If westward is where you are, it's not west, is it

I’m reading so much about myself, is this really me?

All my associates they all seem to be 2-D

I use other people

I only take them for what I need

Looking at this broken image,

I doubt I’ll ever see

All my wishes be true

since all my associates really all seem to be 2-D

my hands now shaken, coffee bitter and cold

my thoughts now deepen, I should learn and let go

Looking now, looking now

My chart is telling me I’m the trouble all are to face

My charms keep telling you I’m all right, I’m the best

It’s said all I have to do is ask

and all I need will arrive

How can I ask,

when I can’t tell the difference between humility and pride,

selfishness and real light

If I go to the east, I’ll lock myself inside

I look around in consent

I refuse to cry, be this pain or despair

And all this my asking if I’m allowed,

is it just a step towards an ending far from the rest?

Here as I’m told all I understand means nothing for another

I can’t help but think that there must be another

But here as I’m told

I use other people

I only take them for what I need

Looking at this broken image,

I doubt I’ll ever see

All my wishes be true

still all my associates really all seem to be 2-D

created by another mind

the mind out of reach, all I have is what’s left behind

images

images

so all my associates really all seem to be 2-D

Love story

I would like to read a love story

I would love a love story

I would love one, I guess

A love story – is that a story about love?

Is that a story about my love?

About the love I have to give and the love I receive unasked.

A real love story, for me it would be about the colour of love

My heart and body, mind and spirit.

In a love story I want to find only myself.

No situations where I must act upon something imposed;

no situations where I must ask or think intensely before I say.

A love story to me is finding myself standing out in the middle of a field,

the wind not caring to see a difference in running through the long strands of grass or my hair.

A love story to me is filling my breath with a wind that brings a salty breeze.

A love story to me is standing on a frozen ground, laughing out at all the stars and the moon and lights I see move on a dark, dark sky.

A love story to me is feeling I shine like a rainbow in sunlight hazy with rain.

A love story to me is feeling the warm bark of trees stood still.

A love story to me is watching the clouds, knowing that there might not be another being right there who is seeing what I am seeing.

A love story to me is feeling.

A love story to me,

is a story of love.

The voices I hear,

are the voices that surge deep down to rip open my silence

The voices I welcome,
are the voices that push in and pull out all tears that want to stay dry

The voices I listen to,
are the ones that know they are finally saying something,
they hope they are being heard although they know it doesn't matter

As long as I use my voice I know I am doing what I should
If no one hears me there is not much I can do

As long as I say something I know I am doing what I should
Being heard is not the same as being told


For your tears to leave you... are you afraid of being alone?
Do you want everything to cling onto you, for the sake of not being alone?
Are you prepared to keep your voice a secret, in the case of having something you want to say?

Are you afraid of finally being heard?