Grief, you are a stranger, knocking at our doors You aren’t welcome, but you’re making yourself known
Love is toxic
Love, it is toxic I’ve let it in and held on tightly, given my all, fisted and ready to love Love, it is toxic I’ve opened wide my chest, only to be compounded down to scraps Love, it is toxic I’ve put it away, down the chute, forgetting all of my heart that went with it Love, it is needed My breathe is waiting, my eyes are closed, waiting for love to return Love, it is...
When the pines are forest green They don’t always stay green Sometimes yellow becomes familiar As hidden shadows hollow underneath We find whispers from past Advice, memories, adventures A reason to gravitate, a reason As if we could actually hear it There comes a time to wake But to what shall we wake to When all that’s known is illusion And illusion may not even know...
The Diving Bell and the Butterfly
Jean-Dominique Bauby wrote The Diving Bell and the Butterfly after a car accident left him in a coma and he woke up paralyzed everywhere except his eyes. One of his eyes got infected and sown up. With one eye left, a speech therapist helped this man communicate with one wink yes and two winks no. Jean-Dominique Bauby was the head editor of Elle magazine one day; the next day he was a vegetable. It...