Betwixt the drug of you and the and the pain of art, I lived torn. I crave that passion of connection and the solitude of my soul cuts me in as a pawn and tugs and yanks me far deep into creation. It is me, it was me… I stop walking and then I run…

. . .




UGH! What time is it?… fuuuuuu… 3:48 in the morning… damn mornings!

I need to do laundry, pack and pack. Plane ticket… phone, charger, wallet…

This trip will either be a success or it’ll just be. We were classmates for two and a half years and then we weren’t. What made me call the operator asking for a number, was a floating need with uncontrollable actions, I called until I got your number.

. . .

The silly and exciting butterflies gave me hope in our friendship. A hope that promised nothing and gave everything. Insecurities of acceptance are sad truths but the work to build pathways intermingling through it all, are a struggle and a compromise, an agreement of cultivating and connecting the differences… I only have answers to seek.

Joy Jane June

30th short 05.03.2019 seek

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this:
close-alt close collapse comment ellipsis expand gallery heart lock menu next pinned previous reply search share star