You’d trot up to me like an aged horse our pasture matted down by our footprints I’d ask you the same advice I always do You don’t reply, that’s never the issue
They get jealous and insecure, but you’re nothing more than an old friend
Writing is unpacking, it’s unloading the freeloaders opinions & wiping slates clean. Writing is packing, it’s loading up the freeloaders opinions & keeping score.
A narcissistic paradise, ink, pencil, pen, choose your weapon.
He said you have that talent and that baby and you wear it so beautifully. Eloquently, like none of their harsh words ever mattered, like you didn’t scrub away your finger prints wiping off the excess opinions. Like you weren’t ever crucified for your weight and how you chose to carry it or sit it down when you got weary. Like loneliness was never a cloak you cradled with you. Like quiet was your nature and loud was your opening act. Like people weren’t diving in to receive more and leave you less. Girl, you have that talent and that baby and you wear it so beautifully.