Sardonic reserves of time kept patience blending outward in rippling shades of hatred. Baby, you’ve got that heart shaped gaping wound says you’re bathed in longing for now not soon. Nothing moves faster than a synapse firing off kilter blistering brain waves melting downwind all splintered. If the days were longer and I could taste your fears all that we’d share could be understanding made clear. So if you’ll touch your enthusiastic distaste to mine lets go passe with anticipation and the cheapest wine. Show me your ugly that I might gag and spew my own redolent virus of loving life all over you.
Find your voice,
Find your ink,
Air through lips or pressure through finger tips,
Find your voice,
Use it proudly,
Share your love,
Your hate, your pain, your vision, your create, your palette of life lived,
Sing it however you will,
Your voice will carry resoundingly.
Find your voice boy,
Find your voice girl,
If you whisper in the street,
If you stutter and feel like you bleat,
If you shout with violence and hurt,
If you crackle with intensity unleashed.
If the paper runs torn beneath your pressure,
The pentip breaks and spills its hidden treasure,
Find whatever you find that lets you know that you are able,
Complete, and perfectly capable,
Damaged beyond belief,
But beautiful in shining relief,
Find your voice
Find your words,
They’re the path out of wherever you’ve roamed,
And will cut the road home.
This might truly be the only surviving video of me participating in the one activity that used to hold my mind firmly in place. Rock climbing is an obsession over which I used to fiend, dream, and bathe in.
You earn the sore hands and muscles.
There is something satisfying beyond all reckoning when you finally complete a problem that has been stumping you for days, months, or hell, years. It’s a competition against yourself.
Maybe something I’ll be able to restart as the past fades deeper into, well, the past.