My mind worries about everything. For instance, I contemplated if I should allow comments or turn them off on my blog. I don’t get many, so that is not the problem. The problem is coming across the right way in my answers. Please don’t get me wrong whatever I decide. I will only worry more.
Then, I worry about food. My mother was very overweight and I was deathly afraid of ever having to be seen. So I refused food until I became a mother. Then I ate as if I never tasted spaghetti or tuna or chocolate chip cookies before. And I still have a propensity to over eat. I love the taste of food and I am a pretty damn good cook. Just wish I never had seen a plate, fork and knife. I am doomed.
And the last thing on my mind this morning is a dear friend who sent a note. Should I write back or wait a while? I once confessed a growing love while guilt tripped me up. The feelings were built over tides and shifting sand. I never intended to devour the sour or sweet. Meanwhile, insecurities continue to flourish under the bridge to cause more angst. Oh! to speak out loud, these morning thoughts, chases the sun away. I should go play under the clouds and worry alone.
Printmakers paper, acrylics, ephemera, found leaves, coffee stains, and a piece of my poetry. With painted pages ready to add additional words, feathers, pressed flowers or leaves, and whatever else a heart desires.
Found in the Lost Pile of Civility (Jan 2019)
Seems to me as we slowly decline we beat around the bush contemplate how to survive.
Generations realize this drift on a sail-less boat the cloth wrapped around our bleeding hearts words confessed on bended knees misses the sliver in private eyes.
Same old, same old story. The beginning is the end. The terror in other's minds now belongs to us. Realize hungry is, as was, and nothing eaten satisfies.
Measure our words against ourselves need I stand upon a soapbox add my rhetoric to humanity's misery?
As ash buries the smoldering coals are we aware we are wandering found among the lost pile of civility?