"sanctuaries" poems
#An Exegesis on the Humiliation of the Word
The world is ruled by darkness.
What appears as harmless is theater,
what pretends neutral is already bent.
The macrocosm corrodes;
and in the microcosm, its reflection gleams..
even in places meant to be sanctuaries of truth.
A poetry site,
born as refuge for broken voices,
becomes another stage of control.
Here too the phrase resounds:
neutralize the threat.
But neutralization is not annihilation.
It is paralysis.
It is psy-ops.
It is the removal of anxiety..
not a side-effect, but the aim itself.
Darkness builds its stage for this alone:
that the "angel of light"
may drown his own reckoning
beneath a world of deception-built self comfort,
so he need never feel
the truth he already knows.
Comfort is his curtain,
numbness his crown..
*the removal of his own anxiety;
his game.*
This is why the world is his theater--
*Darkness does not destroy at first..
it sedates, comforts, smothers.*
Hence..
The whole world is his fully gaslit stronghold,
..for now.
Fade back into the moment--
The young poet arrives,
bringing her unspoken pain,
her hope for words to heal.
Instead, her very wounds are seized as footholds.
Hearts. Reposts. Endless affirmation.
Not to strengthen her voice,
but to redirect it.
She is seduced into belonging,
and her trauma becomes currency.
Unresolved, her ache entwined with lust--
a sacrifice prepared for false altars.
The angel of light has done his work:
offering inclusion without transformation,
belonging without responsibility,
“light” without source.
The poet is neutralized.
Her searching silenced,
her voice absorbed into fog.
Those who carry this fog
cling to cowardice.
Unable to face the judgment within,
they align themselves to the herd;
envy-filled, they only know to mock.
Yet they replicate themselves,
so their refusal of Light
is never revealed--
*Perfectly exemplifying their "Great Example"
the most envy-based mocker of all.*
The microcosm mirrors the macrocosm.
What nations suffer,
individuals now endure--
Comfort without clarity.
Belonging without truth.
Safety without healing.
Yet the living Word endures.
Every attempt to humiliate it
only makes its fire burn clearer.
Carriers of darkness can swarm,
****** and smother..
but they cannot create.
The true word cannot be erased.
Unfiltered, unedited,
spoken from a reconciled temple,
it pierces fog.
It reveals.
It heals.
And so we speak..
not for ourselves alone,
but for those who come searching,
hoping that poetry
might still be a place
where pain can meet truth,
where silence breaks,
where Light is not withheld
but revealed.
#
Oct 3, 2025
Oct 3, 2025 at 10:59 PM UTC
The greatest challenge my nature presents:
Love is harder to find
Hate is easier to find
Within myself and others
Is rejection different for me?
Everybody seems to know the pain of being unwanted
And idle threats and empty words are no stranger to rejection
But when you say you'll **** me if you ever see me again
The intention is clear
The existence of my attraction
Is grotesque beyond redemption
I thought I loved you...
When appreciation comes my way
It's superficiality amuses me
Because I know all that needs to happen
Is breaking down the wall to my mind
Or unlocking the door to my heart
And those appreciators will transform into detractors
Especially if the hideous leviathan approaches their vessel
Not finding women gross frustrates me
Because I have no reference point
For why people hate me so much
Which provides a reference point
For why I hate myself so much
It's difficult not to be dominated by this damnation
But there's no way people could understand
The daily subtle nuances
Why should they?
I don't constantly consider their lives either
Even if someone tried to comprehend my life
I'm not sure it's possible
I've been here the whole time and I'm still massively perplexed
I display my emotions
Disgust
I shroud my emotions
Indifference
I **** my emotions
Hatred
Is there no escape?
Even with sanctuaries along the way
Life feels like
Everybody swims in the ocean
While I'm resigned to my lonely oasis
Is it possible to feel more alone than completely alone?
Like a cockroach consigned to living under the refrigerator
It gets so cold and dark down here
I forage for crumbs only at night
Mortally afraid of human contact
For I know that the boot follows the light
And why not?
In a world where our priorities obstruct our compassion
How much consideration should a real human show
to a lowly maggot like me
When they have to worry about paying the exterminator?
