Do you want to write?
Do I have a thought?
How do I decompress all of this into rational thought?
I'm so bombarded.
I thought I was stronger some how. That I'm an upright gal.
I thirst for energy. I want to breath freely. I desire peace.
I'm powered by dreams. Why do they seem thin at times? My hope and faith are tired.
I know I make myself. I think I'll have to find an infusion of inspiration. A driver. A propellant.
Cast off the seasons' gunk.
Now to write a new scroll, new path. Winds of change. Fresh air. Trees.
Laughter. Whimsy. Passion. Glory.
Balance. I like that.
Re-evalutae and reconstruct.
"Well hellooo Mr. Fancypants." - Ash, Army of Darkness