When a feeling becomes so warm

so warm I want to taste it

not a harsh slap of spicy flavors

but exactly like
the soft plush cushion that the temperature of soup rests on.

I reflect to myself

how good it would be to have that feeling

live outside in the world.

So I write
and that feeling spreads from me

to a new direction

to new perspectives

to something that may just be

a projection of myself.

 

A new direction asks:

Is distinction a truth

an abstraction of youth

feeling that sealing ourselves away

into categories that make us feel better

feel better than others

a justification of a system to rule many but to help

none succeed?

 

A new perspective creates:
no serum inside us

will make us think
we’ve united us,

but,

to help us believe that we can,

simple actions

universal traits

believable transactions

slingshot between ourselves and our dreams.

 

I didn’t realize

I truly couldn’t understand

such broad terms

if I was struck dumb by lack of explanation.

Do I go along and imply it

or be true and define it?

Boring slash disgusting is the first

yet interesting slash intriguing is the latter.

 

Simple

is the opposite of

saying many things and meaning less.

Universal

is the opposite of

making one thing become many.

Believable

is the opposite of

scariness at all.

 

At my glance

the scariest thought
in the whole world

is if

when you need help

and you rise from your seat

to demand it

and no one believes you

in you

with you

without you.

Blame for the problem would lie

with you and you alone.

 

By feeling the consequences of those causes

that made you feel that you were right-ing those wrongs.

But if
still

no one believes you

are you

still

in need of help?

 

This is where you find your own way

be your own way

find your own friends

be your own person

find proof

at a fireside and not grief

that you can still
trust yourself.

 

As much advice as my heart makes

I wouldn’t know how many miles my voice takes

Therefore words and words alone

can stand the cold.
Through my comfort zone

between burn, chill, and questionable,

my thoughts have raced like this

round towards the sky

and towards the farthest horizon I could see.

 

Yet I still don’t think my thoughts have

still

stretched nor sketched by words far enough

to keep feelings and effects and behavior

all bottled up.

It shall never come to a bottle

although my stream of thoughts will flow

from a bottleneck effect

of believing things will change

one step
at a word.