Suckerpunch My lasting grays and the notion of anywhere

Often in my life I have been bitten with inspirations of Grandeur, a strange gift to shower into my lovers, art writing and actions... much like most creatives this is usually activated in a chance meeting and then threads weave and magic is embraced. I however seem to have this in a heaping amount and I am overwhelmed by my own ability to activate convinced that the mystical component of my name and chance placement in life seems to be heightened..... And so I see the stings and feel the actions glue and tangle to manifestations as my subconscious bobs and weaves out my desires to an almost shattering accord. I have had to take many pauses as to absorb the intensity and I fault no one in their utter confusion with what to do with me. Last Year I was ready to confess and to confront my crimes of evasion to my { dream tormentor} my mirror my aggregate and my polishing stone. I suffer the crimes of withholding, my restraint haunts my fertile mind's eye and it is true that I have not allowed to love completely that my apparent wreck less negotiations with midnight lovers and dawn acquaintances are a build up of passing time, and there has been but one flicker to which I can not resolve and as this it burns me with lava tears \ my pride my broken my glued soul remains ever a champion to "cowboy up" and on to the next adventure and though I am sorry I could not love you I can not hate you either, you remain my constant gray. FIN.

The lady confesses: The survival of hope in 2013

It has always been my calling card to roam free. This slippery jewel of self awareness swallows my inherent skill for persuasion. My interlacing of restraint, my wanderlust to engulf to become an all powerful reality of passion; well it finds me lonely. It seems that honest is crushingly undervalued and intimidating. To be crumpled in a room with no one to witness the alchemy of intention, the mystical harnessed in pools of sweat. It has been a long journey in exile as the push for beacons and bridges to the divine plan turns me weary, yet reckoned and always able to endure. My perspective will always reset to outside of me, and these passing glimpses flutters in my mind to rattle the insecurities of a ballooned confidence in a lifetime of praise for this uniqueness that I posses.

I confess there is nothing but bafflement as I continue to fail at finding and maintain a belonging. Does this make me Grimm? NO! Does it delay my feedback NO! But it does cut like glass as I am made of Teflon, tears and glitter.