So he wants some words He wants to talk… Where do I start? I can’t even find the beginning or end When did I lose my choice of words? I used to be so out spoken
I’m siting here Thinking of which words to say Which will help Which won’t at all I’m thinking of all the people I’ve hurt It’s starting to weigh me down From words I couldn’t say… Or feelings I couldn’t express… I’m thinking about the person I want to be I’m thinking this is not me Or the person I want to be
How do I go about this? Nothing I can say will change anything I just know I want to make things right Right now The truth only makes things worse The truth just adds to the confusion
The truth is Under my own pressure In the moment I made a decision Not realizing the consequences Doing a human thing I rarely let myself do Because my curse of over thinking **** over me
Forgive me I’ll give you all the time All the time in the world This time, I’m not going anywhere I can’t fix everything But I can try and fix this My fingers can’t keep up with my typing My mind is raising x100 A million ways of how to say sorry I know this is just one of them…
They gathered by Williamson Road at sun-up from neighboring spreads across the Tioga valley. They came with carts laden with lumber stacks - with saws, adzes, hammers and sundry tools.
They gathered with the homesteaders bond. to co-build their neighbor's' dreams.
Sweet music of community echoed off the hills. Chisels clanged into rock, shaping the foundation, saws sang into boards to frame a timbered skeleton. The staccato syncopation of hammers fastened walls that soon would shelter plowshares, stock and grain. A smithy leaned over his fire and forge - chiming iron into sturdy latches and hinges.
Children scurried about mixing squeals and laughter with exuberant fetching and lifting whenever called.
In two short passings of the sun the deed was done and a handsome new barn, decked out in a wash of red was silhouetted tall and proud against the fading light.
Homesteaders gathered at a celebration table to share a hearty meal adorned by the music of fiddles, grateful smiles and easy laughter.
Then one by one they steered their wagons home gazing back at what their labors had wrought - knowing to the depth of their communal souls that we are more together than we are apart
Listen up, America! This is the music of community. We are more together than we are apart.
My kids were really testing my patience one evening, as they pressed on my last nerve, I fell over the edge. I yelled at them, sent them in time out, and then sat in guilt while I heard their cries. I'm usually a very laid back quiet mom, but loses it sometimes. That time I yelled louder than ever before, and felt horrible after. I wrote this in that moment.
I was raised on dissonance watching the mental conflicts rage war in each of the human beings I am a product of. they almost named me concordance so that I would never feel like I was the product of two failures so that I would feel whole in a divided world but from day one I have been an anomaly loving pain but living with the fear of being hurt this is why they named me variance to teach me that growing up meant filling in the pieces and that it was okay if each piece was taken from another whole to patch yourself together I was raised on numbers my first word was five this number composes all human beings five fingers five toes five vital organs but none of them are mine.
That woman has never had a motherly soul. That is why her children have become so impudent! Patience and Kindness is the key to raising young ones. Support and Love is the key to raising young ones. Trust and Faith is the key to raising young ones.
You want to look for the bad things in them, and so you will find them. 2.04.2014