I've made it onto this earth for 31 years now.

I inspect it all
With my blue and gray
Perfectly 90s
Microscope
Awaiting to share
We paint
I paint with precision
No expectations
And the ability to provide
The cushion, security, well being
I thought I needed
From every man
Everyone
But me.

I thank my lucky southern stars
For the tackles
Of the boys who talked ****
And left a scar
Above my little perky
Left ***.

It healed
I heal (ed)
On it goes
On we go.

I feel the urge the need
To create, produce
Not for any other reason
Than it gives me an insurmountable
Purpose that it full of ease
Creativity
And entrusting in the practice
Of my abilities
That's all art really is.

Practice.
Pleasure.
Prepare.
Purpose.
And then it's all just release
I feel like I cannot get enough rest
In my tiny sacred room
I try to slow down if even for a minute
Enjoy
Absorb
Breath in, breath out
Feet grounded into the earth
The closest to the soil you can connect with
And thank
Thank
And move in each pivotal direction
And on.