It's Poem Time! (Sorry, I guess I lied in that last post.)

If you're being a donkey
Don't be one, she says
Be better, for your heart
For your head, cut the greys
Grasp the red, don't cut yourself
Don't cut the thread
Feel better, feel good
Kiss them tomorrow like you said
you would. Don't be dumb.
Don't be naive. Don't be crazy.
Buy him a book, and buy you a daisy.

That's the Way the Cookie Crumbles

I'm a nineties kid, by way of which I grew up then. In the nineties!
The good ol' nineties - I miss you. I can't even believe the pile of 
emotional garbage I've written here on this blog yet somehow 
it would pain me to have it deleted. It's been my friend of sorts. Is 
it silly that I worry that my paper journals will meet their fate when 
dust termites begin to attack? How will I preserve them? Here's a 
tip, if you are okay, and able to let go of your journal to junk it. Don't 
do it. As in yes, you can junk it but burn it before you do. Trust me. 
Unless you're okay with bequeathing it to someone of consequence 
whom you know will publish it when you're old/dead/dying and you 
don't really care anymore. Lesson learnt from precaution. Lightning 
strikes outside, I would have gotten poetic about it some ten years 
ago but now I'm just like, eh, whatever. I just wish I was 17 again. Like 
in that Zac Efron movie or that Eurythmics track, you know the one?

Weaving of Words + Pondering over Promises

What do you do?

Um, I write. Sometimes. Dawdle, mostly. I mean, doodle.

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Didn't you used to have a spark?

Didn't I used to have a lot of things?

- - - -

You're different. You don't want the same things anymore.

I concur!

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Can I help you?

No. I'm okay.