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I do not have footsteps

My body has footsteps. I do not.
I slide through life on deep thoughts and breaths.
I am passed along in stories, shames, and celebrations.
I have moved across phone wires.
Been drowned 40 proof at night and forgiven by breakfast.
Been resurrected in kindness. Extinguished in rage.
Remembered and forgotten.
But, I do not have footsteps.

Impaired Judgement

I live a life of impaired judgement. That’s why the wildest flowers rush to bloom in my arms. And stories filled with truth boom inside my ears. Your stories. His. Hers. And, my stories.
I can’t sleep with all these rules. The air is too thin. I want to learn to thrive in the thick of it. And, melt magnificently in the heat of it.
Unravel and tangle into all new knots. Find a way to slip through the cracks and expand to create space. Experiment with a stance that is completely still and strong. Then, crawl desperately towards the feet of everything I am afraid of.
Thrash around. Kick up dirt. And, rise again covered in messy, beautiful life.

Wild in transition.

I planted a bunch of seeds in my office this winter to try to work through a period of transition that I was experiencing. I bought them lights, watered them, talked to them often, over nurtured them...tried. Now that the sun has been high in the sky and the season is right...they are all growing wildly.

Lesson learned. No matter how much you try, you can't force anything to blossom in the wrong season. Even yourself. You can plant the seeds. You can fill them with intention. But, until the time is right it's mostly about sowing hopes and waiting.

So, now I'll be thinking about the seeds I want to plant in my own life for the next season. What do I want to harvest when the time for growth has come to an end and it's time to store my energy up for the next natural transition?

Quoted. Libba Bray, The Sweet Far Thing

“Do you ever feel that way?"
"Lonely?"
I search for the words. "Restless. As if you haven't really met yourself yet. As is you'd passed yourself once in the fog, and your heart leapt - 'Ah! There I Am! I've been missing that piece!' But it happens too fast, and then that part of you disappears into the fog again. And you spend the rest of your days looking for it."
He nods, and I think he's appeasing me. I feel stupid of having said it. It's sentimental and true, and I've revealed a part of myself I shouldn't have.
"Do you know what I think?" Kartik says at last.
"What?"
"Sometimes, I think you can glimpse it in another.” 
― Libba BrayThe Sweet Far Thing

brackish

"this is a dead zone. brackish and black. a hope i cling to because the darkness is deadly. but not more eventual than this ending. I've illusioned myself into this. flashing light into nothing and calling it art. you want me drunk, opened mouthed, and utterly silent. twisted around your need to feel desire. d. "
art museum 2017

Sedum

Press the seed of this story just inside my lips
I will nurture it with warm breath and a low hum
Let it dance from the tip to the cup of this tongue
Germinating
Articulating
Then tuck it safe inside my cheek for later
When it's time to swallow it whole

Innuendo

I don't know if I am more taken by your words, or by the space around them.