I've never had a five-year plan.
Sometimes, I barely have a Tuesday plan.
But here I am-
heart in one hand, snack in the other,
trying my best not to overthink my own breathing.

People say "be yourself"
like that's a simple thing.
But I've been about five different people this week
and honestly?
They all had good points.

I've felt everything and nothing
at the exact same time,
and let me tell you-
it's a weird party.
No one knows who brought the chips.

I've forgiven myself
for things I still flinch about.
I've moved on
without moving anywhere.
I've stood still
and felt the earth sprint underneath me.

No, I'm not lost.
I'm just...in progress.
A draft.
A half-done thought with great potential.

And maybe that's enough.
Maybe I'm enough
even when I don't feel like a poem.
Just a scribble
with really good timing.

Is there such a thing as beautiful chaos?

The kind when you have no idea of where to start, where you are going, and how you will get there. You know not what it is that moves you. You just move.

I think there is such a thing. “What is normal for the spider, is chaos for the fly,” someone once wrote.

There comes a moment when you know you just have to move and trust all will be ok.  Often you will change direction, not for any particular reason, but because you can.

Better to move across the canvas of the earth leaving thunderous footprints, even if at times they form circles, than no prints at all.    

It is the child within that is this way, the child that splashes colour on a page at will, the untarnished artist whom creates beautiful chaos because they’d rather be the spider, than any kind of fly.