, before. Do it now or never. Like that bad Shepard says : “Only the Rebellious crave for happiness in this life.”

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