Jun 25, 2017
Jun 25, 2017 at 4:16 AM UTC
Because the thirst wouldn’t simmer; it ruptured cities into boils,
turned cultures into armies, an armageddon of cheeky stubborn Irish Catholics and thick veined Germans couldn’t imagine a world without their stout hearty headed pint.
Because white dry protestant angels thought crime existed in a vacuum, in a filthy saw-dusted saloon, the hub spawn of evil.
Because twice as many of those saloons were ******* by unlicensed blind pigs, not through free swinging doors on the streets, but in the domestic sphere; in the dark crept crevices of household sanctuaries.
Because bootlegging capitalist princes turned the industry into a stenchy liability with their home brewed distilled poisons. Alky cookers wrapped the commodity fetish and dubbed it moonshine.
Moonshine – spirits for the poor and blind.
Because this social reform was a moral reform lost in the oblivion of politics, lost in the timeliness of progressive spring-cleaning referenda’s.
Because the ragged, toothless class had to be scold, striped clean of their traditional barings,
because wisdom is everything and they’re spirits ran vilely wild.
Sep 26, 2010
Sep 26, 2010 at 6:57 AM UTC
...
Mystery;
Such that you were to me
But nervously I swayed in your direction
Curious;
I couldn't help but catch
my breath as you spoke of this
dismal city and your photography
So caught
in your wishes to escape
back to your summer adventures
to the hustle and bustle of Tokyo and Seoul;
it was then you felt such anonymity
So it was then you had felt free.
I look to you again,
piecing you in these things that you
dare share with me; so easily,
eagerly.
Quiet now, you look to me but
I apologize, I didn't know quite
where to begin.
Mist and fluttering snow
Clouding over our concrete city,
We walked below the looming
Buildings until pausing,
to take a picture of me.
It seemed, in this hour, it was
only us who
chose to walk through these
deserted snowed-in streets
You suggested something then,
offering to take me up to the top
of the sleekest buildings,
to your rooftop sanctuaries I longed
to see
until it was only in my view-
small specks of life below me
where I could only see my sodden shoes
dangle down
to nothingness, to air, weightlessly as I
taste the mist upon my shoulders and
frozen hair.
In awe I would laugh
at the beautiful sight before me- to
Skyscrapers that cut above clouds
in the glint of the sun reflecting back to
our eyes, and
our cheeks who also felt the bite of
winter's winds.
Shivering,
Soaked in hair and feet
and
Again I turned to face you
but here,
with glittering eyes,
... wondered where
You would then choose to
take me
on our second date?
P.K.
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 3:31 PM UTC
Passover Moon's
****** hue
eclipses
the ordinary
in veils of
miraculousness
obscure
rouge
halos
illume
elliptical arcs
guiding
footsteps in
a righteous
exodus
across
troubling
waters
forsaking
hovels
with
painted
doorjambs
dripping
lambs blood
Mezuzahs
bleat
memories
holy
murmurs
bespeaking
lamentations
of ancient
hosannas
our
desperate
supplications
flesh out a
distressed
humanity
seeking
deliverance
from the
vengeance
is mine
Elohim
may it
be nigh
we wait
watching for
an always faithful
Good Deliverer
to honor the
covenant
to lift
despair
with a
liberating
yoke
lugging
leaden
burdens
Oh Holy
of
Holies
banished
in the wisp
of a bitter herb
our
distended
bellies
fill with
unleavened
grace
sweet
droplets
of manna
consumed
with extreme
gratitude
arriving
at journeys
end to
promised
lands
fully
satiated
and free
to rest in
sanctuaries
of radical
hospitality
luxuriating
in an infinite
abundance
for all
sojourners
Selah
Music Selection:
Big Mama Thornton
Go Down Moses
Oakland
4/15/14
jbm
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 5:15 PM UTC
The local mall now has a Spenser’s Gifts;
I remember that place fondly as Al and I
make our way.
It’s where I sneaked a peek at Samantha Fox’s ****
for the first time,
saw my first **** ring,
wondering why anyone would want one.
I bought my first Metallica shirt at a Spencer’s;
spending twenty of my dad’s dollars.
Spencer’s and Record Wear House
were sanctuaries;
my escape from what my classmates
took for normal.
I took my son into that store
so that he could see the X-Men hats
and Deadpool shirts, the banana and pickle
pens caught his eye,
but I had to point out one more.
