my heart hurts
an accumulation of LJ's arrhythmia: dug & scanned photos, lost pen strokes, scribble left in the 'scape
1000 winds
and you said
something, somethingwatching you dance through this world
tearing me to pieces-tearing me to pieces
-tearing me to pieces
run, return
traced maps pleading this highway held answer, and i–i have stood in doorways
begging for belongingcrumbled wall in question-capped metaphor, and i listen now because i–i've learned the hard way
home is never found always this becoming
does the way out matter?
simón bolívar shouted into the void ‘how will i ever get out of this labyrinth of suffering’ with such force, it etched itself into her marrow. and when the day came...
(some kind of blurb about the soulscape in long form / as a substack, maybe shouting into the void)
is redemption retrievable?
it’s all permeating with questions about harm and redemption and whether identity is fixed or is simply what left when you shave the bone down...
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