Spilling

- spills  into....

Spilllllssss  iiiin-toooo.          

                                                                      I N-

                                                                    T

                                                           O

                              otni

               into.......

my

                          thoughts

              didn’t fall in order

                                      when I

                                               asked them to...

Stacked up like dominoes
That refuse to just collapse
I’m connected to lamp by the road side
Connected to the net in skyline
Connected to hairball in lounge floor

                                                                 *And I don’t know how it happened*

                                                               *But my dreams don’t fit me any more*

                                        Fkn.

<hr>

Ah!

Falls into

               F

                A

                L

                L

                I

                N

                G

 Like we landed here on purpose. ..

I don’t talk enough about how my life makes me feel small

Not about how I feel small, that I talk about all the time
I’m talking about how it does it
About how I came to be this small

.....

Think about how I’m lazy and never talk about it
Always torn between what feels right to do and where I’m told to put my feet
so as
not
to fall

Think about how I don’t know wtf I’m doing
But I know I’m good at that.

That  I’m incompetent w flying colours when I need to be
That I’m happy looking on my saddest days when I needa be
That I make jokes to stay safe when I needa be
That I make smile and quiet when I don’t need to be
That I’ve made smile and Quite when...
I don’t needa be so quiet and make smile
But it’s not a thing to talk about

.

   .

       .

One time, aunty said some situations are like puss, and it’s better not to pop it
I think about how to stop puss from falling
And how I never talk about it

                        Mk

                                So.

I got this line that pierced me through the middle

Feel it better when I’m sitting
Standing
Breathing still

And no vice can satisfy my attention
So I just go about my day

Sitting
Standing
Breathing still
Walking running sleeping still

Watching dirt curve up like water does
Measuring its highest point by, all
that…
stillness

I folded pieces of you into my sleeves to keep me company
“Where’d you learn to hold a hand without knotting it by it’s fingers?”
Tug in belly mentioned something about a life line
That I still need to step into story
“Every time I put a foot down on life line, I lift it to find story line there instead”
*presses forefinger to temple so sleeve can hear the stillness*
“I think stories are following me, and I like it”

*curls up into pillow fort so only sleeve can hear him*
“I measured life at it’s lowest point today.
By its’s stillness.
And it turned into story when it rose,
Just like how life falls into story from the top”

“I still don’t know if it’s going up or down yet”

So here’s a list of all my stillness;
Breathing, standing sitting still
Sleeping, not running, but walking still
Still pressing lifeline into storyline still
Loving at the highest points
Still
Loving at the lowest too
Still learning how to hold a hand without knotting it by its fingers

There’s this story about Ta and Va
Ta is beat
Va is all the spaces in between
And Vaka’s//boats sit in between the two
They govern the line that pierced everything through the middle
And take turns changing hands in the stillness

Then there’s a saying
That loosely translates to “binding bows together to share life”
If one Vaka runs out of supplies, the Vaka that still has food splits it right down the middle
So they can halve their life spans for each other

*uses phone to share story with sleeve*
“I asked to halve my lifeline with someone,

And

                   there’re still two different lifelines,

I still can’t see them so clearly”

                  .

        .

.

       .

              .

                       ..............

I folded my loves into my sleeve.

To keep pieces of us safe

And life keeps pulling us in different directions
To be changed at the stillness in different places

                   But I know it worked

Not because the stillness is the same at the rise and fall
But because every time I look at the line where my life turns to story .   .   .

All of their story’s
             …. already got pressed into mine

<hr>Most common words

to rattle brain:

                                                         Change.

                     Fear.

Spilled.

                                          Angles.

*auntie: “work with what you got kid”

mmmmmmK…

Change-fear spilled angles

Change spills fear into me at every angle
- don’t want it to
- don’t wanna admit it’s happening all the time
But my integrity keeps reminding me to notice that it does

Angles spill change-fear
- every bump in smooth looking surface spills upward in fear
Rises like rain that forgot how to fall straight
Forgot to fall down.

Fear spills change angles
... wanna know something?

I love fear
I rly do

I reckon if fear had a face, that it’d be a kind one
Reckon it’d be a face that flirts a smile without cracking one

Fear’s changing face curves into angles that spill.

Fear keeps me asking questions about my boundaries
Its the kindly face that wants to know what I can do with danger
Whispers warnings

Fear comes, and asks me what my courage looks like.
Questions it on a daily basis.

                                                                                              and today I’m scared of….

‍