Words do not favor a particular direction but go where we lean.
Words do not work their way out of feelings but stay where we lean.
And words do not color experiences but cycle where we lean.
But those truths aren’t obvious when it comes to words that have been handed down.
Words do not doubt but enforce where we lean.
Words do not ask to be carried but weigh heavily where we lean.
And words do not see tomorrow but continue where we lean.
But those truths aren’t obvious when it comes to words that have been hand-painted.
Words do not know right but fit right where we lean.
Words do not fail but sit where we lean.
And words do not heal but position where we lean.
But those truths aren’t obvious when words have been journaling with the no(s).
So much is said in sentences that never lead to anywhere different.
In thoughts that can’t resolve feelings.
And in trusted stuff reflecting back distrust in slow motion.
Because spaces are shared and words move with speed whether true or not.
Allowing blank spots to be filled in before arrival.
For slogans of sorrow to be clutched tightly.
And for love to only be for the right blue; the right action.
Because spaces are shared and those ideas are actually a part of our narratives.
A disapproval of missteps and debris.
A compass pointing us away from assistance.
And a deepening of that blue from details.
Because spaces are shared without fair representation, and we just let them.
Shutting down understanding.
Passing unreal smiles without catching attention.
And not picking up on even the smallest of victories.
So here we are standing between yesterday’s dread and tomorrow’s hope that the stains will have faded by the time we get there.
Trying to escape what we have naturally been leaning into.
And to not be us in moments with info wars.
As if sacrificing versions of ourselves will keep us safe and our homes won’t shake.
Or that trading places will suddenly make weather events just some drama on a map to avoid.
And it’s no surprise that those pages whose words slope don’t even mention love.
But while we’ve been tangled up in the packages, what is ours is that we have kept going.
Continued living out loud with that blue that we’ve pointed at again and again along the way.
And moved as needed to paint artwork already crowded with references.
So lets get this straight, we aren’t holding out for the days that we can read good news on our pages.
We are trying to figure out how to paint ourselves as loved wherever we may go.
So come wander the words and see that they have felt the way they have because we’ve been letting them.
And if that blue is going to show up here and there, we won’t protest who we are but rather the direction that we have been leaning.
Have the best day, POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
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