8 F Y R E ' B I R D 8

gentle bird, bring that wander-lust in.   mend and restore   what has been broken.   so many years, of broken,   many shed tears & cries of confusion war in bodies,   across centuries.  gentle, gentle, gentle bird   calm the fangs of blood  aimed at yourself rest and reflect on these stories   in your body,   and remember   to circle above   and see from there too.  all is convening   to come together   and give you a chance to put down that heavy   weight   and   move   on  

every day, write. because if you are not writing, here. you are writing somewhere. there are stories being told somewhere, in your being. they happen racing through your head or wake up at the tips of your fingers when dreaming. the ways you happen, and how the world happens with you is important, is important. write, because. it gives you life. it gives you a place to put: everything. it gives you a way to navigate death. the empty page does not judge or hurt you, like sometimes, the thoughts do inside of your own head. or the glances, shrugs, and distracted looks you interpret as signs from others, proving your unworthiness. write, because when you do, you fly. and flying tastes so good to your wings. your wings must remember how to fly, and when you are writing, they do. it is permission. it is promise. it is hope and despair and returning again to a place of origin. it is channeling, it is home-coming, it is discipline and challenge, death and resurr...