Some kind of ballad

Oh memory of snow white.


I hate this keyboard I'm typing on.
It's a roll-up squishy thing
that frequently misses the letters I'm sure I typed.


I'm still defining myself, in my mind and in my actions. It doesn't conjure a lie, or a deviation from my truth. It's grounding, and it makes me feel at home in myself.


I don't have much to say.
I'm entering into a spell of quiet.
A grounded kind,
but one of retreat and self-stability.

When I close my eyes and think of my future, I see myself standing in the mist on the parkway, wrapped in a hoodie, looking out into the world from a strong center. A peaceful center, full of love. Which won't be cultivated by another person, but by myself.


I saw mf yesterday. It was short and sweet,
but it was long enough to make me realize I miss her.
I don't know what that means for me internally, so I won't dwell on it. She's a positive and grounding influence in a train wreck of people I've decided to call my own.


I've got a story growing in me. I've got a spark of creativity that I hope settles down and stays for awhile.