making my way up the west coast

some scattered thoughts, before more traveling

(I really hope this is my last weekend away for the next long while).

creativity scares the hell out of me,
on days like this, the really nice ones,
inside without words
or consequence.

tough love never asked me any questions,
a lot of tough, not a lot of love.
tough love hurt more than anything,
given the days I could take it seriously.

originality doesen't like my living room,
staring blankly from the walls like christmas lights,
taken down nonchalantly,
like christmas itself.
I never like to grow tired of things I love.

I've made more excuses than mistakes,
because forgiveness doesn't come without conditions.
I'm wasting today to
like myself enough.

~

I'm not what I say I am most days,
i could never give myself enough credit.
Grace is that love we never asked for:

I never asked for love because I didn't think I deserved it,
and I'd just as well learn to live alone.
But who I am to ask for anything less
than belonging to something. to someone.