Cracked thoughts
Rambling words found a home inside the tightest of walls. How so are they just beautiful when all that is there to bar them is stone? Distance finds a leader and a traveler is placed in four corners. How though is the idea of a mortar and pebble home when a Romany is who they are in heart?
Thorough times require a bit of relaxing. Yet the reminder is that time is of essence. And yet all the soul does is lay around finding excuses to entertain. Truth be told the exercise to roll the ideas and thoughts into production causes too much friction that even the lightest of fires the burn is deadly.
How should you proceed in life if that is what halts you every moment of alertness you have? What is the point in the process if you don't just leap into an unknown area? See that is what terrifies so many people. Even me at times.
Truth is that in these moments of grand silence or loud vibrations of notes, I find myself in the timid shell. No longer a brave stitch in my dna. Funny how that can happen. Even more so is the allowances one gives to just one intimidation. Then leading to another. Soon the laying on the back in the darkness seems quite ideal.
But somewhere inside of you presses this scar you hold, protectively. In the reality of the situation the mind builds this wall around the sensitivity you may have, promoting a "fine" attitude when in depth just scared or even traumatized by this long gone experience. What then do you do?
See that is the question that has us back to the beginning. A stalling or road block. Yet to some it is a reason or a crutch to help them wallow in the pity of their victimization. What really is the light in the subject?
See the therapy in the motion is the being wary of the unknown. Uncertainty of how things will go. That is what makes the anxiety rush to extremes within our hearts. This defined structure of how we pictured ourselves not to be, but are. Seems to be odd even as I type this, that the very words I write are depth enough to me. Digging deep to realize that I also fall into these stereotypes.
As much as I am an individual and build upon my strengths I almost forget the weaknesses that made me different. Made me the individual I am. See to recognize my fear or blemishes I am capable of understanding that I am human. But beyond that. I am also well capable of being the one that chooses to turn around.
In these moments, late at night, I observe more about my spirit than any other part of me. I see all that I have lived, turning miserable points to positive jolts of light. And even in the darkest hour of my thoughts, I recognize the differences I could have gone.
Regret is the biggest part of me.
Then rue of life now is changing. Slowly I turn. Best part of the turnaround is the joy regained. Even in the healing of a scar or the erasing of a memory that frightened. That is the calm that is moving this woman forward.
Surely the sensitivity I have is different from others, and as the days, months and years pass I pick up and carry as I should. Never do I say I am a victim. I am the instigator or the recovery. That is my role. And as I grow that, too, will change.
Am I sorry? Yes. Am I proud? No. Have I forgiveness? Some, yes. Others no. So still on the road to redemption. One day the cracks in the wall will break and the stones will tumble. Love will be given as I open the doors that have been locked for several years.
I look forward to that. What about you?
Thorough times require a bit of relaxing. Yet the reminder is that time is of essence. And yet all the soul does is lay around finding excuses to entertain. Truth be told the exercise to roll the ideas and thoughts into production causes too much friction that even the lightest of fires the burn is deadly.
How should you proceed in life if that is what halts you every moment of alertness you have? What is the point in the process if you don't just leap into an unknown area? See that is what terrifies so many people. Even me at times.
Truth is that in these moments of grand silence or loud vibrations of notes, I find myself in the timid shell. No longer a brave stitch in my dna. Funny how that can happen. Even more so is the allowances one gives to just one intimidation. Then leading to another. Soon the laying on the back in the darkness seems quite ideal.
But somewhere inside of you presses this scar you hold, protectively. In the reality of the situation the mind builds this wall around the sensitivity you may have, promoting a "fine" attitude when in depth just scared or even traumatized by this long gone experience. What then do you do?
See that is the question that has us back to the beginning. A stalling or road block. Yet to some it is a reason or a crutch to help them wallow in the pity of their victimization. What really is the light in the subject?
See the therapy in the motion is the being wary of the unknown. Uncertainty of how things will go. That is what makes the anxiety rush to extremes within our hearts. This defined structure of how we pictured ourselves not to be, but are. Seems to be odd even as I type this, that the very words I write are depth enough to me. Digging deep to realize that I also fall into these stereotypes.
As much as I am an individual and build upon my strengths I almost forget the weaknesses that made me different. Made me the individual I am. See to recognize my fear or blemishes I am capable of understanding that I am human. But beyond that. I am also well capable of being the one that chooses to turn around.
In these moments, late at night, I observe more about my spirit than any other part of me. I see all that I have lived, turning miserable points to positive jolts of light. And even in the darkest hour of my thoughts, I recognize the differences I could have gone.
Regret is the biggest part of me.
Then rue of life now is changing. Slowly I turn. Best part of the turnaround is the joy regained. Even in the healing of a scar or the erasing of a memory that frightened. That is the calm that is moving this woman forward.
Surely the sensitivity I have is different from others, and as the days, months and years pass I pick up and carry as I should. Never do I say I am a victim. I am the instigator or the recovery. That is my role. And as I grow that, too, will change.
Am I sorry? Yes. Am I proud? No. Have I forgiveness? Some, yes. Others no. So still on the road to redemption. One day the cracks in the wall will break and the stones will tumble. Love will be given as I open the doors that have been locked for several years.
I look forward to that. What about you?
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