Anchors are not enough

The people who care for you the most can hoist you to such heights in an operative instance, with that collective will they can obliterate you without a second of hesitation, forethought, with ease like the turn of a page or causal flip of a coin, the erasure of illustration. People can be vastitudes of potential, like the ocean has ripples, tides, waves, sediment and capacity. A person can apply care and compassion, empathy to another; alas no person can form or deform another person to compel them open. All one can do is be still in an allowance of simplicity and silence, perched still in the midst the interval; waiting to work, be pliable with that ensuing openness, volume and capacity when it occurs.  I am able to attest to lack of understanding and construction of clarity, estimate that no level of fully practiced human being understands me, as I do not understand myself, yet I do know I cannot be someone I am not.  I often feel and think in an esoteric language that coincides with a thinking that cannot be defined, only felt. Each of us contain hefty anchors, in thought, emotional gags, the weight of the anchor, the ambiguity and ability to break the surface tension of water will be the precedent in the trails and endurance of a choice to sink or swim. We are all momentary.



My Heart is a little lion with Laryngitis. My Brain is running on idol and full thrust. My veins seep and rust. My Chest Cavity is in ashes that aches like raw nerve exposure. Shave off a shadow, to a building glorified beautiful escarpment, better than this excretion, an exclamation of a care- who, or what. Echo a curling, numbing, stilling silence. When your soul embarks on your journey of an off key chorus of focus, stands with you, loves you. I wonder if my heart has a hidden agenda or parachute, because it doesn’t have an outlet, just… industrial strength Velcro.