You don’t just rise in the morning with your character; it’s formed and reformed every day, pressed together, pulled apart, and recreated by your
company
connections
music
moments
books
browsers
paths
and poisons.
Faith, Health, and Other Musings
May our minds flourish with creation, and may our hands never deny its expression.
You don’t just rise in the morning with your character; it’s formed and reformed every day, pressed together, pulled apart, and recreated by your
company
connections
music
moments
books
browsers
paths
and poisons.
This pandemic
has taken peace
(however much of it we had)
and put in its place
a constant, unrelenting
pain,
— somehow shockingly swift
and sadistically slow —
creating a sort of global wartime,
that makes us yearn for
the things of comfort:
a mother’s embrace,
a lover’s touch,
a child’s messy kiss,
and corona,
this cruel, ironic burden,
has made those
the very weapons of its war.
(where do we find
rest
when the war is in
our homes?)
And I guess
we’re all
edible,
letting ourselves be
(or yet being able to stop from being)
devoured by our
expectations,
environment,
and
egos,
being swallowed whole
by the earth
and its many woes.
There’s a unique
currency
at the oceanfront,
offered by the generous waves,
eagerly scooped up by
children
and lovers,
a rich, extravagant gift
of sandy
fortune.
The ocean
beats with
unwavering equality,
washing the sand
from our feet
all the same.
“I would do
everything for you”
sounds romantic
until someone
asks you
to do it.
We all carry hearts
that want to
resist
rebel
riot —
let our rebellion
be against inequality,
disrupting a system
that never saw
our defiant hearts
coming
for it.
my chest echoes
with the cries of my monster,
devoting anything that’s not you,
to a psychopath’s slaughter;
the monster in me
has a single-point view:
the only thing it wants
is the monster in you.
-L.M.G.
How can all of our hearts
drum the same, ironic beat:
i’m misunderstood
i’m misunderstood
i’m misunderstood
-L.M.G.