Let's be the center, for once, together.

Most of who I am I have made record of. 
I've been compelled to write since before puberty. What began as crayon sketchbooks turned into pen and paper journals filled and venting unrequited puppy love, parental divorce rage, misdirected self image hatred. This outpouring continued and morphed over the years into painting. Painting flooded into drawing and back to writing. Writing paralleled drawing and into song writing and guitaring. Doodling to blogging. 
And... here... blogging hopefully back into painting. 


I may not have been producing posts and doodles, but I've been saturating. I've been all the while recording... recording and afraid to be read. 

I don't think I'm alone in having spent the last year making decisions that I believed would save the lives of other people. I spent the last year hoping the people around me were doing the same. 

I did it again, though. Poured out too much from my own cup and left myself empty for too long. I wish I could sit here and write that I won't do it again. I'm sure I will. 

People are their own galaxies... with gravity and rotation, with epicenters and orbiting rubbish belts. I think we forget, I forget, that when another entity is introduced to our galaxy, every degree  within that galaxy shifts and changes. Some things get kicked out of the spin, more mass and less space. Everyone has to share the oxygen and... me... holding my breath so others can have more, does my galaxy any good. 
It's just fake.
Faux.
Temporary.
Unsustainable.



If anything wants in my galaxy again, my galaxy with a beautiful planet and most exquisite daughter moon--it's going to have to accept the fact that I breathe heavily. It's going to have to read the cannon of my life, read between the lines, read the scratches on paper, the colors on canvas, the fortune cookie scraps I keep, the doodles, the blogs, and be very very hungry for more. 

In the meantime, my moon and I, we're gonna be the center, for once, together.