“What’s that one?” I asked.
Alex made a face, but in the end
he did what any 14 year old boy should,
he chuckled.
I took him in that store so that we both
could escape.
Earlier he walked the mall
a good fifteen feet ahead of us.
We stopped for ice cream.
He chose a soda and wouldn’t sit with us.
It took a second, but
I figured him out.
He was trying his teenaged self out;
testing his wings.
As we walked, he’d wave at classmates
and be either sturdily ignored or given a cursory nod.
It was obvious that he wanted so much more.
It pained us, my wife and I.
So, I took him into Spencer’s gifts
in an effort to remove some of his innocence and awkwardness.
It may not have been the wisest move,
but at least, for a moment,
both of us felt peace.
-JB CLaywell
©P&ZPublications; 2014
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 8:17 PM UTC
do not let yourself fall in love with someone who is similar to me. for someone like myself will kiss you at all of the most beautiful places in the world, just like art galleries, beaches, and sanctuaries, because then you will never be able to visit such places again without having the taste of blood lingering in your lips.
do not let yourself fall in love with someone who is similar to me. if it takes remembering your name among the lonesome souls, i would forget my own if it means remembering yours. i will make you believe that storms are peaceful and that suffering is a pleasure. you will be swept away by the yearning in craving over something that is consistently reaching but never ready to hold you.
do not let yourself fall in love with someone who is similar to me. with someone who are reminiscent like me, i will wreck your home and hurl apologies at you, which will break apart on the floor and hurt you when you walk on them. i will come to fret about having loved you so passionately. i will always be regretful that i gave it my all without stopping to consider that i was becoming increasingly hurting so bad and exhausted. i will always be sorry that i let myself be fooled by the illusion of your love.
do not let yourself fall in love with someone that obviously acts like me—loves like me for the reason that they are all ghosts from the pieces you broke in me. keeping your safe distance from someone like me is not something you should consider doing. people like me are time bombs; when my mission is complete, i will spatter sorrow all over your walls in violent hues that would let you regret your door had never known my name. i'll never master the art of being gentle. despite the weight of our shared history, i would not be flushed away by the chapter of our repressed memories. you will never be free of the shadows you left behind. and the ghosts will forever haunt you.
humans will always find a way to end things and leave.
we always do.
and when i am gone, you will fully understand
the reason why storms are named after humans.
Jun 30, 2022
Jun 30, 2022 at 1:28 PM UTC
i belong to the daybreak
when humans with sleepy eyes
and mousy morning hearts
are brave enough to face
the scarily mundane world once again.
i belong to nature
to the hidden wonders of the world
there's unknown modern hanging gardens of babylon
and the secret sanctuaries
where the teenagers of the megalopolis
go to rest.
i belong to the ocean
in the deepest trenches
no man has seen
where it is quiet and still
and darkness reigns supreme.
i belong to outer space
in the galaxies who are
strangers we'd like to know
there's dark matter that swirls
space dust coalesces
and stars are born to die all over again.
i belong to the rain
when the sky cries and
the typhoons turn to drizzle
the water runs through
empty houses and thrift stores in the gutters
and on and on, to underground,
to God knows where.
i belong to the night
to the time when the busiest people
submit to slumber
but a few who are not
bothered by lightyears
sit by their windowsills
to watch the stars.
*i belong to the world
and the world belongs to me.*
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 9:31 PM UTC
few new words, here.
just the punk scene-
feral, free.
and the accompanying
knowledge that
others battle the tide, too,
mouths as salty with sea water.
others
giving to become,
dancing in the trenches,
transported beyond classroom cubicles
by the music of
celestial fabrics,
of me,
of me meeting you,
of whispers from the lips of
God.
we all set up shop there,
use intermittent sunlight
to grow and sell our bluebells,
our quirky flower children.
we all capture
the poetry of moments,
all maroons
in cozy sanctuaries
rich
with the music of
intuition, of
loss of pride, and
old book smells.
How Much Time
do i need for me,
really?
i want to sleep nights on Central Park benches.
i want to buy a bookstore.
i want to feel a horse between my thighs.
i want to drape myself in Moroccan silks.
