Varieties of verbal vomit at your service.
I feel like layers and layers and layers and layers of writing is the best thing, the closest thing I can get to skipping records and cracked teacups with leaky tea leaves outpouring themselves on tables. This sort of malfunction I relate to, as the malfunction is closest to the outflow of words.
I’m grateful I live in a time where I am allowed to write. To post. To disagree. To share myself. To honor myself. To be courageous enough to be myself.
I try to remind myself to not shame someone for not knowing something. We aren’t born with all the experiences. In fact, our lungs have to learn how to breathe as soon as we are born. We have to learn how to open our eyes and our breath to the heartbeat of life.
Frustration sinks in when an idea so thoroughly experienced is unheard of by the other.