Is everything always okay?
Time; was it planned before it started?
This awkward moment we had today;
it is startling, have our ways parted?
Death. Why cry? Death-of-self should I say
could we leave it hanging half-hearted?
I cry at the loss of this new day,
ending before it ever started.
Author: Jana Horton
I write to soothe my soul. I empty my words onto napkins, scraps of paper, receipts... anything really. When I was very young my mom told me to stop writing on my hand.
I never did.
I write on it to this day.
I’ve lost so many scraps of Self on soggy napkins; I’ve yet to lose my hand.
The words I scribble there may wash off, but since they are inscribed in my soul, once they are released, from heart to hand, I am allowed to let them go.
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