So many in draft, covering up so much, offering a free space where none exists.   The hurt is clear, the way forward not, bringing tons to surface, where nobody should exist.   So much ‘I don’t know’, ripping out a heart, in this free world, where love should exist.


Campaigning for your time is really difficult. I am not equipped for this, I know not what the term limits or expense guidelines are. I reach for you only to have my hand slapped away, and reeling in hurt and confusion,


Teetering on the edge, stuck between letting go and falling forward. On one hand, betting on blind faith in the face of silence and one-liners. On the other hand, betting on self-preservation, because of silence and the fading. Limbo.