IfI wereto writeevery dayfor onehundred days,would my soulbe purged ofthis malaise;is it a thingto be dredged,dragged up –twistedand tiedlike tatteredbed sheetsknottedtogether;is therea remedyfor thisscourge;or is thisan inherentrestlessness,a fiery bluespark of eternalangst ignitingpassion – a callto write? (Originally posted February, 2017. Image my own)
Expectations artificialliving in an urban junglelonging for nature’s calm – time moves too swiftlybarely registerlet alone participate We are guests in our ownexpectation’s dysfunctionlicensed for depression a smorgasbord for abuseintentions mislaid,disappointment unavoidable The ego pretends to be openbut she’s an actress off cueplaying out a sentence – condemned to basicspraying to escapethis dystopian malfunction. (Image […]
Well said!
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😊😘
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💖
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Oh yes!
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😊
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Is that ever a leap of faith VJ! Not for the faint-hearted. One day I hope to be that brave. ☺️💕
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Lol. Sometimes life forces such a discovery.
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But sometimes we don’t like that plan.
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That would be true, too.
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That’s been my experience, albeit learned the hard way.
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Yep. Agreed.
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This is so true.
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Hard to do though, lol
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👍🏼
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