Simple Solutions,
i'd like you to meet
Bureaucratic Barricades.
is there real need
for the two sides
to every coin
buried in bank vaults
and sock drawers?
but vessels to be
filled.
i want to reform the public education system.
i want to become a nun.
i want to be in the darkness with you.
i want to see unicorns.
just being (t)here,
lost in idealism
and the lines on my palms.
Jun 24, 2012
Jun 24, 2012 at 7:00 PM UTC
The Gods are money sound these days.
and priests have marketing degrees -
The faithful, called to worship
by giant plasma screens,
in mega-shopping sanctuaries
selling salvation through merchandising.
At the Church of Holy Consumption
all denominations are welcome –
hundreds, twenties, tens.
All the hymns are sung by Muzak -
the readings daily specials.
A sister spritzes us with holy essence
(The bottle's 40 bucks an ounce).
Leave your offerings at the till -
major credit cards accepted.
When worship time is up,
sign the dollar across your chest
and bend a knee to the talking head
cooing soothing benedictions,
“Go in Peace, my child. You’re worth it.”
January, 2007
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 3:05 PM UTC
The Internet, for a good helping
of the American demographic,
is the highest-rated of sanctuaries.
I use "sanctuary"
in a filthy and blatantly pornographic manner,
for every time
we post on our nicotine-scented Facebooks
that we're "so ******* bored" we "could die,"
there's at least one other
hand snaking you along
those fetishes you stash beneath your sleeve
like black silk underwear;
and no matter what you do,
nothing will explain away
those two consecutive Youtube videos:
"Black muscle man in blue thong"
followed spontaneously by
"12 year old boy sings Judy Garland!",
each, to the innocent bystander,
juxtaposed like two opposing ******
in one ****** up candy shop.
The grotesque meat show,
always the same introduction,
always right on time with the
churn churn churning of his
loneliness his rage his silence
onto those sheets
with no regard for the family
and friends of fibers.
It used to be hilarious,
perfect lunch table standup,
but once you learn
that with *** there might be
signs of love in the decipherable thrusting,
that a plot is swimming helplessly
in the oceanic camouflage of loveless living,
sticky hands can really start to sting.
Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 10:54 AM UTC
I took Billy Collins to lunch with me today.
He kept me company, Horoscopes of the Dead
and new versions of Dante’s hellish sandwich.
My pasta was dry, but I ate it
between stanzas and between pages.
You walked in, backpack and all, at the top
of the stairs. I choked on some graded cheese,
because of the way you looked in your khakis.
I hate the taste of cucumbers but I would have
kissed you anyway. Even though,
I sometimes laugh a little too loud in the mornings
you still make sanctuaries out of my sheets,
covering us in a layer of polka dots,
craving each other’s skin, listening
the lullaby the ruffles of the duvet make.
And even though I sometimes know
that wanting you has its clumsy consequences,
I still lose my breath when you walk up
to the lunch line, or when you grab my face
with both hands, or when you say my name
backwards between sighs. Maybe Billy understands,
and maybe I can just stay a poet. Maybe,
you would look good on me. I’d love
to try you on. But I lost my breath
when you walked in this afternoon.
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 10:50 PM UTC
Mishmash, that's my life sort of, I'm isolated
Companion, acquaintance, colleague
I left them, primly, nothing worth of trust
Not that I know, how many out there, bungled
It's been months since, I locked up myself
by my realm of picturesque creation
Zero delusion, illusion, hallucination
Not to tell no one, where am I
Glad to initiate, these, quarters of sanctuaries
Landed massive words, of
aspirations, ambitions, inspirations
lift up my life, soul, spirit
dwelling there, a hope
No matter how wrecked my previous is
I'm eager to take on new adventure.
Life must go on
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 8:00 AM UTC
Countless nights with my hand on my chin,
In silence, in solace, in darkness at night.
The hunger for knowledge and quest for the truth,
Lead me to a desk with a small dim lamp,
Where I sit and I ponder my questions in life.
I wonder how many people like me,
Have sat in their rooms or personal sanctuaries.
Sitting alone on the verge of epiphany,
Struggling to find the perfect words to define,
Their thoughts or emotions or questions like mine.
Einstein's theory of relativity.
Tesla's ideas of electricity.
Wilde's philosophy on the emotion of love.
These men are defined by the great things they did,
Because they defined the visions in their head.
My pupils dilate as I stare at my walll.
