I never think of myself as anything.
I don’t like labels, I don’t like thinking myself as one way or another because, I am not.
I don’t like to think I am fierce or that I am gentle, I find that I am a constant ball of contradictions, tangled up in one another. And there’s my comfort.
I am made of lot of broken pieces , held together by love, if you will. I feel sadness deep in my bones just as much as I feel love. I feel anger and jealousy and pity , red hot and deep purple , and I hate myself when I do, and God knows I like a bit of distance. So I am cold. Sue me.
I don’t try to be anything, just somebody I can live with, I just want the world to treat me as such. But no. The world wants many things. And I have to live with the world.
This post is pointless, and is frustrating so here I am , making it into the fourth week, giving you the pictures from the third.
Poya day in the temple
Mr Suity Man, getting ready to go places
What if all Fridays started at 4.30pm ?
Made some clay eggs for a nest I found on the side of the road.
Leaving home, leaving Seth , always breaks my heart.
Hate being home alone.
Hoping for peace.