April 13 2026

If I maybe did die all those moons ago, why or am I in hell? To escape the mental prison of my own and slip into the misery of others. To feel so senseless and hopeless but not stupidly blind, as much as I wish I could. To leave one of you, just to slide into the lap of another, one of whom turned into a black hole of impending deficiency. To gather the idea of a god to pull me through and out, yet when waiting, I grew too tired and curiously numbed to its repetitions that I found a doorknob in the black hole. The knob exposed a possibility out of this domain expansion. Yet with each floating dream and cursive promise I drew with the wandering trinkets prancing around through the true idea of endless curiosity, space. Why bother, right? What other choice do you truly hold? Floors are lava; better start parking. Only then did I find the tiny door of God in the mirror behind the door, another brick wall hyped up to a hallucination of guidance to that hopeless dream that falls through the breeze of the vacuum. I wonder who she is—dreamy, maybe—but surely, I’m surely in love with her. The assurance of her light, the sun, tells fairy tales of her life elsewhere. A tale of true possibility, a way of the door is the way to the pages of your own tale. Giddy, a princess skips and prances, slaying any cruel monsters along the way. To be a princess of the water, to swim and be as the water flows freely, and to lead a fortress of great new moons. Rather, to be given a crown of an ice man who once perished in another war, fallen in a rather sweet land. To wish for a clock for a heart, for maybe then it could feel the rhythm of a beat. The repetitive tick of a cuckoo clock would amazingly annoy those lingering flies but rather fall short in reality. To feel as if maybe it already is a ravishing grandfather clock, tall and proud, detailed in a deep wood, departed in a lovely dinner hall. I need a witch doctor rather than a clocksmith for this old father now; as she chimes, she coughs a hairball. Only that I wish; I wish to be one of a fairytale; maybe then this ghostly, vacuous promise I hear drift through the vacuum of this space collapse would not be maybe just be my mother's ghost. I left. A knight prepared and prophesied to slay the king and free the queen and her miracles, but as the moons during the silence before and after the war settled, the reflection turned clearer. To see I was merely a donkey, a dragon for a queen of hearts, led to overrun this forgotten but protected fortress once before. As the story leaps by as the frogs do, passing our curious knight in its lonesome inquiries for a better tomorrow. War overcame a long way now; the lonesome survivor now walks, reflecting on the fallen kingdom but more so on the crumbles that decorated its truths even before the trolls came. Now crown the princess; the others merely mock her scars. To feel so young once again is a rather bitter nostalgia. I have a kingdom, one I find to die for rather than the knight of yesterday's destined sorrow. Yet, this ivy clings; her thorns fall through the trees, her ghost haunting. 

March 27, 2026- Setting Sail

To let my work be was a breath fresher than any of yesterdays, to really put myself in true vulnerability and find more peace within it. True vulnerability for me isn't truly being naked on a screen; I've worked hard to feel confident in my body and my physical body of this life. However, the truest vulnerability is what's within, seen but more understood beyond the depths of someone else's eyes. To first take the leap of initial trust, one simple for many but more complex for me, truly feels rather spring to grow into a new sunrise of summer. To be within myself, feeling as freshly refreshed within as with the completion of renovating my sense of peace, letting go. I control my work, but not the world within my works lies, so rather stress to prepare the boat than when you're going down due to forgotten sails. To be seated on a boat of chance, from me to you, but from you to me, thank you.