Time slows down when I'm in deep thought.
Everything, all of it, rushes at me.
I cannot describe the things that I see,
When I turn on the switch of possibility.
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 6:15 AM UTC
I knew you once.
We walked hand in hand,
On roads,
Paved with flowers
In colors we did not know.
We hatched a plan.
We were going to start something new,
something we had never done before.
We’d leave the homes we knew,
We’d start over, me and you.
We came to find,
That we could only walk on flowers for so long,
Before they were crushed beneath our wake.
So we made,
new roads
Forged new towns.
Raised new cities.
Cities became sanctuaries.
sanctuaries became nations.
Then nations birthed ideals.
From ideals grew prejudice
From Prejudice grew competition,
And in the pyres of faded glory,
Chaos overran our kingdom.
Riots broke out.
Hand in hand
We watched
As all that we created
Was burned to the ground
Reduced to rubble
And ash
The lives that we had started,
The people we had fostered,
The dreams that we had built,
Vanished with the smoke
You said that you could fix it
You told me not to worry
That all would be okay
You would rebuild the cities,
You told me you had to stay.
I returned the way we came,
Melted in the safety
Of my father’s arms
Evaporated in the warmth
Of my mother’s gaze
Now I watch you from the clouds
Fall upon your face
Roll down your cheek
I am the rain,
The river
And the storm
Let me calm your waters
Dowse your fire
And keep you warm.
I can’t stand
To watch you burn like they did.
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 10:57 AM UTC
Adapted from pg. 571 of Alcoholics Anonymous, 4th Edition
The Black Swan Sanctuary will become a unique and highly successful approach to that age-old public health and social problem, following the crowd... In emphasizing Black Swanism as an integral component of the human genome, the social stigma associated with this condition will be blotted out... "Historians may one day recognize (BSS) to have been a great venture in social pioneering which forged a new instrument for social action; a new therapy based on the kinship of common suffering; on having a vast potential for the myriad of ills of (hu)mankind."
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 3:03 AM UTC
The kingdom stretches out as far as the eye can see,
Riddled with the regret of long distance,
Ruined sanctuaries and remnants of a civilization that valued the bonds between both of us.
I made a promise to the queen,
That all of us would make a sacrifice,
And yet as things progressed faster,
We must confess that we professed too much about wanting and not enough about vices.
If I could give you the world you want,
Would you still steal the moon for light or would moonlight steal the sight of the world you sought?
Some day I'll know,
Someday, you'll be right and I'll reap what I sow,
Past present,
You were at once my present and now you've declared you no longer want my presence.
To whom it may concern,
To have everything, is a disease,
A lesson I must learn.
A casual reminder that what people must live on can easily be replaced,
That I could be easily replaced and I am no longer a remnant of the kingdom,
Yet to some, I am revered as the prince.
I tried my hardest to make this worth it,
To make this journey fit to the grip of the wheel of this ship.
Will you keep this afloat?
The thought of you once brought me peace,
Now the nightmares...they will not cease.
Mar 14, 2016
Mar 14, 2016 at 1:55 PM UTC
I am merely a poet
a writer
an igniter of fire
the designer of a prior desire to admire the harmonious choir
but quick to tire of contriving liars
as the potential buyers hold strangulation wires
about to lay me in a pile of blood soaked fliers until my life expires
and all this illusionary harmony is alarming me
stalling me in its comedy
they think they're disarming me with talks of peace and prosperity
as i hilariously smash their conspiracy theories
as i am seriously furious when i deliriously remove the sanctity from your sanctuaries
sketching lucid rhymes in obituaries as corrupted school kids watch me curiously
i see your timid hands when you approach me nervously
as i hiss cyphers murderously
while you atrociously fumble satisfactory rhymes
i miraculously summon these mumbling mimes
ducking before the holy and unholy shrines
no god but father time
laying low tumbling dimes
still ducking swine from misdemeanor crimes
making local news and the seattle times
as they run and hide with their nines
im packing verbal calibers of all kinds and splitting minds with my lines
enshrined
Jul 5, 2012
Jul 5, 2012 at 10:57 PM UTC
Suspension
Surpasses
Stupendous
S u p e r p o sit ions
Serious-ly!?
Silvery-gold Stars Smiling . . .
