How do you make someone believe in you?

make good work.
appreciate kindness.
evoke devotion……?


I guess I'll keep you posted.

in the darkness...

“

When they tell you you are made of stars,
do not let them forget what stars are made of.
Stars are not glitter, not stickers on the ceiling,
not there for decoration.
Stars are chunks of collapsing galaxy. They are
hundred-thousand mile wide nuclear furnaces
that consume their surroundings into death.
They are not friendly; they do not exist
to write poems about. Stars
are not made of metaphors. You
are not made of other people’s words.

When they tell you you are made of stars.
look them in the eye and remind them
that so are they, and so is the earth,
and so is the gum on the bottom of your shoes,
and so is the fist you will hit them with
the next time they try to placate you
with their condescending bullshit –
When they tell you you are different from other girls,
ask them why you should want to be.
Do not let them call you dream girl.
Do not let them trap you up on a pedestal,
surrounded by books that cannot hurt them.
Read things that can hurt them.
Your mind is a forest richer than folklore;
do not let your curiosity be reduced to an accessory.
Your intelligence is not a fashion statement.
Your existence is not a novelty.
You are not a metaphor
for someone else’s problems.
When they tell you you are made of stars,
tell them you have always known this.
Tell them you have fire in your bone marrow,
that you are burning with the deaths
of the entire universe before you.
When they tell you you are made of stars,
tell them you know.
Tell them they should keep their distance.”

—	When They Tell You You Are Made of Stars - Melissa Victoria

“I will fill myself with the desert and the sky. I will be stone and stars, unchanging and strong and safe. The desert is complete; it is spare and alone, but perfect in its solitude. I will be the desert.
I open my eyes to see Ry staring at me, and my desert soul erupts with turquoise water, floods and cascades and waterfalls rushing in around my stone, swirling and eddying around my rocky parts, pushing and reshaping and filling every hidden dark spot.”  
Kiersten White, The Chaos of Stars

do not lose sleep

chins are up. Even if they're held up by your predator demanding to peer into your eyes.
spirits are high. er than they belong, and you're belly is turning flips as if you're about to descend down the rickety track of an untrusted coaster.
sunny side up. and sizzling, holding on tight to my secret place.
elect to fly
seek my gaze
hearts ablaze
let me go,
i'll be fine
here we go,
time to climb.

leave a few spots untouched
leave a few phrases unstated
leave a few memories unlived
leave your heart intact, encased, incase.

the girl is art.

I am in the wake of a great storm, and I am realizing that the likelihood that the corporate structure component of my life making it's exit is great. And in accordance, leaving me to operate as a full-time artist.

The society in you will exclaim "Wow! Aren't you so tremendously fearful?!" and the society part in me will vibrantly return "Yes! I'm terribly nervous and frigidly excited and I don't know if I'll make it!". 

Then the polite encourager in you will dribble "Well, if anyone can do it, you can! It will be great!" and in response, the polite encourager in me will drool "Isn't that kind of you to say! I think I will manage.".

Then your soul will churn and gurgle a bit and guiltfully pound into your gut "Wow! Isn't she lucky? Getting to feed her soul and her passions all the day long, rather than sit behind a computer screen for eight hours and read about people living her dreams in the news?!" And then my soul in response will chuckle, and whisper, "Yes, It's been a long time since any attention has been paid to me, and I'm looking forward to rebuilding the understanding between my bearer and me.". 

You see, I do not come from money or wealth or high society. I do not have vast savings and I already have loans to re-pay. I am green at age 23, but my pockets are not. If I fail at my art, there is no recovery. I fail. And I know that. And somehow, I do not fear that. I think the reason some people can be artists and others cannot is a matter of whether or not you're really an artist. How it can be just that simple, I'll never know, but it must be.

And I am an artist, and I am a creator, and it drips from my pores and trails behind me everywhere I go. Escaping it would be futile and ignoring it unbearable. So why not embrace the circumstance and get to work. After all, it's a dream come true. How in my right mind could I not face a dream coming true with anything but a grin.

I read your written words over.
holding tightly to the way the letters hover over the bottom line
holding tightly to the way your lips hovered over my skin.

born from

how I envied the storm that overcame him.

took him and swept him up and away into a fit of full words.

unconscious, fitful,, raging in artistry, and ignorant to the world around him

only the world in his head.

And all I felt I could do was to run my fist in a circular motion

clear some of the fog and dust off the clear window

and peer in, eyes wide and wild.

feeling winded

Restless, a big wind is brewing.

The kind that takes you far.

The kind that sweeps out even the most inmost dungeons of the mind.

from 30,000 feet

So here, we go down. We spiral. A little too much taste of one flavor creates an unbalanced mind. Rather than reactant, let's become proactive. Let's reacquaint ourselves with the many pots in which your hands caress. What is the warmth? The texture and the temperance? Are there any new cracks to report? Discolorations?

See i ought to feel guilty for the indulgence. But thankfully, i have a few hours here left to my own disconnected devices, for which i may define a few resolutions, resolutions about being less resolute, if you can imagine. I have proceeded to do as i saw fit. I explored, i played, i selfishly relished and revelled, and was careful to care for a few little in betweens in the meantime. I am not the age of the life i live, and despite my incessent dedication to pretending i am, i will continue to cheerfully profess my youth when it suits.

I need not make any immense decisions or rationales, in fact, i really shouldn't during this time of imbalance. Why not breathe. Why not rest your mind. Why not dwell and let mind wander. Talk out loud, ask for council. Take stock of your emotions, write them down even. But don't pound your gavelling fist onto the wood and demand rushing change on the behalf that you disliked that one moment, of which, was massed with too much of something, or not enough of another. Instead determine a route in which your ingredients are balanced in proper.

That was quick...

Man I fell fast this time…

Fell just like that.

And as I sit here and write about this, I realize...

When you care about something enough

When you decide THIS ACTION IS A GOAL

how ardently I admire and...

I made some promises to myself, and to the deep dark abyss, that in earnest weren't altogether true, they just read right.

you spent time making plans.
thoughtful plans.

You picked me out of the middle of a crowd, when I had taken two steps away from a crowded room full of people, to clear my head.

Airplane by Angus & Julia Stone was playing at lunch.

The coffee was great.

When I told you I was scared, you called me immediately and comforted.

You can't cook, and that's a compromise I'm willing to make.

You took the day off anyway.

You had all the time in the world, and didn't say a selfish goodnight.

You talk about a future, even if it's still shallow.