couldn’t find my pen
and then i found it
surprising with the state of the insides of my bag.
there’s a dull ache
pressing against the edges of my brain.
i’ve yet to have a coffee, perhaps its that.
i’m poor but im not.
i live in comfort . food . bed . dishwasher . washing machine .
it’s too expensive to run
i want some sort of life that requires risk but perhaps that involves more thought than i thought...
i look like something you’ve seen before .
even though i have purple cropped hair
i assume i am an assumption.
there’s a couple
they look fresh
like they haven’t figured out what they enjoy least about each other
i feel crazy
and yet sane
but mostly crazy
summer is coming and i’m happy about that.
i’m not happy with me yet, however.
winter gives grace to stay inside.
look at my insides.
do i want to live a life the is just enough petrol
to get from one location to the prefered?
and what does it look like to be a person who loves God?
is it living your own life really well
or is it giving everything