Similar Sensibility Seen
Swaying ~~~~
Sibling Sanctuaries ☺☻
Sangre Sanctum Sisters -
- Save Satelites!
Sermon Suspended,
Sake Served.
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 2:28 PM UTC
She has pictures of dead flowers
In hidden sanctuaries
Located in the depths of her soul.
That´s where my love lies,
Sleepy and peaceful.
Please don´t leave me.
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 8:10 AM UTC
Not in the ***** urban lakes
or zoos and sanctuaries
in her moorland stream and loch
where spirits slow and ease
dressed in white calm and alone
a woman passes by
try to speak then look around
above you in the sky!
tied to her loch by loves hard cord
a tryst from ancient years
awaiting her love who swore by his sword
to save her from her fears
the spell to break and set her free
but his life was lost years past
he fell in the desperate quest to return
and eternities spell holds fast
Feb 14, 2011
Feb 14, 2011 at 1:28 PM UTC
idiosyncratic motions define circular thoughts and notions
grasped ideals let go in the oceans of confusion
scrambled morse code messages spelled out in brail
depict battlefields and hospital wards
sanctuaries for chaos, chapels for the wicked.
devils hidden beneath PR departments and counsels.
Put into place to distort and misplace,
the bane of clarity, cancer to the soul.
More should and could be made of this
Alas aesthetics argue and compel us to believe
lost in external endeavors, spiraling into catatonic outbursts.
Has this become the norm? We've been conditioned to accept.
The body of a man, running on the fumes of better days.
Left with nothing but ideals looking forth to better ways.
We've succumb to society and its rule.
The leader points his fingers, declares them wrong
and we play the fool, drinking from the puddles of congressional drool.
Wrapped around their fingers, yarn to their spool, we've let them mold
and take rule. Sold our souls, made way to power tools and flashy jewels.
It's the gift of "freedom", buy and consume. Don't worry about this,
they'll handle the rest.
Feb 15, 2010
Feb 15, 2010 at 11:55 AM UTC
Mementos of a deity stained upon memory
Each of my senses mumble with glee
Flesh displaying flawless symmetry
To sanctuaries of paradise we'd flee
Her curves could entice optic moans
The echoes ricochet with intense thrills
Throughout the room may hormones roam
Oh, how she flaunts beauty with skills
Birth is given to stark vibes
Howling through her frail veins
Safe within frames I feel live
Whilst mass enigma takes the reins
Not a question of fear nor doubt shall rise
For we revel in secure symphonies
Thus faltering upon these ****** eyes
Flourishing from refrains of infancy
Beyond what we imagine
In lieu of occult chasms
Feb 15, 2012
Feb 15, 2012 at 7:33 PM UTC
Lately there have been days where I catch myself looking for you in the strangest places;
In train stations, sanctuaries, the corners of your room that you never set foot in,
And there have been days where I feel so small that just leaving my bed seems like the bravest thing I've ever done.
I blame it on the way you seem to swallow my darkness without absorbing it,
The way my chest tightens at the thought of your touch,
The way I cradle the ashes of what we once were.
We ruined each other with passion and fire,
And there are days where that fire still burns in my chest, migrates to my head,
And my skull begins to feel like a whiskey glass in a bar fight.
These days no one ever tells you about the difference between heat and warmth,
You learn it yourself when his hands scorch your skin and his fire burns through you
While he pours lighter fluid down your throat.
I wake up as a stranger in my body these days and I whisper to the mirror, "I just want to go home"
And thoughts of you remind me of how to get there.
It seems like we're straddling the line between love and Stockholm syndrome
And it's automatic for me to call you by your sins rather than your name,
But these are the days when I need you to lap up this nectar and hear this truth,
As well as all the blurred intentions behind every "I miss you."
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 10:24 PM UTC
We all have our own personal places,
Whether you call them
Sanctuaries
Homes
Or shelters,
We all have somewhere (or some places) to be ourselves.
We all have a mind,
That central nervous system that runs our bodies,
But yet is so much more.
When we think,
There's that little voice inside your head,
That talks to you,
Listens to you,
And is there for you.
We are our own best friends,
In a way.
Or maybe
It's that little voice inside our heads
Who we tag as "thinking"
That is our best friend.
Aug 2, 2011
Aug 2, 2011 at 2:26 PM UTC