Sunday, August 26, 2012
Confessions Of A Writer Yogi
I confess when I couldn't remember my dreams upon waking for some months, I worried they may have forgotten themselves.
I confess I love perfect strangers because I believe everyone should be loved for the simple reason they exist. Nothing more.
I confess I want you to like me and hope you do in the way I am for I refuse to change for anyone.
I confess I want you to see me with your eyes wondering into my words asking, "How have they come from her there?"
I confess I rather touch you with hands dirty from loves work than cleanly protected from connection.
I confess love should be scattered through the streets like confetti at Mardi Gras.
I confess I want us to plant trees growing older than we ever can to carry our lives into other futures.
I confess I don't really know where I am going but I'd rather walk forward trying to find direction then stay where I am.
I confess the universe has a way of helping connecting the dots once you get a pencil and start drawing the line.
I confess opening your heart to absolutely everyone will give you the chance to make everyone your family.
I confess my hands were my favorite part of my body until my current position has them scratched, scared and calloused. It scares me.
I confess I recognize I have a couple crooked teeth and still grin wider getting compliments on my smile.
I confess my hair does what it wants, making it an interesting mystery and I wish I was more like it.
I confess I am not perfect. If someone was to offer me the chance to be perfect, I would laugh with my whole body asking "Don't you see the perfection in my slanted lines?"
I confess I aspire to be a
green tea drinking
less meat eating
erotic novel reading
And That's When The World Will Begin.
Namaste my friends,
~Chelle aka Writer Yogi