I have spent so many years like everyone else's therapist
and now I want to share
but I am so afraid of doing the same to them
I refuse to be a burden for them to bear

God created this beautiful planet,
Which renews, all of our survival needs,
He also created all of us equal,
Everyone sharing, loving caring,
Was the idea of the original plan, for us to see,
Then humans created money,
Which is talked about, worshiped,
More than God today,
Greed for the money, is what causes,
Separation, pain, around the world,
In every corner, of all the land,
It's time we reverse, to the original plan.

Different feelings
All kind of emotions
Precious memories
written down.
A notebook with notes
A box with sometimes
handwritten notes.
A collection of
pieces of the soul
put together
Fragile , precious
To be handled with care and respect.

Shell✨🐚

.

MEANING OF CHRISTMAS. A GOOD CHRISTMAS

Christmas does not only mean: celebration, making merriment nor winning and dining season. It's a lifestyle, A good Christmas implies: salvation, love, liberation, and Christmas mean a lot it's freedom, deliverance. It mean: Sharing with the poor even the less privilege, the lower classes. That's a good Christmas, when you can supply the masses through and on behave of Christ Jesus. Feeding his masses Christmas is albout uniting and making everyone feel loved again even if that once at every year end. That's why Christmas-s and a good Christmas!
#c9_fm

Tell me, where has my intimacy gone?
Where does it translate? Why does it twist my tongue? Where is the scripture for it?

It’s in my bones but I can’t strip it out and showcase it. Is that protection? Do my muscle and tissue keep it confined within me?

Then maybe it hasn’t gone anywhere. Maybe it can’t become a carbon copy for another because my print is so sacred.

But why can’t my shoulders fit along the seem? Why can’t the gears grinding methodically inside my head be the parts of the mass production?

I was hand-carved and strung and wired then left to wind and tick without instruction. So, then. Tell me, how do I chime?

To rephrase more accurately: Tell me, where can I let my intimacy go?

I'll love you
like an orange -

Something so easy
to handle,
so easy to
share -

A soft kind of love
that's already there,
that you just have
to take
the step

I realized yesterday,
that I've written many poems,
but only shared a few.
I think it's because I've convinced myself,
that my words are too much,
and that no one wants to read another tragic tale.

No one wants to hear about me,
my messed up emotions,
or my dead friends.
No one wants to read about,
the days I felt like I was drowning.
There's no point in sharing what others find boring.

But then again,
it helps when I share.
I feel like even when no one seems to care,
at least I got my thoughts out there.
At least there's a chance that someone who's struggling,
will see that they aren't struggling alone.

So from this day forth,
I won't hold back.
I will pour my soul out for the poor and unfortunate.
I will tell you the stories of heartbreak,
I will tell you about the one's I've lost.
Even if you don't care to listen.