Trying to look in one direction,
It's hard to navigate my own transition.

Many times, I see myself like no other, could I be your sister or your brother? So, then why should I even bother?

My feelings about myself appear difficult for others to comprehend as this has become my own rollercoaster to the sweet, bitter end.

It is not only a mindset of my own personal avenues that I must navigate but they are, also, my own internal processes to which I contemplate and separate.

The push pull of my internal devices appears harmful at times. Feelings of not being happy, called confused, or it's a just phase are word salad moments committing a series of crimes.

I know these interpretations that live inside of me, and I know that the choices that I make can either set me free or keep me locked up forever. Ying-yang in every mindful corner of the room.

I heard a saying the other day that said, "Broken crayons still color". First, I was at odds with this. Because was I really broken? Was my crayon wrapper torn off? Am I being labeled these things from distant voices?

These become unreliable truths made up in feeble minds. Not understanding the differences among us all. It is not creating comfortable realities for us to travel though. Their choices will define them and my choices will define me.

Do I struggle at times? For the most part, yes!!

But you know something.
I am ok with that.
I am ok making my own choices, and I am ok being the person I want to be. That is something that cannot be taken away.

Any transition in life can come with its own set of difficulties. How we navigate them will be the determining factors of our success in all that we do.

𝐼 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑎𝑛 𝑎𝑙𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑒
𝐼𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑧𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠
𝐼𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐴𝑢𝑡𝑢𝑚𝑛 𝑜𝑓 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑗𝑎𝑠𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑠
𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡,
𝐷𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑠;
𝑂 𝐴𝑢𝑡𝑢𝑚𝑛 𝑎𝑙𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑑 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑜𝑚!
𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑖𝑛𝑔;
𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑐𝑘 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑤𝑎𝑙𝑙
𝐼𝑠 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑔...
𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠
𝐼𝑠 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑠...
𝑊ℎ𝑦 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑒𝑠?
𝑊ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑑𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑜𝑓
𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑤
𝐽𝑢𝑚𝑝𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑘𝑦....
𝐴𝑧𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑎 𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠...
𝑊ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑤𝑎𝑙𝑙
𝐺𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑠𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑠.....

Electric eyes that try and see,
yet you think you know me,
the truth makes you squirm,
yet in credance you will never learn,

It's the essence of your belief,
hollow pots that are full of grief,
tantric words massage your soul,
shouting words from a fathemless hole.

you think you can take it all,
but a trip always precedes a fall,
there's alway something left to sell,
but no more words left to tell.

If you could feel what I can feel,  

Sleep would be kept from you too,

Watching the sheep count my dreams,

Waiting for the rain to start,

Torn into pieces before the dawn,

Phantoms twitch into life,

They watch me squirm on the edge of a knife

Imaginary tunes ring in my ears,

Dancing round the room held up by strings,

Never ending words upon a canvas soul,

fluttering ribbons on a maypole,

Waiting for the clocks to laugh,

The mists of time choke my breath,

If you could feel what I can feel,

Sleep would be kept from you too.