Looking up, out and over. We talked it out; it helped.
Moving far, further, furthest. Walking it off and stretching it out as the pain comes.
Think up, up, and away until I punch the clock and shift the gears.
Windows down, raindrops beat the heat.
Upside down; destiny keeps me chunky.
I don’t believe in predestination, but I don’t think I’m supposed to be happy. I think I’m the grease to every squeaky wheel. I’m the lean-to. The middle-man. The cut-off. Because it’s always something; whether of my own doing, or that of the fallen one. There’s always an irritation. Constantly a shifting of mood or tone towards the negative. So often a deviation into stress and worry. At every outlet and intersection. And immediately after all of the good…
This world is terrible and going fast. I don’t think I ever gave myself a chance. I’ve kind of known what I could and couldn’t do. But I don’t think I’ve ever actually believed in myself. I’ve never invested in me. I don’t really know how…
Waking to stale tastes and impatient faces,
praying for endurance and small graces,
I trudge through a typical revolution of this rock
with my grievances and discomforts in tow,
seeing no discernible end in sight,
and hoping for a change.
it must get annoying living in the south with all those banjos constantly playing
Honestly just so much in this life that frustrates me. Losing sleep and sanity over just about everything.
I’m ding something about it.
I’m DOING something about it.
I’m the only one that can.