a routine that is getting old
when will my shell break from this mold
perhaps ill wear something bright and bold

perhaps my actions will come back to haunt
proving that i was the one who was wrong

maybe i should turn back…
maybe i should sing a song

sitting here, oh so clear,
the message and the path are near—
the work still to be done, will it take very long?

i walk on as i sing my song
the one you taught me in a dream
where we broke apart from the seams
from who we were- into the people
we were meant to be, you and me,

now it's just me, fending for myself
we grow without guidance,

no one knows the right or wrong way
and it scares me that ive lingered around

home and comfort,

maybe i shouldnt stay
maybe i should just-

get out of my own way

It begins with a sketch. Then a thought.

A question: inquiring further to develop a solution.
Resolve an issue creatively: brainstorming, creative thinking, problem solving.
Trusting your gut, asking for help, and listening.

Thinking about people.
Who is this for? Where are they located?
How will they see it? How will it benefit them?
What is the impact? What is our desired outcome?

A return to expectations. How do they compare to reality?

Another question: do our goals line up?
Is the long term strategy supported by smaller plans?
And do we lift others up instead of pushing them down?

vous pensez que vous savez plus que moi.

the time is here,
when we think about the end
of the year             how things  have fallen
                                                        right into place
                                                             did everything
                                                                turn out your way?
                   or were you left in dismay
                   clothes in the hamper and
                   on the ground, in disarray.

9/20/18
9:26 am

The people I meet in dreams don't remember who I am. I knew you back then, I say. You know me. But I think about the ways I am different from then, how fear made me shift in ways I can't describe.

There isn't enough time to tell the stories of my becoming,
as I am still becoming.

Winter is my season. No stranger is the cold, dry air to my nostrils. The wind whips my face, lashes for every breath taken for granted.

Ice awakens ancestral knowledge,
not of human origin but geologic time.

When did we become vessels for truth? For the words on my lips crawl from a well of pain, fragments bubble to the surface.

Pieces to a puzzle only I can solve.

I wonder, does the core of our planet feel the way we do? Does she writhe in pain the way we do? Is she lonely, like me? Does she feel alive when the sun beats across her face, and does she dance across space to feel alive, like I do?

Earth wept when we plotted her demise, victim to the narrative of a civilized society. Human progress is nothing but power and glory.

How have I been so complicit in your suffering, I ask.
The Earth remains silent.

Hot spring, meadow dew.
There are bodies of water
to separate me and you.

I am my body, though ragged and torn;
my mind & spirit weather the storm.

Inner turmoil, lay to rest.
good night dear, you tried your best.

Promise a world more fair and just
give me more than skin and lust.

Leave my mind, like we never met
I've seen **** I will never forget.

But I make this promise sans regret.

heavy head
raise the lever
open eyes receive
light transmissions
signal time and space

je me reveille dans une chambre
qui ne me connait pas

j'attendais la vie me lève
mais il n'a jamais fait