I'm overflowing now, just typing words right into the night.
The footballers are balling. My to-do list is calling.
The bee-sting is still swelling. Thoughts welling.
Thoughts about new technology,
Androids and iphones,
Always connected, but never really knowing.
Seeing the updates and moving on to the next newsfeed.
Wandering rabbit trails,
It's glued to my hand now, invisa-shield and all.
Is it a time-saver delusion or obvious inefficiency?
I'm still burdened by lists and expectations,
Self-righteous proclamations
And worrying and wondering what others think.
Stop.
Drink.
When you're overflowing, when the words are coming,
they don't have to be perfect, so full of meaning.
A depth beyond believing.
Girl, you are just learning.
Just living.
Just a 27-year-old breathing.
Waking up each day.
And failing.
Not saying the right things / waiting impatiently.
Judging / rehearsing the debt in my head.
And, oh, that uncertain future.
Instead of rehearsing the truth!
Instead of the good news.
Switch.
Repent.
Rehearse, speak, live and believe the Truth.
His hands set you free.
His blood washes you clean.
His love is so full right now, for you, even you.
It's bursting.
It's like a mango dripping down your chin,
as you stand and laugh and bite in again.
It's the warmth of a wool yurt and a fire,
the feeling of being home
and safe
and known.
