Coffee is a healing. Held in a bean, A cup, or a belly, There's no better feeling. Held in your hand, Coffee understands <3
trying on a metaphor
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@sincereintention
Coffee is a healing. Held in a bean, A cup, or a belly, There's no better feeling. Held in your hand, Coffee understands <3
Self sabotage Hurts like hunger And tastes like thirst. Lain out on the ground, Here I am, self loving. Pained, Pinned to the ground, Here I am, self loathing.
I don't even have the means to hustle up a hustle!
My will My love Is to love My life, But I'm low. How low? Like death - Hollow Within.
I've fallen and broken myself so many times. But God has never let me go; He keeps me going, still. <3
On the last path I walked, the last words I spoke Are still at the footfall of my thoughts. So I turn around and try to find them, "Come back to me." I tell my words. But they don't come, not my words, Others give me theirs instead. <3
A strange thing.
About a year ago, I wrote this poem for a stranger, not knowing if we'd ever meet again. We were strangers after all. But one late night, at 2:00am, down at some sketchy cafe in Leith, our lives crossed once more: "A poem... For you... I wrote one!" I didn't know her name, but it was the first thing I said as she walked through the door. Later that night, before the day dawned, I read it to her. On the mic and everything. There's a recording of it somewhere, but I hope it never sees the bright light of the internet. Anyway, here it is. The poem, titled 'Stranger...'. On the royal mile, Our paths connected, Crossed, merged Like bow and arrows Into souls and bodies. Dismissing things at hand - The flyers to 'Mason King: Mind Control' in her bag - We conversed in a free verse. As vast as clouds, as open; Intentions clear as water We related unrelated subjects; World views on nations, Butchers and aprons; Moving free of constricts, Like love. (and it is all love) Living language, connecting, Like knowledge. But understanding Misunderstanding - that language Ravels and unravels truth. Unconscious words escaped us Like breaths; elated us like poems; And like both, changed us. Independence dissipated like a moment. Inspired, I recited poem by heart To her heart. "Did you write that?" She asked When the poem had run into silence. "Aye." I said. "All I." She just hugged me, Embraced me tight like skin. "Maaaaan..." She said Like she was calling To us all. To all humanity. And then continued the silent ending. And like that, in her arms, I broke; Thinking of self, ego And everyone else. Everything else. <3
Strawberry roses are my new thing.
Trying to steam some milk for a customer's hot chocolates and somehow dropped the entire jug all over the floor and over myself. "Don't worry," says Teigan, to the customers, laughing, "He does this everyday." The funniest thing is it's true. I spill everything, everyday.
Last night, I walked around the bar gifting every girl I saw with a hand-cut strawberry rose No favoritism; just a llittle love for all.
Those words you give to others - Do they hold the same value To the values you live by?
Sadness sticks to me like a stink...
I know my problem, It's me. I just can't handle myself.
We are all dependent on interdependence - On those we love, those we claim to hate And even to those we don't know. Hold yourself in humility.
Like so many times before, my dream came true!
Welcome home, black rose!
Alhamdulillah! <3
A note on language. Making my bus journey today with a elderly gentleman that struggles to speak. He's not mute, but finds it difficult to articulate anything over one syllable. Outside words, we shared Trebor mints and a most high conversation about God. That is the language of love. Alhamdulillah. Ya Allah, bless this man, bless us all, always. Alhamdulillah, once more.
In politics, the next person has less of an idea than you do; We're all just winging it, the right and the left, and those that fall between it, and even all those that are out of it.