The beautiful, writhing mess inside us.


We are always trying to save face.

What are we trying to save

But our personas, our disguises, the cheap characters we think we’re supposed to be?

Why not let the entire world

Peek behind our well-rehearsed veil of perfectly timed lines

And see the beautiful, writhing mess

We always try to keep inside.

What if we unleashed that bruised mess

And let it dance on our skin

For the entire world to see,

For our own hearts to see.

What if we sent that wild, frustrating rawness into the pulsating center of the cosmos and made art out of it, truth out of it, teary-eyed lip smackin’ hot, simmering love out of it?

What if all the bounding, aching chaos within us

Is the only thing that’s real?

Because it is.

It’s what makes us

Fragile and gorgeous and




Photo: Flickr